The Pink Wig

What is it about the pink wig that I love so much? Is it the attention?

Nope.

Is it the color itself?

Nah.

Is it the fact that it's a wig?

No.

It's the memories that go into it. What memories?

There was once a very special person in my life. This person was better than any boy at the club or in the office. This person was so near and dear to me. I came to college in the fall of 2010. I had just graduated high school, and I was ready for the next adventure of my life. After only weeks of being there, it was where I was meant to be. I was raised by my father and my mother until the age of 7, at which point my father passed away. My mother turned to drugs, leaving my grandmother to raise me from that point forward.

My grandmother (Memaw) taught me more things in my life than any other person. She taught me to use the love I was gifted with to help someone out. Throughout my life, I have tried to apply to this everything that I do. I slip every once in a while....okay. I slip a lot. But hell, who doesn't?  Memaw was the kindest and most compassionate person I have ever encountered. I sometimes believe that her sole purpose in life was to raise me and instill this kindness and compassion into me. I think she did a great job at doing that.

Memaw suffered from many medical complications. To put it simply, when I go to the doctor I check every box for "family history." Every night, I would pray as I lay in bed. This is something Memaw also taught me to do. She told me that I should always start my prayers by saying thank you for three things. It should be three different things from last night, and three different things from what I will say thanks for tomorrow night. She explained that God is constantly getting requests, complaints, and worries. She then asked me if I would enjoy it if every time she greeted me it was the pains and struggles of her day. It all made too much sense. I was sure to start doing it. Regardless of the three things I would be thankful for, the one consistent prayer I made was this..."Dear God, please allow me to keep Memaw around just until I go to college." I was old enough to know that although I would have preferred her to stick around until I died, she was getting older.

Little did I know, God would definitely accommodate my request. I was a freshman in college when I received a call. It was Memaw. She had told me she was diagnosed with brain cancer. I started crying and she started laughing. She told me not to worry. She told me that everything would work out the way it was meant to be. I was so overwhelmed with dysphoria by this statement. How can she say that? Does she know how much she means to me? I made it a point to try and come home more often with this diagnosis. She's had cancer before, but the fact that it was brain cancer concerned me. Three cancers ago, I made her a promise. If she lost her hair due to chemo or radiation, I would shave my hair off as well. She told me I was stupid and I had better not. Unfortunately, she had no say in the matter. A few weeks after being diagnosed with brain cancer, her hair started falling out. I am a man of my word, so I surprised her with a phone call. All she could hear was the sound of clippers. As emotional as the situation was, I was sure to take advantage of it. I pretended to be Britney Spears while shaving parts of it off.

The next weekend, I decided to go home. I sat in the living room of Memaw's one bedroom apartment in a retirement home and she brought out a notebook. She said we were going to plan her funeral.

Are you fucking serious?

She would have hit my shoulder had she have heard me say the above statement. But for real, are you serious?! I told her no. She then told me something that I will never forget. "Dying is all apart of living." In order to live, we must die. In order to die, we must live. So I sat there. After being awkwardly quiet, I finally said okay. She told me the songs she wanted at her funeral. She told me the poems she wanted read. She told me the pictures she wanted displayed. It was a very surreal moment. I guess funeral planning really takes it out of you, because we were both pretty hungry at the end of it. That's not saying much though. If there is one person I could always count on eating with me, it was Memaw. We decided that we would go to our favorite diner in town. Right before we left, I had an idea. "Memaw, let's have some fun. Let's give the town something to talk about." I told her my idea, and she was completely against it. After 30 minutes of nagging, she finally agreed. When we showed up to the diner, this is what walked through the front door.

                                                                        The Pink Wig.

Although I usually wear the pink wig out and get black out drunk in it, it means much more than that.

Love.
Kindness.
Compassion.
Happiness.
Memories.
Optimism.

But above all, the pink wig means Memaw.

The Waiting Game

Why is it that when we wait for something, that something seems to take forever? That vacation in two months. The payday at the end of the pay period. Hell, it could possibly even be just a simple Friday at end of the week. Wait. Wait. Wait. I'm currently playing the waiting game. Being so competitive, I hate the waiting game. It's a lose/lose. The ball is not in my court. The phone has only 6% battery. The bank account has only $0.92. It's not good no matter how you look at it. Go ahead, try and look at it differently.

