I have a disease. Well, it's an illness of some sort. And maybe illness and disease is the same thing but disease sounds so much worse so I like to think it's an illness. Actually, I don't think there is anything wrong with me, but other people do, everyone else does, so I go along because it's easy and because maybe their right.
No, my illness isn't rambling or forgetting or a short attention span (like a fly,) I don't even know what it's called. They've told me the name of it, 'they' being completely irrelevant because 'they' is everyone, but I forget remember?
I'm an adventurer. I like taking risks. I like feeling alive, and sometimes that means almost dieing. But the thrill! The adrenaline rush and complete freedom. When everything stops; your mind, your senses, your ability to breathe, everything except the beating of your heart. And the only reason you know your heart is still beating is because it's the only thing you can hear, a strong, fast pounding, thudthudthudthudthud…And nothing matters! It's just you and… that's it. You are one with everything and you jumped off the plane so you're already in deep shit so who the fuck cares if the parachute doesn't open?
That's my profession, doing stupid things that stupid people like to watch because they're too afraid to do it themselves. Or maybe they're just sane because apparently I'm not because I have an 'illness.' I should seriously look it up and see what it's called…
But I digress.
I've done some pretty dangerous stuff, like climbed a 500 hundred foot mountain without proper equipment, which means I only used a rope, yea, I know it sounds impossible, it was. I fell and broke pretty much every bone in my body except my nose, how the hell that happened I have no idea, and after I got out of the hospital everyone either thought I was badass or a complete moron, or both. I also swam with sharks once, granted that was a complete accident because the canoe I was riding on got totally shattered during the huge ass tsunami I was trying conquer with my yellow poncho and wooden paddle. I know what you're thinking: why would I be wearing a yellow poncho? There are so many cooler colors out there, like blue.
But the most dangerous thing I have ever done is fall in love.
I'm just gunna get it outta the way now so we can avoid any awkward moments later on, I'm gay. Which means I like girls, which means I'm a girl. So I'm a lesbian. I am a girl who likes other girls. I don't like boys, not in a romantic way, which means I have no urges to make out with boys, to have sex with boys, or to give boys blowjobs (that last part wasn't necessary but I think blow is a funny word so I added it in anyway.) Yes, I'm rambling again, but this ramble has purpose; I want to make it absolutely clear that I am gay. Because I hate it when people try to lecture me about how my choice of lifestyle, which by the way isn't a choice, is wrong, or try to convert me. It's a waste of my time and their breath. So I hope it is now crystal clear that I am gay, and happy being gay, and I'm not gunna change. Got it? Good.
So back to the love business.
I fell in love with a girl named Miley Stewart. Scratch that- I am in love with a girl named Miley Stewart. Knowing this now will also create less confusion later on.
I met her at a bar. I had just gotten out of the hospital with four broken ribs, courtesy of my quad and a very high sand dune. I was in pain and wanted to get drunk, in hindsight that was a terrible idea because I was medicated, but oh well. She wasn't serving me, I don't think she even noticed me, but I noticed her, everyone there noticed her, I'm sure.
She is beautiful. Please forgive my changing tenses, but stories work like that sometimes ya know? Anyway, she is beautiful. Like perfect. Long, curly dark brown hair, deep blue, electrifying eyes, perfectly toned body, good sized breasts, an ass I could stare at all day long… I think I stared a little too long that night.
But I never saw her again.
Just kidding. Two months later I was in Vegas getting ready to film something, please forgive me for not remembering. Anyway, I was in Luxor with some friends, drinking, gambling, making idiots of ourselves, just another regular day, when I saw her. She was wearing one of those really hot uniforms the drink ladies have to wear (her legs seemed to go on forever) and this time I made a move.
I like to think I'm good with the ladies, and usually I am unless I like them, in which case I stutter and get red faced and end up saying something incredibly stupid. I guess I really liked Miley, even back then because I ended up tripping on my own feet and spilling all the drinks she was carrying on her and then I tried asking her out, and somehow I made it seem like I wanted to watch the Men from Down Under show.
That didn't end up to good, in case you were wondering. Not only did I get rejected, I got SUPER rejected. She made a scene and yelled at me in front of everyone, and even though I was embarrassed and upset, she was still hot!
