I came across these bizarre videos of a man in drag impersonating Chloe Sevigny awhile back, and now, she's been to Pittsburgh and tells viewers her favorite things of the city.
September 30, 2014
Chloe Sevigny Does Pittsburgh
I came across these bizarre videos of a man in drag impersonating Chloe Sevigny awhile back, and now, she's been to Pittsburgh and tells viewers her favorite things of the city.
Girl, You're Dating a 'Mo
Female readers, I ask you, has the thought ever crossed your mind that your boyfriend could be a raging homosexual? Closeted, of course. With online dating apps like Tinder, OKCupid, Grindr, etc., taking over as the easiest way for our generation to meet a potential partner, I pose a major risk with some men today and the ease of accessing these apps.
I'm not going to lie, courting a "straight" man is something thrilling to me. I'm attracted to masculinity and confidence, something most notably characteristic of your typical "bro" from college or pretty boy down the street. What most of you don't know is how EASY it is to come across this type. If you've ever logged onto Grindr from you gay BFF's phone, you may realize how many men do not list a face picture. Granted, some guys enjoy their privacy. I'm openly gay, yet respect my right to privacy with these otherwise creepy and slutty apps available today. What is especially eery about most of these headless torsos is that they're sometimes "down-low" men who are "curious", "bisexual", or just looking for a hole to stick it in. These men are sometimes (most of the time) "straight".
What I can never fathom is a "straight" man who enjoys fucking other guys, giving head, or taking it in the ass themselves. How can they call themselves "straight" when they ironically like the taste of dick? Let me tell you a little story of how an innocent hook-up I had turned into a crazy scenario resulting in myself almost ruining a 6-year relationship.
I met a guy off one of the gay dating apps, "Scruff". (These names are hilarious, are they not?) I deemed him cute and after several days of talking, I felt he was relatively normal enough to invite over to hang out. What I didn't realize was that he wasn't interested in my company, but instead, my dick. "Luke" came over several times over a span of two months to "have a little fun" when we each had downtime. This is soooo typical for the majority of gay guys using these apps, but definitely out of character for myself. The thrill for me was that he wasn't out... and I was drowning in grad school with two jobs on the side. Some fun wasn't going to hurt. After awhile, I just wasn't into it anymore. He was inevitably very sketchy, so I stopped returning his requests to "have fun".
Months later, a fellow gay friend of mine was telling me about a guy he knows from his dorm days that pulled him into a club's bathroom to make out one night. The kicker: he was "straight" and had a girlfriend. Obviously, I asked for this closet-case's name and searched him on Facebook. It was none-other than "Luke". When I originally met "Luke", I thought it was odd I couldn't find anyone with his first and last name on Facebook, having come from an area where most of my friends were from: Bridgeport, WV. Once I had Luke's real name, I started creeping on his photos. This "down-low" guy happened to be in the same fraternity as one of my good friends from grad school, who I sat next to each day. After breaking this news to the gay friend who told me, he continued to tell me that "Luke" and his girlfriend had in fact been together for SIX years. SIX YEARS... and this motherfucker gets off by sucking dick.
Betrayed and baffled that someone would go to such great lengths to keep their true identity from me, I told my friend who was in the same frat as him. His response was the best: he wasn't surprised. His friends had always suspected "Luke" of being gay. I made sure that my friend wouldn't say anything of this revelation, because I would actually fear my life had he come after me, or worse, that others wouldn't believe me. Believe this, bitches, I keep evidence of this shit for YEARS. I mean, I had texts and pictures to prove it.
What I didn't do, which I still question to this day, is contact the poor girl who was dating this bastard. I mean, her boyfriend was cheating on her... with another man. I didn't feel it was the right place to "out" someone, fearing my own safety, nor was their relationship any of my business. Maybe there's a mutual agreement... maybe she's a lesbian? Who fucking knows. I had done the right thing months ago by ending it because of his suspicious and sketchy demeanor, anyways.
What irks me the most of this very true account is that the poor girl still doesn't know her boyfriend of SIX YEARS likes the taste of cock. Even more scary, STDs run rampant through both the straight and gay communities. Let's face it, though, a stigma is attached to gays for having higher HIV/AIDS cases. If this "straight" man happened to contract an STD of that kind and pass it along to his girlfriend, there would be no excuse for his actions. I may even turn my head if the woman wanted to castrate her cheating, closeted, and infected boyfriend.
