and happy birthday

Wow, yesterday it was my blog's birthday. I wish I remembered yesterday and not this morning.
Yesterday was also the day someone linked me a profile against me on planetromeo.com

donttrust-asshole is so funny I'm almost proud of it and I'm definitely not going to ask the admins to shut it down. The tagline says "Don't trust this piece of shit".
Basically I'm gonna print the profile and use it whenever someone robs/beats/threatens/offends me and I'll start screaming that it's an organized hate crime.
Before now, I wanted to use the hate crime thing to make money in a more simple way, like get someone to harass me and beat me, while screaming how gay I am to men and how I love wearing pink panties - but it seems someone made it easier to me. So good job. And thank you.

I'm kind of glad for the photo choice. If I ever made a hate profile that has to say "stay away from this bitch" I would definitely pick some bad photos. In these I look skinny and chic.
He also made me like 2 cm taller and at least 4 kilos lighter - so flattering.
The description says "Stay away from this asshole, he'll ruin your life. Don't trust him, no matter what. He said my parents I have AIDS (and I don't). He set my scooter on fire 'cause, he said, he likes watching to things burning from across the street. I left him my cat for a week while I was away and when I came back he said I never had a cat. He threw my iPhone in a fountain 'cause he wanted to make a wish. He made me drop 12 kilos and then told me he's more into meaty guys. Stay away from this slut.".
First of all, I'm gonna make this into my official bio.
Doesn't sound like I'm Satan? Or actually, doesn't it sound like Satan, compared to me, is more or less a pretty puppy in a box abandoned next to a trash bin? So cute.
Then, it has to be someone who knows me well since I've done couple of these things and the others sound pretty ok to me.
I only regret he didn't also link my planetromeo profile - I'd get so many messages.
I got some, actually, but like less than five. And they were all like "You should go to a mental hospital" or "If I see you on the streets I'm gonna kill you". Nice admiration letters, right?
So thank you stranger, it's the best way to celebrate my blog's birthday.
I'm so obsessed with it that I wish I had the password to this profile just to read the messages this guy gets.

am I not super fancy? I mean, getting shitfaced hands free.

I was sitting on my sofa sending resumes and thinking that september should be totes like new years eve 'cause is actually on september that the new year begins. So I started thinking that I should have resolutions for this new beginning. Resolutions like: quit smoking, go on rehab to solve my problems with alcohol and get a job.

I put my suit on and I went on a job interview. It was like a place where they refill cartridges for printers. I was there on time and the boss was all like – Aren't you supersweating in your suit? – and I was all like – I know this is a poor people's place, but it doesn't mean I have to look poor as well.

Of course I didn't get the job.

One hour later I was buying cigarettes and gulping down a whole glass of vodka. It was thursday night and I went to the VFNO thing. I ended up in the v.i.p. area at Vivienne Westwood, talking to local celebrities about their new boobs and getting shitfaced. Everyone was all like – How are you? – and I was all like – Superfine. Basically I'm feeling like a diamond ring. – when I was meaning – I hate myself and I want to die.

I don't really remember what happened next, but around 4 a.m. I was like 5 km away from home, having close to no money. On account of the fact I couldn't afford a taxi and on account of the fact there was no public transportation going, I walked the whole way home. Since I was fucked up and walking was boring, I called all the people I shouldn't have called: my ex-husband and my ex-boyfriend and my step-father's office.

I also had couple sandwiches, which lead to me feeling fat and hating myself even more.

I woke up the next morning trying to think about the whole situation positively. I may not know what happened to me and how it happened, but it's mysterious and I'm gonna have so much fun figuring it out.

I basically wiped my ass with my freshly made resolutions, but whatever. I mean, it's not like I have a future or something.

Then I kinda had flashbacks and I figured out I ended up in some bar just 'cause I needed someone to tell me I was pretty and wanting me and whatever. It was a very dark moment, let's say. I always get in a very dark place when I get shitfaced.

The morning after my mother came to visit and we went on shopping. Actually she was shopping, I was more like following her around and making her get in every single Sephora so I could smell the new Lady Gaga perfume (anyway, pretty ew). A guy winked and smiled at me from across the staircase in a shop and I yelled – Ew! Gross!