I told you so.

So which waiting game am I playing? Allow me to explain.


About three weeks ago, a strapping young lad entered the office. His lips were succulent. His eyes were dreamy. His hair was a little blown by the wind, but hey, you can't have your cake and eat it too, right? Anyway. Upon entering, we made eye contact and he immediately turned away. It was peculiar yet cute. He approached the desk and looked at the front desk manager sitting next to me.

"Hello ma'am. Can you tell me what I would need to do to live on campus during the summer?" She replied with the standard answer, "Absolutely! You will need to be enrolled in 6 credit hours." "Oh. Okay. I don't want to take any classes before I actually start so that's okay."

The entire time I was shooting laser beams into him  staring at him in a dazed state. He of course

"I also have another question. Can you tell me if the music building is open?" My manager noticed my fixated eyeballs me looking his direction. She slyly directed him to me. "Alex here can answer that better than I can." He glanced at me. I smiled. He smiled back then turned his head down. "The music building should be open. They usually are." He smiled....at my manager. "Okay. Thank you both for your help." He started to walk out of the door and glanced at me. He noticed he still held my gaze I was trying to keep eye contact and turned away.

I saw him walking away and I said out loud "Why didn't I give him my number?" Hindsight. What a bitch. Then I did what any normal person at work would do. Tweeted about it. "To whoever that strapping young lad with the succulent lips was that just came into the office, please come back and give me your name and number." The end.

Wrong.

I was sitting at my usual spot here in the office when my manager came in. She looked at me and said "I need to talk to you." I immediately knew I was in trouble. I usually stay that way. She pulled me into the hallway and said "You know that boy that you thought was cute a few weeks ago? The music building guy? Well, I found out that I actually see him when I leave class at night." I said "What?! Why don't you give him my number?!!" She laughed. "Do you honestly want me to? Because I will." "Well duh I want you to. Do it tonight!" She laughed again and said "I will if I see him."

The next day she came into the office. I was waiting to hear what had happened. She came in and had a smile on her face. I knew what this meant. She explained to me that before class, she went to the doctor because her leg was bothering her. The doctor had to remove quite a bit of excess fluid from her knee. She knew she had a test in class that evening, so she didn't want to take any major pain medication so she could take the test without being influenced by the medicine. By the time she left class, she was hot, sweaty, and looked awful. She was slowly walking to her car when he exited the music building.

"Ma'am, are you okay?" She looked at him and explained her situation. "Here. Let me carry your bag for you." She handed her bag over. "Thank you again for helping me a while back when I was in your office." "No thank you for helping me with my bags. It is my job to help you. But speaking of the office, I have someone in there that is interested in you." "Unfortunately, I am not interested in girls. I am sorry." He said. She laughed and said "Luckily for you, it's a guy." She said he perked up a bit. "Oh? Is it the boy I wouldn't look at when I was in there?" "Actually, yes." She said. Excited, he said "Really?!" She nodded her head. "Here. I am going to give you his number and you can text him if you'd like." "His number? Really?! I...I am kind of a shy person. I'm actually very shy. That's why I didn't want to look at him when I was in your office. Is it okay if I take your number as well? I mean, if I need your help or anything. I'm new to the area and I don't really know anyone." She smiled. "Not a problem at all." At this point, they reached her car. He opened her door for her, took her bag to the other side, came back around to her and said "Are you sure you're okay to drive? It's not a problem at all if I need to call your husband or anything." She said "No. Thank you very much though." He smiled and told her to have a good night.

Wait.

Now I wait. It's been two days now, and I've yet to hear anything from the music building boy.  My office keeps telling me to be patient. I don't have patience. I have never had patience. He seemed to be interested in me. I am interested in him. So now what happens?

There's only one thing that is keeping me between meeting this boy.

Wait.

Friend Zoned

What do you do when there's an individual that you find attractive, but they are incredibly vague as to how they really feel about you? I mean, you text a lot. Daily. You text a lot daily. But that's the extent of the relationship. He is too busy with work. You're too busy school. They are too busy for each other. Yet, somehow, they continue to communicate daily with characters and emojis.

There's laughter. Lots of laughter. Laughter is good for the heart, mind, body, and soul. You both definitely manage to text "ha," "haha," or my personal favorite "hahahahaha" a decent amount of times each day.