With all that out in the open, riddle me this: 1 out of 10 men are assumed to be gay. Of that 10%, what percentage is closeted? My guess is that the closeted portion, the portion who may still sleep with and date girls to affirm their "masculinity," is MUCH LARGER than you'd think. If you have ever suspected your boyfriend of being gay, think long and hard. Go through his phone, check his internet history. If you have the slightest idea that your boyfriend really bats for the other team, major red flags should be raised. You can never be too sure... or too safe.
Tune in tomorrow for ways to detect whether you're dating a raging homosexual. I may even throw in MORE true accounts from my end.
-dylsny
I'm not going to lie, courting a "straight" man is something thrilling to me. I'm attracted to masculinity and confidence, something most notably characteristic of your typical "bro" from college or pretty boy down the street. What most of you don't know is how EASY it is to come across this type. If you've ever logged onto Grindr from you gay BFF's phone, you may realize how many men do not list a face picture. Granted, some guys enjoy their privacy. I'm openly gay, yet respect my right to privacy with these otherwise creepy and slutty apps available today. What is especially eery about most of these headless torsos is that they're sometimes "down-low" men who are "curious", "bisexual", or just looking for a hole to stick it in. These men are sometimes (most of the time) "straight".
What I can never fathom is a "straight" man who enjoys fucking other guys, giving head, or taking it in the ass themselves. How can they call themselves "straight" when they ironically like the taste of dick? Let me tell you a little story of how an innocent hook-up I had turned into a crazy scenario resulting in myself almost ruining a 6-year relationship.
I met a guy off one of the gay dating apps, "Scruff". (These names are hilarious, are they not?) I deemed him cute and after several days of talking, I felt he was relatively normal enough to invite over to hang out. What I didn't realize was that he wasn't interested in my company, but instead, my dick. "Luke" came over several times over a span of two months to "have a little fun" when we each had downtime. This is soooo typical for the majority of gay guys using these apps, but definitely out of character for myself. The thrill for me was that he wasn't out... and I was drowning in grad school with two jobs on the side. Some fun wasn't going to hurt. After awhile, I just wasn't into it anymore. He was inevitably very sketchy, so I stopped returning his requests to "have fun".
Months later, a fellow gay friend of mine was telling me about a guy he knows from his dorm days that pulled him into a club's bathroom to make out one night. The kicker: he was "straight" and had a girlfriend. Obviously, I asked for this closet-case's name and searched him on Facebook. It was none-other than "Luke". When I originally met "Luke", I thought it was odd I couldn't find anyone with his first and last name on Facebook, having come from an area where most of my friends were from: Bridgeport, WV. Once I had Luke's real name, I started creeping on his photos. This "down-low" guy happened to be in the same fraternity as one of my good friends from grad school, who I sat next to each day. After breaking this news to the gay friend who told me, he continued to tell me that "Luke" and his girlfriend had in fact been together for SIX years. SIX YEARS... and this motherfucker gets off by sucking dick.
Betrayed and baffled that someone would go to such great lengths to keep their true identity from me, I told my friend who was in the same frat as him. His response was the best: he wasn't surprised. His friends had always suspected "Luke" of being gay. I made sure that my friend wouldn't say anything of this revelation, because I would actually fear my life had he come after me, or worse, that others wouldn't believe me. Believe this, bitches, I keep evidence of this shit for YEARS. I mean, I had texts and pictures to prove it.
What I didn't do, which I still question to this day, is contact the poor girl who was dating this bastard. I mean, her boyfriend was cheating on her... with another man. I didn't feel it was the right place to "out" someone, fearing my own safety, nor was their relationship any of my business. Maybe there's a mutual agreement... maybe she's a lesbian? Who fucking knows. I had done the right thing months ago by ending it because of his suspicious and sketchy demeanor, anyways.
What irks me the most of this very true account is that the poor girl still doesn't know her boyfriend of SIX YEARS likes the taste of cock. Even more scary, STDs run rampant through both the straight and gay communities. Let's face it, though, a stigma is attached to gays for having higher HIV/AIDS cases. If this "straight" man happened to contract an STD of that kind and pass it along to his girlfriend, there would be no excuse for his actions. I may even turn my head if the woman wanted to castrate her cheating, closeted, and infected boyfriend.