My mom asked me what happened, and I said – A guy just smiled at me. – and she pointed at him and also yelled – Ew! Gross! – we almost had a deep connection for a second.

For the whole day I've been pretending I was happy and chic and charming and shit, just 'cause I felt like my mother kinda needed to see my happy, so she wouldn't feel sorry for her son (or guilty 'cause it's her fault I'm on this planet).

We were at Zara and I pointed out a pair of random shoes and asked my mom if she would get them for me. She said she would and then I asked if she would get them for me even if I'd never wear them. She said she would, she's not even sure if she actually wants any of the things she bought, she said she's buying stuff to fill some void or whatever. That was probably another deep connection we were having.

We went on dinner to some chic place where starters costed more than the money I get for a whole week. Everyone around us seemed so happy and cheerful and festive, like laughing and shit. We were doing the same and I started wondering if everyone was just pretending. Maybe all the people around me were in a dark place, just they didn't feel like standing up and make it clear and run to the bathroom to press their faces against the cold floor and have a power-nap.

My mother said something like – What should one do when there's so many things to choose from and nothing someone actually wants?

I answered – Well, there's a supercheap solution. You like go to the supermarket, get a bottle of bleach and gulp it down. Oh, well, I didn't want to mean that you should do that. I was speaking in general.

She said – Don't worry, it's ok. I actually wanna die. But I don't want you to be an orphan. No one wants to be friend with orphans. That's so not chic.

Then it was kinda clear and overwhelming: probably my mom's the only person who will love/understand me 'till the end of times. Which led to me having an emotional breakdown after she left. I even cried. I probably cried 'cause I've always been a bad son. And it was kinda shocking. I never thought I'd think something like that. I'd never assume I'd be wise enough to care. And due to my inability to show emotions, she will never know we're way closer than she'd ever assume.

Which led to me having another emotional breakdown.

Which leads to me being home and everything's superclean and I don't even care.

and watching to movies for adults

As most of the people, I watch to porn to get off. There's nothing to be shy about, it's something we all do. Anyways.

I googled what was the most recommended porn and I found a link to a so-called classy movie. It had good reviews. Basically lists of things people came on while watching to it.

I was so ready. I had my porn buffering, a bag of candy, a sandwich and a glass of wine (I usually prefer pop corn or potato chips, but the grocery store was already closed).

The movie was set in a villa. The villa wasn't even that nice and the pool was surrounded by fences, which actually distracted me. If it's your pool, why should you have fences between your pool and your villa? Maybe the pool belonged to someone else's villa.

This distracted me a lot. And, especially when I watch to porn, I don't like being distracted 'cause if I'm distracted, I start to think. And if I start to think, blood rushes to my brain. So it's pretty counterproductive.

A man is taking a shower. The man is very tanned and wrinkles are never in fashion. But whatever, I guess the tan is part of being a porn star. And I'm pretty sure it was a real tan since spray tan wouldn't survive to a shower.
The story was pretty simple: while one man is taking a shower, a second man with a camera gets, all of a sudden and by mistake, in the bathroom and he's all like -- Let's make a sex tape!
I usually prefer my porn to have something happening before sex, but like, are you fucking kidding me? Is there even anyone writing scripts for this? I hope not.

an open letter to okcupid.com

Dear okcupid.com

I thought you were THE thing. I read about you and I had this vision of me finding the true love through you. It's actually so rare for a gay man to find a dating website where nudity is not allowed.

I answered to million questions you asked me and I was flattered that something's so into me. And then I would've assumed that you' would've taken all my answers to do something with them. Well, I guess one should never assume things.

With your cheap sense of humor, you tricked me into thinking you were cool and I shared my most private visions with you. I told you about that time I fell asleep on the subway and dreamed I was married to Zachary Quinto and he was pregnant and then gave birth to pugs. I told you about that time I drank baking soda, convinced it was aspirin, and got confused about the pain not going away. I hate being confused. I was so confused I had cake. You know how observant I am about certain things. You know it 'cause I told you so.

I treated you like if you were my best friend from 5^th grade. Yes, that one who then had a car accident and now barely has a face and got fat and I couldn't be friends with him no more.