There's his personality. He makes you laugh. He makes you envious of his accomplishments.  When he texts you nerdy things, he makes you want to meet him. Nerds are hot.

There's flirting. Oh yeah, there's definitely that. But is that all there is? Two individuals who like to flirt? How do you find out what the other is thinking? When you ask, he simply says he's very busy with work. But is that the true reason behind those hazel eyes?

There's his body. Wow. Does he have a body or what? You've only seen it once in a pic. It almost lead to sexting, but that came later. Is that the reason you haven't met? Is his body too good for yours? We always tell ourselves we can do better. But at what point can you not do any better? Can you sell yourself short by trying too hard?

Speaking of sexting, maybe that's what he wants. Sex. You've only sexted maybe twice, but maybe you sent out the wrong impression.

There's always giving up. Is it your fault you haven't met or is it his? Is it anyone's fault at all? Is it an actual problem or something you've created within yourself?

Is this the true meaning of the "friend zone?" Does one know that you're in the friend zone if it's never verbally said? Should you just assume you're in the friend zone?

You'd like to think he gets you. He puts up with your antics. Encourages you to be who you are and wear what you want. So what is stopping either of you?

It's a simple fix to escape the friend zone, right? Wrong.

Maybe he simply thinks you're crazy. I mean, you kind of are. Right? Right.

The Boy In the Pink Wig

Some of you may or may not know, but I have had some insecurities come about that have been something of a problem for me lately. I'm not going to share this with you in hopes of gaining compliments or encouragement. That is not the reason I am writing this. In order for you to understand the true beauty of it all, you have to know the struggles that went into it.

I have been single for a little over a year quite some time. Over this year, I have lost weight, bought different clothes, changed habits, created hobbies... All in hopes of finding someone to call mine. I knew all along changing things about myself to seem more attractive to someone was a stupid decision, but we make stupid decisions daily. This one can just be added to my list.

After some self-evaluation, discussion with prospects, and most definitely some heartache, I realized that being a boy who likes heels probably doesn't help my cause in the search for a companion. Most (if not all) guys I encountered along my journey only wanted "masculine" guys, and I'm smart enough to know that sequined tops, pink wigs, and stilettos aren't going to pass as masculine. For those who didn't actually prefer "masc" guys, they ended up just not preferring me.

I was dancing last night in the typical weekend outfit consisting of a skirt and wig, minus the heels. I tried wearing a new pair out the night before and ended up coming home with a few blisters. I am dancing and having a great time when I see a girl dragging her friend my direction.

(imagine this conversation happening while slightly intoxicated and with twerk inducing music pounding through your soul)

"Hi! My friend thinks you're cute."
"Tell your friend I think he's cute."
She turns to him. "He thinks you're cute!!!"

He shyly laughs, and realized he might need a little more encouragement.  He throws back what little Amaretto Sour he had left, and stepped closer. "Wanna dance?" He asks. Without question, I reply "Duh." So we danced. After a good 7-8 songs of grinding, twerking, werking, and dirty dancing, he says to me "I think I'm going to go dance with my friends some more. They will be mad if I don't." "That's okay. Go have fun with them! I prefer to dance onstage so everyone can see me." I say in reply. He laughs. "Well, I'll keep an eye out for some killer moves. Thank you for dancing with me." As I start to reply, he grabs my face, pulls me in and works my mouth like a Wal-Mart store on the first of the month. 

It was Heaven.

I had fun. I was so happy I had finally gotten, although short lived, some romantic attention from an attractive guy. I didn't even have to log in to Grindr. I continued dancing, because I knew that my fun was over.

Wrong.

Three songs later, he came back. "I...I have been watching you dance and it turns me on so badly. Can we dance together some more?" He took my smile for the "yes" that it was meant to be and grabbed me by the waist and started moving to the music. Remember the part where I was wearing a skirt? Apparently, the combination of a hot and sweaty boy grinding on me plus the hormones I was blessed with caused parts of my male anatomy to emerge. I didn't particularly care until the bachelorette party came at me with open hands, if you catch my drift. The bride-to-be said she loved two things.

Roosters and cats. Think about it.

