An Introduction to Myself

Hello.  I am the Gay Mormon.  Now I know that there are other Gay Mormons out there trying to win your affection.  I am not the only one.  But as far as demographics go, we're fairly endangered because most of us end up killing ourselves or doing lots of meth.  I, somewhat thankfully, have done neither of those.  But I've done my share of fucked. Up. Shit.


I was born.  I shot from my mother's vagina in 1985.  I am a product of the 80s. I love movies.  And I also love a really good male asshole.  Ripened just for me.

But that's because I'm the Gay Mormon.  And you're fucking not.  So if you have a problem with me talking about asshole, move right along, this blog is not for you.

What does it mean to be a living Gay Mormon?  It means I have been forged in steel.

We are a crazy bunch we Mormons.  And the gays?  Don't even get me started.  We are fucking insane.  Put together I'd say you're asking for a rather high level of toxicity.  Well brothers and sisters, I am insane.  Even more so than my mother.

When I was a freshman my mother went insane.  It's a stereotype to say that Mormon housewives are crazy, but like all stereotypes, sometimes they are true.  She became obsessed with The Wizard of Oz, threw out all my black clothing, crawled around on the ground while imitating a pig, thought it was her job to save Africa, and told me to go to sleep wearing gym clothes so that I could become the God I was meant to be.  Because I was a man in heaven, a great, muscular man.

I am skinny as shit, always have been, probably always will be.  I hate sports, won't watch them even if there's nothing else on.  Never, ever participate. Ever. But that didn't stop her from buying me a baseball, a soccer ball, a volleyball, a football, and a basket ball.  She bought me everything but a hockey puck, probably assuming that my bow legged inability to skate would put a damper on that one.  Real madness makes room for logic after all.  

She thought my father was the devil and one spring morning her hysterical screaming woke the neighbors at 5 AM.  She was possessed by demons.

I started masturbating when I was 13.  It filled me with so much guilt (I was expressly forbidden by my father, never to masturbate. Ever.) that I contemplated suicide for the first time.  Every time I orgasmed I said a prayer to help me stop.  My addictive personality was forged by masturbation guilt, an extremely hot fire indeed, which explains why at various times I've been addicted to alcohol, marijuana, cigarettes, and men.  The first three are simple.  The last one is complicated.

I would do anything for a man. Because all my Mormon little boy heart wants to do is get married.  My Gay little boy heart wants to be drop dead gorgeous.  I think they are both impossible goals.  I'm fairly attractive, not drop dead gorgeous, I have a great smile.  And I'm fucking insane.  More insane than my mother. And we already went though how that situation went.

She's fine now, she didn't kill herself, but she was hospitalized for several months.  I was forced to sing in the Mother's Day choir during church and my best friend turned to me and said, "Why are you even singing?  You're mother isn't here."  I walked off the stand, into the parking lot, down the road, around the block before my father caught up with me in his truck and took me home.  I was planning on walking ten miles.  I wanted to get away from that little fucker so fucking much.

I didn't start saying the word fuck until I was 18.  I met a boy who liked to strangle himself with his friends as a party game for middle schoolers.  I didn't have my first kiss, from a woman until I was 16.  A man, 18.  I came out at 16 to the first woman I ever kissed.  I've kissed women since but only when I was wickedass drunk.

Things I've been:  Valedictorian, a full-frontal stripper, an honored film major, a convict, an alcoholic, a recovered alcoholic, a potential HIV candidate, a creative writing major (graduated), a smoothie maker, a ward of the state (TWICE), a 25-year-old man who can't keep a job, who can't get sober, and why is this?  I don't know, I don't have all the answers.

Because I really want to be something.  I was nominated for being the Best Supporting Comedic Actor in the Denver Metro Area last year by the Denver Post.  I'm an Eagle Scout.  I have the ability to do great things.  I might get a job at a bank.  I might get cast in a local production of Bent.  This is who I am now, this is what I do.  I had so much potential.  Which is why I take to blogging.  If you like my blog.  Let. Me. Know.  I love hearing from people who like my work.  It gives me self confidence, which I need.

I have a short story to write.  If you want to learn anything specific about me. Let Me Know.  I want to do film reviews, and cooking reviews, and potentially post new fictional works. But I'm always up for suggestions.  Much love. Yours ever truly.  Adieu, my loves.

-The Gay Mormon