A Sort-Of Preview to the Book I’m Writing: Part 2
A sneak-peek into the source material for my novel in progress — AKA the diaries that inspired its creation (4-6 of twelve).
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As mentioned in my last letter, I’ll be sharing the diaries that inspired me to write the book I’m currently working on. There are twelve diary entries total and I’ll be sharing three at a time — these are diary entries 4-6. In the new year, I’ll resume the newsletter with a different topic each week. :)
Without further ado:
A Sort-Of Preview to the Book I’m Writing: Part 2
Confessions of a Facebook Poker (May 2018)
I just poked a handful of cute guys on Facebook. That is where I am at in my flirtatious confidence. I think I finally understand the concept of regression. AP Calc and Stats 1B did not get the job done, but attempting to explore intimacy with men did! I have regressed to the romantic behaviors of a twelve year old kid. There must have been a fortune teller amidst the writer’s room of Bob’s Burgers, because evidently they based Tina off of modern me.
When I talk to men I am interested in I do this thing where I silently laugh and smile at the same time, like Casper the ghost is exiting my mouth. I also become hyperaware of my body and start to switch the position of my shoulders back and forth, which turns into a mild, at times alarming, shoulder shimmy dance.
In other words, my current flirting strategy is fart giggling out of my mouth and dancing like a 60 year old dad at a 70’s throwback concert. You gotta start somewhere right!?
I also just think the concept of a “poke” is hilarious.
If I went around New York City poking men I’d either get my ass kicked or become a BuzzFeed phenomenon. Although I guess if the second occurred I would deserve the first outcome as well. #BringBackPokes2018
When You Can’t Choke on Cock, Choke on Ciroc (May 2018)
Last weekend I attended two random events in the aims of meeting new people. DISCLAIMER: I HAVE LOTS OF FRIENDS. Too many to be honest. I am not trying to market myself, but it shocks me that people immediately jump to the conclusion that seeking spaces to meet new faces (rhyme intended) is a bad thing. Like, if you want to meet new people, you don’t already have good people in your life.
Maybe I am just a crazy person and want more people in my life always. But why wouldn’t you? Google says there are 7.442 billion people in the world. THAT’S SO MANY PEOPLE. SO. MANY!!! So many walking dreams, ambitions, histories, stories, pitches of laughter and novel trains of thought. It astounds me to think that anyone would not want to dive into the plethora of miracles that exists within the human population. I want to know as many people as I possibly can. I want to share joy with as many people as I possibly can. And, most importantly, right now, I want to f*ck as many people as I possibly can. Men specifically.
Google also says the average person meets 80,000 people in their lifetime. FUCK YOU GOOGLE. I am going to double that. That is why I attended a random meet-up for people open to new friends, hosted at a bar in the Financial District. Okay, this kind of goes against everything I just said, but, it sucked. It was awkward AF. I am sure if I met these people in other circumstances I would have thought to myself: “You’re a person, down to know you”. But the entire situation felt forced and awkward. I don’t even remember what we talked about because it was that boring. The hunch my friend Olga had—that these kinds of things often draw desperate people—felt pretty accurate.
Though, I am too desperate. For dick.
As one would expect, I fled the scene rather quickly. I think I was there for approximately 30 minutes. To my defense I did have another engagement to attend. A private social club party for “the most eligible 20-and-30-something year olds”. It’s a social club that started in London and made its way to New York. And low and behold: It was LIT! I actually enjoyed myself a lot! Everyone received a coin that they could exchange for free champagne upon entrance. Naturally, I walked around and stole 3 more tokens in addition to the one I was given. Everyone at the party was 1) Open and friendly in a pleasing way + 2) Attractive, but not intimidating.
There was only on problem: Everyone was straight (I think?). HOW DO YOU EVEN TELL. But I assumed so, because, upon entrance, I was given a number and told to find my “matching girl with the same number”. I actually immediately blurted out “I’m here for dick”. Luckily the concierge had a good sense of humor and laughed (did she think I was joking? Sad).
The night was not a total loss, however, as I made a new friend. I struck up conversation with a random woman mimicking my every move. A.K.A. also awkwardly standing in the middle of the room upon entrance. She was amazing! Hilarious, authentic, and told me she had the best sense for telling who was gay and who was not—destined for a good friendship, in my opinion.
But, well, that was it. I stared at hot guys, met up with my friend Teiko, then left. Why is there no cool, dope social club for gay romance? Or at least, inclusive of it. I don’t know *pumpkin-spiced-latte concierge, maybe ask me what I’m interested in first (*she was white). Who knows, maybe there is a secret social club with gay men and women. It is probably lame though, because I’m not a part of it. Whatever.
Teiko and I proceeded to purchase a lone bottle of vodka and chug it amidst the streets of Manhattan, before going out to bars in the Lower East Side. Because that’s what you do in these situations. When you can’t choke on cock, choke on **Ciroc.
~~~
*I know not every white girl drinks pumpkin-spiced latte’s, but, well, kind of
**We did not actually drink Ciroc, we obviously drank in the streets of Manhattan to avoid paying for drinks at the bars—welcome to the real New York
I Made a Pact With My Best Friend to Get Laid Before This Weekend (May 2018)
I am not going to do it. I mean, maybe. But probably not. I have this concept in my head that it is a BRILLIANT idea to try and have as much gay sex as I can, because I literally do not know how to do it. And we are young—we will not be able to run around and fuck everything we see when we’re older, unless we live in a commune (kind of down?).
I mean, I am going to be really bad at it until I do it a lot. Over and over and over again. Right? And I do not want to be bad at it! I refuse! I will the best at sucking cock. It is literally like I’m starting over, as if this life is a video game and I erased the memory card and chose a new character.
BUT SERIOUSLY. How do you sit on a dick? How do you fuck if you are not the one thrusting? HOW DO YOU FIT SOMETHING THE SIZE OF A BANANA INTO YOUR MOUTH.
The other day I ate a banana that was especially large, and I thought to myself: Wow, this is uncomfortable. Then I thought to myself: Wow, this will be my life. I am destined to become a banana-jaw-locked-throat-always-open-like-a-mad-Mongolian-singer lifestyle blogger.
I want to explore as much as I possibly can sexually because, well, to put it simply: We only live once. There is so much out there in the world. Shouldn’t we want to discover as much as we can?
This goes beyond fucking different people and transcending cultural, social, gender, or sexual constructs. This is about living our lives. Traveling. Exploring. Trying things we’ve never tried before. Connecting with people in ways we never imagined. It just makes so much sense to me. I know people are different. I guess I just feel like: This is who I am, I know it. I know who I am. I love everything. I want to love everything. I find so many people attractive. So I should have sex with them (with their consent).
The problem is, I am not that casual. I refuse to download Grindr because it is far away from my personal brand. I know it is cringe-worthy that I just said “personal brand”, but I have seriously transformed into a typical Williamsburg yuppie since moving to New York. And I love it.
But hey, I am working on it. I am on the other apps—just not Grindr (at the moment). One day I will reach my dreams. I will see a guy I like, walk up to him, and then we will have crazy rabbit sex in the bathroom. And then perhaps cuddle back at his penthouse apartment while watching Instagram videos about rabbits and dogs being friends.
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With love,
Your favorite capybara ~ AKA Travis Zane
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