Prince Charming The guy I was dancing with laughed out loud. He told the women that "unfortunately I was his for the night." I was more than okay with it. We danced some more and he caught me staring at him like an 11 year girl (or guy) does to their Zac Efron poster on their ceiling. He stopped dancing and said "I'm sure people criticize and judge you a lot for your fun clothes, don't they?" I laughed a little and said "yeah!" He shook his head and said "I hate people who are like that. I find your pink wig cute. But I bet the person under the wig is even cuter."

I took the wig off.

He smiled and said "You shouldn't hide that face from the world."

This time, I grabbed his face and started kissing him. I held nothing back. I didn't care that there were 200 people around me with the ability to watch my every move. This was my moment.

Our moment.

We stopped kissing and he said "I want to get to know you more, so badly." I replied "Let's do it." His gorgeous smile slowly turned into a gorgeous frown. He said "I don't think I'd get anything out of one day but sadness." I said "Well it's a good thing it doesn't have to be just one day!" He said "I head back for the army on Monday."

Suddenly I was in my own twisted episode of Army Wives. Disappointed, I said "That sucks." After all of this time, I had finally met a man that found my crazy clothing, wigs, and dance moves attractive. I think he could see the true disappointment in me. He then replied "Yeah, it truly does. But what sucks more are the people that judge and criticize you. Never let the haters throw you off. They're just jealous they can't rock a pink cat wig."

There it is. 

Such a bittersweet moment in time. The culmination of quite possibly the biggest insecurity I face, resolved by a stranger.

After more dancing, I took his number and walked away with many mixed emotions. Happy it happened. Sad it was over. Mad it couldn't last longer. A longing for more.

I woke up today less drunk but more clear on how I felt about it. I didn't text him. I couldn't text him.  It would be just another bad decision to add to the list. I went to a film festival which required me to turn off my phone for periods of time. When I finally turned my phone back on, I had three text messages. The first, a simple smile emoticon. The second, a simple "Thank you for the incredible time last night." The third, "I was hoping we could hang out before I left Monday. Let me know if you're still interested."

Of course I was.

I replied to him and invited him to the festival, as my friend managed to score an extra pass. He replied "I would love that. However, I just received some news that is going to make me leave a little sooner than expected. I'm throwing my crap in my car right now. I'm so sorry. I think you're very handsome. Please don't hate me. I really wanted it." I sat there for a moment, trying to form some sort of response, and instead turned my phone back off. After the next two screenings, I turned my phone back on and finally had a response.

"I'm sorry we didn't get to hang. You're very attractive yourself.  Make me a promise...I can only speak from personal experience, but it definitely had an impact on me. Always dance with the boy in the pink wig. You never know how happy it could make him."

A Boy Who Likes Heels

I have been so bothered the past few weeks with a lot of things. The one thing that seems to be a continual frustration for me, is the fact that members of the LGBTQI community are so quick to say "don't judge us," yet, we are also the quickest to judge. I'm not going to sit here and say I don't judge. I do. I am a bitch, I admit. But, to simply put it, I'm human. It happens.  However, why must we be labeled?

I am a man. I like men. I like to wear women's clothing. I don't want to be a woman. I don't want to marry a woman. I don't want to look like, act like, sound like, or BE like a woman.

A friend who is very similar to me said "Do you realize that if we lived in a society where gender stereotypes weren't such an issue, it wouldn't be an issue at all that you are wearing heels right now."

Stop. Think...

How much more true can a statement be? Furthermore, why have we let it become a standard that a female in her boyfriend's boxers is natural, but a male in female panties is wrong? I'm not going to lie. As I type this, I even think the sight of this is peculiar. But why???

Let's backtrack a little bit. Why can't I wear a sequined top I purchased for $0.99 and some heels without being considered a "drag queen?" Is it the fact that I'm wearing a pink cat wig? Why can't I just do me? More importantly, if I were to do drag, do you honestly think I wouldn't try little bit harder?  

HELLO?

I guess at the end of my rant, I leave you with this. This dilemma I face on an regular basis.  Why must I have so many labels to describe who I am?  With all of these labels, which one am I?

Mammal.
Human.
Man.
Gay.
Fem.
Queer.

I am all of those. But which one am I? When asked to define myself, what do I say? In a perfect world, I'd get away with not being labeled as anything. Alas, the world isn't perfect and neither was my bar tab. So, what is that something? Why can't I just be a boy who likes heels?