With all that out in the open, riddle me this: 1 out of 10 men are assumed to be gay. Of that 10%, what percentage is closeted? My guess is that the closeted portion, the portion who may still sleep with and date girls to affirm their "masculinity," is MUCH LARGER than you'd think. If you have ever suspected your boyfriend of being gay, think long and hard. Go through his phone, check his internet history. If you have the slightest idea that your boyfriend really bats for the other team, major red flags should be raised. You can never be too sure... or too safe.
Tune in tomorrow for ways to detect whether you're dating a raging homosexual. I may even throw in MORE true accounts from my end.
-dylsny
September 24, 2014
Reality Setting In
This morning, I received a call from my mother's work phone before 530 AM Pacific time. You know it's serious when your mother intentionally wakes you up that early using her work line. I automatically thought the worst. With my crying mother on the other end, I immediately thought something had happened to Juju or my Grandfather. Anyone who knows me realizes that type of phone call may ruin me. They're two of the most important people in my life. It was a rude awakening realizing just how far away I am now, in case something like that had actually happened. I still can't fathom what I'd do, but it would haunt me forever knowing that I didn't have a chance to say goodbye or cherish the exact final phone call I might've had with either one.
I wish I could pick my family up and move them to California with me. Juju and I could go see Ellen together. That would be fabulous. I mean, let's be real, she may even get me a reality TV show. She'd obviously be the star, but I'd take it. Hoping I never get that call as long as I'm living on the West coast.
With all that said, please keep my family in your thoughts, and if you're religious like they are, in your prayers, for we have lost someone this morning.
I wish I could pick my family up and move them to California with me. Juju and I could go see Ellen together. That would be fabulous. I mean, let's be real, she may even get me a reality TV show. She'd obviously be the star, but I'd take it. Hoping I never get that call as long as I'm living on the West coast.
With all that said, please keep my family in your thoughts, and if you're religious like they are, in your prayers, for we have lost someone this morning.
September 23, 2014
Jourdan and I take on GoPro
More from in-and-out of the car during our trip! Please excuse the music edit on this one, still trying to get the hang of editing these things! Enjoy!
The Journey: Part II
Remember when I said I would never drive under the influence of marijuana again? Well, that lasted for about 12 hours. When we left Colorado Springs with the remaining edibles we had purchased, I had the bright idea, probably because I was hungry, to consume more before we crossed into New Mexico. What I didn't anticipate were massive storms throughout the state. What was most eery about these storms was "the great divide". To the left of the highway, the sky was clear as day, but to the right, you could see rain clouds hammering down and producing the scariest lightning I've ever witnessed. You think a conventional thunderstorm on the east coast is scary? Wait until you can see miles ahead of you in all directions and view different storm surges forming all around you. If I never witness another New Mexico storm, I'll be just fine.
A friend told me of the Petrified Forest National Park in Northeast Arizona, so we decided to stop, still high off edibles to see the colorful land formations and petrified wood in the center of the Arizona desert. What we didn't realize was the park was near closing, storms were forming in the area, and your car was checked upon exit. I rarely ever dabble with weed, and being especially high from the edibles freaked me the fuck out when we went to leave the park. I imagined the worst: There would be some sort of brief sweep through your car to make sure you didn't snatch any of their petrified wood. I had even convinced myself there were going to be dogs. I was about to get arrested in Arizona for having fucking weed cookies from a legal dispensary in CO.
We proceeded to the exit, glassy-eyed and tripping balls only to be 'waved' through by the teenage park attendant. All that freaking out for nothing. I could've stolen so much fucking wood and that little twat would've never known. Onto the Grand Canyon, where I figured it would be simple to park inside the park and camp in our car. Wrong, yet again. After realizing the town was miles from the crater itself and the park closed at a specific time, we sought help from an RV park that pointed us towards a desolate area a 1/2 mile from the main road. We noticed others doing the same, so we parked our car near fellow humans and tried to get comfortable in the front seats of my Jetta, which could not be reclined because of the inconceivable amount of shit I packed in the back. I figured I'd try and finish the edibles before crossing into another state before bed, so I doubled up on some cookies and fell asleep.