So after that fiasco I went back to my hotel room and decided on a proper course of action, a plan if you will, to get Miley to like me, or at least give me one date. So here's where my romantic and genius side comes in. I called some people and found out where Miley lived, I know that sounds stalkerish right now but let me finish, I wrote her an anonymous love note and sent her two dozen white roses, I don't like red they are too common. In the note I asked her to meet me for a gondola ride at Caesars Palace. To be honest, I didn't think she would show up, I mean that's pretty scary, meeting a complete stranger, that's like pedophile on mySpace status (I don't know if that was a good analogy but it made sense in my head.) But she showed up, I guess my love note was pretty awesome (thank you Shakespeare!) Of course, once she realized it was me she turned around and started walking out but somehow we ended going on the gondola ride together.
And that's when I started having symptoms of love. Remember what I said about disease and illness and how disease sounds worse? Well, being in love with Miley Stewart is a disease.
Miley Stewart may be the most complex person on earth. When we first started going out she was sweet, caring, understanding, loving. She liked to listen to me tell her stories about the things I had done, the people I had met, and she worried about me. When I got hurt she would take care of me, and she always fun. Seriously, imagine the perfect girlfriend; that was Miley. Pay attention to my tenses now.
As we got deeper in our relationship, and I fell more in love with her, she changed. She opened up to me; told me her opinions about humanity, her faithlessness in good and love. She didn't believe in people, when I asked her if she believed in me she laughed. A loud, deep laugh, a true laugh, and I felt like I had been shot in my heart, blood pouring out. But what could I do?
And she is vain, rightfully so, but still. I guess I shouldn't complain about that, I have always given her whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted it. Clothes, shoes, trips, love, everything is hers. So maybe I am to blame for that, maybe a little. But she scares me sometimes. When she gets delirious and she screams, and rants and cries and there's nothing I can do, nothing I can give her to stop her from hurting herself, and the next minute she is calm. Too calm, comatose. No response, or sign of life in her eyes. Just breathing, and only if I press my ear deep into her chest.
My friends love her, everyone loves her. But that sweet smile, angel face turns dark with me. And most of the time I just want to protect her, to understand her, to make her understand that I want to help, that I will always be there for her. Most of the time I'm angry that she's angry. That her hope for life, for her future has been stripped away, stolen by abusive parents, heartache and the shit we call life. Most of the time, I am selfish. I want to be her only necessity, her lifeline, her everything. Most of the time.
When it's not most of the time, I want her how she is. We don't make love, we have sex, we fuck. She likes it rough, fast, she likes to whisper things in my ear that you would only hear in cheap porn movies, she likes to dominate. And I like it, most of the time. I like to feel her inside me, I like to make her scream, my name loud and raspy, the urgency, she needs me and I make her feel good. I'm sorry Mr. Michael Buble, but you have no idea what it's like to feel really good until Miley is pulling you in, legs wrapped tight, hands pulling hair, panting, moaning… And I hope very much that you never know what that feels like.
Let's take a short break here, an intermission of sorts. You may be confused, even though I have tried very hard to not confuse you, it happens sometimes. This is still a story, but it's not about me, and it's not about Miley, even though it may sort of feel like it is. This is a story about me and Miley, please don't correct my grammar, I know it's shitty but I dropped out of high school and it's annoying as hell, unless you're an English major, then you can correct me but I'm just gunna laugh at you for being stupid enough to major in English. Right. So this story is about me and Miley and to prevent confusion later on I'm gunna tell you what the moral of the story is right now.
The moral of the story is to love, freely, unconditionally, always. Even when your heart has been broken a million times, even when your not sure of what you want, even when you don't know if they feel the same way about you, even if your hundreds of miles apart, even if everyone wants you to give up, always love. Love is an adventure, love is taking risks, love is living, even if there's a very large possibility you are going to die. It's dangerous but that feeling, that adrenaline rush, the feeling of being whole, of being one with someone else, it is worth all the pain of a crash landing. And the funny part is, if we all loved like this we would all, under my above established conditions, be crazy. But being crazy with company isn't so bad.
But the best part is; when you're falling in love you hear two heartbeats.
I have never been one for morals, and after all that I feel kinda tired, do you really wanna hear the rest of mine and Miley's love story?