I trusted you andI feel very violated now. You cheated on me. YOU RAPED ME.

And then you made fun of me.

You know I never liked people with blue eyes or people with facial piercings and still, you call them “quiver matches” and shove them into my face. You even dared to suggest me my step-brother, you said he was perfect for me and that I should write him a message. If I may ask, what should I have written in that message? Family lunch was cool? How's granny?

He's not even gay.

You said I'm 39.

You're worse than e-harmony, you're worse than beautifulpeople. I hope your system crashes.

Your advertisings are creeping the shit out of me.

And I know that everyone deserves love, but when you're matching people, could you please start matching pretty with pretty, hot with hot and ugly with ugly? If you do already, means you probably think I'm ugly, so it means that you should eat shit straight from some leper's butthole.

That's all.

With love,

Filip.
P.S. Yes, I'm totes keeping my profile.
P.P.S. If you, okcupid.com get to read this, feel free obligated to donate. The button is on the right.
P.P.P.S. If you don't donate, you're dead to me.
P.P.P.P.S. Recently you said this guy I already knew is perfect for me. He's not (rumors say he's into eating poop). I met him at a party sunday night and I had to spend like half an hour repeating -- It's not gonna happen! -- can you imagine how many other bright conversations I could've had in that time? Guess you can't.

another open letter to Zachary Quinto

Dear Zachary Quinto,
I know that technically an open letter doesn't really require an answer. I know it. But I couldn't find your mobile number anywhere on the internet (if I did, now you'd be getting 8444747537357735 texts a day).
I found out you wear stone washed denim (not chic) and that you have a boyfriend already (I hope you're fucking kidding).

About your boyfriend:

1 - Is he a meme? He totes looks like a meme.
2 - Your eyebrows are totes not matching, that means you're not a matching couple, which also means you need to break up ASAP.
3 - He's not me.
4 - He's in the cast of Glee. You have to be kidding me. If he was Oleg from 2 Broke Girls, I could get that. I could understand that choice and maybe I could even approve your love. But he's not Oleg. And more important, HE'S NOT ME.
5 - This is not really related, but you should never ever wear a hat and sunglasses at the same time, unless you're undercover. This photo makes me think you are. Well, there's no hiding place safe enough - I am gonna find you.
6 - Still unrelated, but I feel like you're a lost soul in a fashion purgatory. I could rescue you when, at the same time, it's totes obvi that your boyfriend can't.
7 - How do you spend your time together? Dancing and singing? When you have your shit together and you're ready to finally move on from this dark place you're finding yourself and come on the bright side (via marring me), drop me a call.
8 - He's not me.
9 - I can do what he can do so much better.

I guess I made it so clear that if I'd drag your bf through the courts, I'd totes win.
You're mine.

Desperately yours,
Filip.

an open letter to Zachary Quinto

Dear Zachary Quinto,
you probably don't know me yet, but we're meant to be together. I didn't know it as well, but today I saw you in American Horror Story and I had this enlightenment.
First of all, let's agree that denim shirts are totally not chic. I will accept it if you promise to never wear them again, without further investigation (Google).
I've never been your fan, which I guess it's better, so our future life together will be less psycho-esque. Or more psycho-esque. We'll see.
We have matching eyebrows. That's pretty rare. I'm pretty sure that even in 10 years you won't find anyone who has eyebrows that match perfectly to yours. Having paparazzis chasing the two of us will lead to pictures that will be the ultimate chic. Especially if you hire a stylist - I'm pretty surprised there are no blogs exploring your fugly fashion sense yet.
Anyway, I don't mind.
We're meant to be together. I am totes looking forward for a second hand fame and for american documents (so marry me).
Actually.
Marry me.
I have this vision of the two of us having a funeral-styled wedding. When the priest will say -- You may kiss the bride! -- we can make it happen in a coffin. Then we can take a nap in there and the guests will eat the cake on our dead-for-fake bodies. Lana Del Rey will sing 'cause she's the best at making happy moments even happier.
If you're as psycho as I've seen on American Horror Story, you probably spend your time Googling your name (or have interns to do that for you). So if you come across this open letter, drop me a call.
Love you,
Filip.
P.S. I will also need 2000$ a month for the next two years, so I'll be able to turn the second hand fame I'll get from you into a first hand fame via publishing a New York Times bestseller.
P.P.S. I will blog about our intimacy. Since I lately decided I'm not into sex, I'll let you have all the affairs you want if you let me film them.
P.P.P.S. I will write a novel about the two of us and I won't change the names.