My co-pilot, Jourdan, had cracked her window for ventilation. I wasn't about to do the same with mine, because anyone could be in the woods surrounding us: axe murderers, serial rapists, rabid bears, etc. I tilted open the sunroof and fell fast asleep, very uncomfortably. I woke at 5:15 to get sunrise photos over the south rim and Jourdan informed me she heard noises all night and hadn't slept much... and that shortly after I fell asleep, she nudged me to roll up her window because she didn't feel safe, to which I replied, "you're fine". Whoops, sorry betch. Maybe you should've thought harder about having an open hole in your window, large enough to fit an arm, paw, or claw, in the middle of bumfucked Arizona forests.
We entered the park, I got my pictures, and we were off to Los Angeles- the home stretch! It didn't stop me yet again to eat more weed cookies, not knowing there was border patrol at the California line. Thank god I can't buy weed legally in this state without a med card, or I'd be tripping balls on the 101 every damn day.
*Sunrise, South Rim, Grand Canyon National Park
-dylsny
A friend told me of the Petrified Forest National Park in Northeast Arizona, so we decided to stop, still high off edibles to see the colorful land formations and petrified wood in the center of the Arizona desert. What we didn't realize was the park was near closing, storms were forming in the area, and your car was checked upon exit. I rarely ever dabble with weed, and being especially high from the edibles freaked me the fuck out when we went to leave the park. I imagined the worst: There would be some sort of brief sweep through your car to make sure you didn't snatch any of their petrified wood. I had even convinced myself there were going to be dogs. I was about to get arrested in Arizona for having fucking weed cookies from a legal dispensary in CO.
We proceeded to the exit, glassy-eyed and tripping balls only to be 'waved' through by the teenage park attendant. All that freaking out for nothing. I could've stolen so much fucking wood and that little twat would've never known. Onto the Grand Canyon, where I figured it would be simple to park inside the park and camp in our car. Wrong, yet again. After realizing the town was miles from the crater itself and the park closed at a specific time, we sought help from an RV park that pointed us towards a desolate area a 1/2 mile from the main road. We noticed others doing the same, so we parked our car near fellow humans and tried to get comfortable in the front seats of my Jetta, which could not be reclined because of the inconceivable amount of shit I packed in the back. I figured I'd try and finish the edibles before crossing into another state before bed, so I doubled up on some cookies and fell asleep.
My co-pilot, Jourdan, had cracked her window for ventilation. I wasn't about to do the same with mine, because anyone could be in the woods surrounding us: axe murderers, serial rapists, rabid bears, etc. I tilted open the sunroof and fell fast asleep, very uncomfortably. I woke at 5:15 to get sunrise photos over the south rim and Jourdan informed me she heard noises all night and hadn't slept much... and that shortly after I fell asleep, she nudged me to roll up her window because she didn't feel safe, to which I replied, "you're fine". Whoops, sorry betch. Maybe you should've thought harder about having an open hole in your window, large enough to fit an arm, paw, or claw, in the middle of bumfucked Arizona forests.
We entered the park, I got my pictures, and we were off to Los Angeles- the home stretch! It didn't stop me yet again to eat more weed cookies, not knowing there was border patrol at the California line. Thank god I can't buy weed legally in this state without a med card, or I'd be tripping balls on the 101 every damn day.
*Sunrise, South Rim, Grand Canyon National Park
-dylsny
My Journey in Video
A little video I compiled with my co-pilot across the nation. I love my GoPro and the free editing software, it's so easy to use, I highly recommend it!
September 22, 2014
The Journey: Part I
Have you ever been to Hell on Earth? I have, and many know it better as Kansas. On August 12th, I packed up my little Jetta and embarked on a cross-country trip to California with my friend Jourdan. Thank god I had a co-pilot, because I may have easily left my sanity in the flat, never-ending, tortuous hell known as Kansas, had she not been there.
After stopping in Muncie, Indiana to visit my friend Alex and tour the campus of Ball State, where she studies graduate communications, Jourdan and I got back in my car and drove 16 straight hours from Indiana to Colorado Springs, CO. Ever wonder what is in those vast, open midwest states? Well, absolutely nothing. Nothing. At. All. Thankfully, the legalization of marijuana in Colorado, paired with the state's natural beauty made for a very eventful trip.
