break the cycle

every time me and my friends ride a bus we play a game. see we don’t have jobs so it’s the cheapest entertainment we can afford. its called spot the fag, and the rules are pretty simple. see a fag, point them out. the more masculine the more points they’re worth, the more flamboyant then the lower the score. its pretty simple, and straight to the point, and i’ve never lost a game the last three years. the only problem is, i’m kinda a fag.

but not really. see i’ve never dated a guy before, never had the urge to either. i’ve never found a guy attractive on an emotional level. it’s always “he could get it” or “damn, i bet he’d look good bent over moanin my name” or “i wonder if he’s packing” i’ve never had a moment where i was like “i wonder if he’d make a great boyfriend.” i haven’t had one of those moments. i’m waiting, but i don’t think it will ever happen.

things are different with girls though. some would say i’m a sucka for love, and i’d agree. i let my relationships define who i am, and i fall hard. fast and hard. there’s just something about a girl that makes me want to give away my love. i mean i’ve had sex with one or two girls, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world if i never had any more male on female action. i guess i’m weird like that, or maybe just way too complicated. i should be less complicated, but its hard out here for a pimp.

every time me and my friends ride a bus we play a game of spot the fag and i never lose. maybe it’s this whole “gaydar” thing, but i don’t think it is. if there’s really a “gaydar” then logic says there should be some sort of “straightdar” and i’ve never heard about it. i think the reason i win every time is because i notice things that most people don’t.

i’ve been a professional people watcher since the age of seven. we all have our weird quirks. we all have our tale tell signs of secrets we don’t want the world to know, and i just happen to be able to spot these signs in most people. take this red headed guy sitting behind me. he has a nice physique, so that explains why his shirt is one size too small. his voice fits his six foot two frame, so that doesn’t help us either, but his face. his face is awkward looking. there’s something off about his face and its not his chiseled jaw line. its his eyebrows. they’re too perfect, they’re too stiff, they’re not natural, and they’re fuckin arched.

dun, dun, dunnn.


now i’m all for the mani/pedi of the modern day metrosexual and new millennium man, but getting your eyebrows arched is still pretty gay. so i point him out to my friends, score seventy five points, and win the game. i win the game again, but i can’t help but to find the irony in it all.
the game is called spot the fag. i’m a fag. and i’m the biggest score of them all. all my friends have to do is look to the left, to the left and yell out jace yang, and they would win. they would win the game, get a free bus trip to wherever they’d like, and i would finally be out of my straight gay closet. but they never do. so i stay inside my crowded closet full of skeletons, and hide from reality.

i’m jace yang.

i’m nineteen years old and i’m stuck in a never ending cycle.

this is my life.

i need to break the cycle.

jace

every time i ride a bus me and my friends play a game. see we don’t have jobs, because we’re not “qualified,” but how qualified do you really have to be to work at a fast food restaurant. i understand why THEY aren’t qualified: anthony is inconsiderate, lo is irresponsible, phil is well, he’s phil, dirty, rude, and an all around ass, but i’m not like them.

i’m considerate. i really am. every time i cross a street and a car just happens to be turning in that direction and starts to honk their horn, because i’m not moving fast enough, i don’t immediately reach into my pocket, take out one of my many x-acto knives, and flatten their tires. no, i don’t do that, because that’s something anthony would do. i instead, stop what i’m doing, take a moment to consider my actions, and then i have a fit of road rage, and then continue crossing the street. i consider their feelings and then i go with my gut reaction which usually involves screaming and a few flicks of the middle finger, but i do consider their feelings. because i am considerate.

i’m also responsible. i’m the oldest of seven kids. technically i’m not, but i feel like i’m the oldest. i pick up brothers from school, i take brothers to all their sports practices, i remember to give brothers medicine, and i even forge signatures on report cards for brothers because i am the responsible one in the family, and they say i’m not “qualified.”

but most importantly i am not phil. i’m fuckin jace. jace moutherfuckin yang. i’m the complete opposite of phil. phil is an ass. i’m not. phil is rude. i’m not. phil is dirty. and i’m a pretty clean cut guy, plus i’m considerate and i’m responsible and i have work experience. how the hell am i not “qualified.”

i worked at a fast food chain for two years of my life, and yes i may have locked a manager in a freezer, but you had to have been there to understand the situation. she was old and she was senile. and the entire day she was complaining about how hot she was. so i did what any responsible, considerate, not phil eighteen year old boy would do. i suggested she go have a seat in the freezer for a few minutes so she could cool down.

is it my fault i accidentally locked the door while she was in there. i mean, i eventually remembered she was in the freezer and ran with the quickest pace to let her out, and she didn’t die. she just cried a lot. her tears were like diamonds; frozen liquid tears. i must say they were the most beautiful tears i’ve ever seen, but that didn’t last too long. she called the store manager and i was fired on the spot. since then i’ve been “unqualified” for any job i applied for. aint that some shit.