and higher awareness

The world should be divided in two categories: people who do porn and people who watch porn. The second category should never ever try to do the things they see the first category doing. There should really be a tag like DON'T TRY THIS AT HOME.

Trying to do a remake of the things seen in porn movies is always very exhausting, dirty and leads to days of regret.

First of all, people in porn are always perfectly shaved. Ok, there's the kind of porn in which men are really hairy, but in the end, you'll find the same men shaved in some occasions. Or at least their butts are perfectly smooth. Obviously, no one was ever born covered in hair like Big Foot, but with a smooth ass. Means that people shaved it.

I was very ok about it, 'till the moment I had to shave almost all my body 'cause I got crabs (since I was stupid enough to try to do a remake of some porn situation). I know that they say you can get rid of crabs even without shaving, I know it and I read about it. Well, many things are said or written, without being true.

The very moment I shaved, things were ok, and even one hour later. Then everything started itching like hell and I started dreaming about stabbing my body 'till it would turn into something close to a raw burger.

Why no one ever talks about razor bumps?

We all kinda know that the option exists, but not talking about it makes it not important.

Well, it should be the first thing mentioned about shaving. They should put a huge picture on razor boxes like they do put pictures of lung cancer on packs of cigarettes in some countries.

If it was Halloween, I could be wandering naked on the streets, saying I'm a leper. Not overreacting. I Googled it.

Luckily my thighs don't touch each other. Unluckily my butt cheeks do.

I want also to underline what kind of waste of time is shaving. I had the time to watch to Touristas and the Ring 2 and I was still undone. I thought watching horror movies was very appropriate.

My balls are really itching and pornstars always, I mean ALWAYS, have their balls shaved. How do they do? It's definitely some stunt man's secret.

Anyway, I think I missed a huge chance. Having a STD should be that moment in which you have sex with all the people you hate and you spread the plague. Like why didn't I have this moment of higher awareness before?

Actually the people I hate most are part of my family, so maybe I should have had sex with my cousins' and step-siblings' patners so they would give crabs to them. For example, I hate my cousin too much to even just touch him. At family lunches I usually sit at the opposite side of the table and make sure that I never touch stuff after he touched it. If someone touches the stuff after he touched it, then is ok. It's like that person took all his negative energy and whatever.

I wish I was in Tuscany like 4 days a go (the peak of crabbyness). I would've gone visit all my relatives and rub my crotch on their towels and blankets. Maybe even pillows.

Anyway, everyone's so excited about anal. Ok, gay people don't really have choice. But straight people. Come on!

I wish I knew who invented anal. Was he all like "oh, that's the hole you poop from? Let me stick my dick in it!"? How it was invented it's gonna be, to me, a mystery forever. And I guess it's too late to investigate. It was even mentioned in the Bible. That book written by God himself. Right.

Are Bibles even on sale or is it something people get for free somehow? And if they're on sale, how much do they cost?

More things I'll never know.

Anyway, anal is gross.You risk to touch your partner's poop with your dick during the intercourse. It's like a russian roulette, but instead of risking death, you risk having shit smeared on your cock. 

And russian roulette is so chicer. Lady Gaga even mentions it in Poker Face. Somehow she doesn't mention anal. And Poker Face is an awesome song, even Cartman said so.

Wait, probably my deep thoughts on anal don't make sense to most of the people because they'd say "my dick will never get smeared in shit 'cause I use condoms". Right, condoms. For real?

I know this is gonna bring me thousands of haters, but I don't believe in condoms, it's 'cause I don't believe in AIDS. Isn't it some scary invention? Like an evil baby-eater witch from a fairy tale? I don't even know anyone who has AIDS. 

Whatever, now it's nap time for me.

You're welcome.