Upon getting off I-70 for the first time in fifteen hours, of which I drove the entire way, without stopping, I was blasted by a state trooper for traveling 78 in a 65 MPH zone. Jourdan and I still maintain there were no speed markers in that area. Blasphemy. We were staying with my cousin and his fiancé, but when we rolled up to an empty home, waiting on Zach to get there, we had convinced ourselves there was a home intruder, one that was even receiving text messages. We weren't keen on getting slaughtered in a suburban Colorado Springs home, moments after receiving a hefty speeding violation and quickly losing it to sleep deprivation, so we didn't make it further than the laundry room. When my cousin arrived, we realized it was his iPad making the text noises: joke was on us.
The next day, we explored Colorado Springs, Garden of the Gods, Red Rock Amphitheater, and downtown Denver. All beautiful places. After strolling around the mile-high city and having a few brewskis, Jourdan and I decided to purchase marijuana. I mean, it was legal, so what the fuck ever. After entering the establishment and getting cash out from a provided ATM machine, we loitered around the dispensary along with their noticeably high clientele. It was time to get on their level. We each purchased edibles and made our way out from the "happy zone".
Knowing that my cousin's fiancé was having a baby in the coming months, I thought of buying their daughter an outfit for letting us stay at their home. We pulled into a Denver shopping mall, where I convinced Jourdan to eat some edibles with me before going in. The woman at the dispensary recommended a certain amount, which I thought was small, so I suggested taking 50% more than the recommended amount, citing "they probably have a legal obligation to recommend the same amount to everyone". Bad call, Dylsny, for Jourdan and I rarely smoke. Within 30 minutes, inside Urban Outfitters, Jourdan was losing her shit and it was frying me out.
She got some water and calmed down for maybe... 5 minutes. We finally found the Baby Gap when it started hitting me. I have never shopped for baby clothes, ever. I have never shopped for normal size clothing high, ever. This was turning into a nightmare. After settling on what I thought was a cute, mis-matched pink outfit for their baby, we proceeded to check out. The gay cashier made a comment about Jourdan being the expecting mother. I don't think either of us opened our mouths to communicate. At that point, I don't know if I could muster coherent words. We booked it out of Baby Gap to find the car. After stopping at Starbucks for a coffee, and another water for Jourdan, who looked like she could yakk at any moment, we continued to what I thought was the correct parking garage entrance.
We walked up the stairs to the level I believed we were on, but to no avail, could not locate my car. We rode the elevator back down, contemplated walking to the next entrance, but rode the elevator back up to a new floor. We played this game of walking the stairs and riding the elevator for a mere 40 minutes before I started to lose my shit. Not once did it cross my mind to set off the panic alarm on my key ring. Finally, after riding the elevator back up to the top level, where we had found ourselves the FIRST time around, I found the damn car. I was high as fuck, but originally correct at the first attempt of locating our car... had we just walked one more aisle of cars left, we would've seen my gray Jetta in plain sight.
We got in, thanked baby Jesus we were safe and drove home in the rain. We grabbed a few pizzas for everyone back home for dinner and stayed put, leaving the next morning. I told Jourdan after finding the car in the damn parking garage after nearly an hour of looking that I'd never get high and drive again. Yeah fucking right. Part II to come soon!
-dylsny
After stopping in Muncie, Indiana to visit my friend Alex and tour the campus of Ball State, where she studies graduate communications, Jourdan and I got back in my car and drove 16 straight hours from Indiana to Colorado Springs, CO. Ever wonder what is in those vast, open midwest states? Well, absolutely nothing. Nothing. At. All. Thankfully, the legalization of marijuana in Colorado, paired with the state's natural beauty made for a very eventful trip.
Upon getting off I-70 for the first time in fifteen hours, of which I drove the entire way, without stopping, I was blasted by a state trooper for traveling 78 in a 65 MPH zone. Jourdan and I still maintain there were no speed markers in that area. Blasphemy. We were staying with my cousin and his fiancé, but when we rolled up to an empty home, waiting on Zach to get there, we had convinced ourselves there was a home intruder, one that was even receiving text messages. We weren't keen on getting slaughtered in a suburban Colorado Springs home, moments after receiving a hefty speeding violation and quickly losing it to sleep deprivation, so we didn't make it further than the laundry room. When my cousin arrived, we realized it was his iPad making the text noises: joke was on us.
The next day, we explored Colorado Springs, Garden of the Gods, Red Rock Amphitheater, and downtown Denver. All beautiful places. After strolling around the mile-high city and having a few brewskis, Jourdan and I decided to purchase marijuana. I mean, it was legal, so what the fuck ever. After entering the establishment and getting cash out from a provided ATM machine, we loitered around the dispensary along with their noticeably high clientele. It was time to get on their level. We each purchased edibles and made our way out from the "happy zone".
Knowing that my cousin's fiancé was having a baby in the coming months, I thought of buying their daughter an outfit for letting us stay at their home. We pulled into a Denver shopping mall, where I convinced Jourdan to eat some edibles with me before going in. The woman at the dispensary recommended a certain amount, which I thought was small, so I suggested taking 50% more than the recommended amount, citing "they probably have a legal obligation to recommend the same amount to everyone". Bad call, Dylsny, for Jourdan and I rarely smoke. Within 30 minutes, inside Urban Outfitters, Jourdan was losing her shit and it was frying me out.
She got some water and calmed down for maybe... 5 minutes. We finally found the Baby Gap when it started hitting me. I have never shopped for baby clothes, ever. I have never shopped for normal size clothing high, ever. This was turning into a nightmare. After settling on what I thought was a cute, mis-matched pink outfit for their baby, we proceeded to check out. The gay cashier made a comment about Jourdan being the expecting mother. I don't think either of us opened our mouths to communicate. At that point, I don't know if I could muster coherent words. We booked it out of Baby Gap to find the car. After stopping at Starbucks for a coffee, and another water for Jourdan, who looked like she could yakk at any moment, we continued to what I thought was the correct parking garage entrance.
We walked up the stairs to the level I believed we were on, but to no avail, could not locate my car. We rode the elevator back down, contemplated walking to the next entrance, but rode the elevator back up to a new floor. We played this game of walking the stairs and riding the elevator for a mere 40 minutes before I started to lose my shit. Not once did it cross my mind to set off the panic alarm on my key ring. Finally, after riding the elevator back up to the top level, where we had found ourselves the FIRST time around, I found the damn car. I was high as fuck, but originally correct at the first attempt of locating our car... had we just walked one more aisle of cars left, we would've seen my gray Jetta in plain sight.
We got in, thanked baby Jesus we were safe and drove home in the rain. We grabbed a few pizzas for everyone back home for dinner and stayed put, leaving the next morning. I told Jourdan after finding the car in the damn parking garage after nearly an hour of looking that I'd never get high and drive again. Yeah fucking right. Part II to come soon!
-dylsny
September 19, 2014
I'm back, bitches.
After a long hiatus from my treasured blog, I've finally settled in California and plan on regularly posting for my viewers' pleasure. What's new and not-so-new?... I will continue to reminisce about hysterical, college-era stories, most likely involving a friend or two back home. They're some of the most entertaining stories I hold onto and surely put a smile on many faces... or they make readers feel relieved they never had the misfortune of meeting us in our drunken stupors. In addition, I will be offering advice to both men and women, sparking discussion with controversial topics, and highlighting what I thought would be the best and biggest change of my life: moving to California.
So, East-coasters, look for new posts on your lunch break and West-coasters, tune in during your daily commute. I promise there will be something worth reading on this rather useless, unintelligent, drunk-induced blog!
Enjoy your weekend, too, bitches! I may get crazy and actually leave my humble studio apartment... But, it's still very unlikely since I haven't made a single friend in Lalaland and hardly ever see the ones I had upon my move. Life is great, isn't it?
-dylsny
So, East-coasters, look for new posts on your lunch break and West-coasters, tune in during your daily commute. I promise there will be something worth reading on this rather useless, unintelligent, drunk-induced blog!
Enjoy your weekend, too, bitches! I may get crazy and actually leave my humble studio apartment... But, it's still very unlikely since I haven't made a single friend in Lalaland and hardly ever see the ones I had upon my move. Life is great, isn't it?
-dylsny
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