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Top 5 reasons the closing Olympic ceremonies were better than ANY Superbowl halftime show I’ve ever seen.

5) THE FASHION: Being an avid Sex and the City fan, Carrie Bradshaw has made me extremely open-minded when it comes to fashion. Would I wear a tutu and a tank top out in public? No, probably not. But is it okay because Bradshaw did it? 100%. Also, I am a gay man at heart, so it would be totally and completely inappropriate for me to also not thank Lady Gaga at this time for opening my eyes to unconventional fashion choices. But back to the Olympics. Did you see those orange, triangular bicycle helmets those dudes wheeling around the Petshop Boys were wearing? Everything. What about those electric blue bowler hats with the lit light bulb coming out of the top? Spectacular. Fatboy Slim’s Hawaiian shirt? Excellent. Sporty Spice’s wide-legged jumpsuit with metallic sneakers? Outstanding. I really appreciate the forward-thinking-ness going on in London right now because I am sick of everyone’s Crocs and Lulu Lemon work out gear.

4) BORIS JOHNSON: So here’s something to think about: imagine every person you’ve ever seen run for mayor. They’re perfectly coiffed with impeccably gelled hair, pressed suits, and patriotic ties. They’re put together in a way that conveys, “not only can I take care of myself, I can also take care of YOU” to their constituency. And then there’s Boris Johnson: world’s silliest mayor. Tell me why he constantly looks like he just rolled out of bed. Why is he allowed to be SUCH a ragamuffin? I’m all for the “elegantly disheveled” look. For real, I think it’s really in-style and “a la mode” for us common folk, but I’m not sure I’m ready to allow my political leaders to look like they’ve stumbled in the door after a night of binge drinking with their frat brothers. Buy a comb.

3) THE BRAZILLIANS: I know it’s like, a huge honor and giant deal to host the Olympics and it’s a great venue to showcase the quirkiness of your culture and whatnot but like, Brazil went kinda cray. I realize it’s a different world and a different set of beliefs and such and don’t get a sister wrong when I say these things, I have mad respect for all types of people, places and things, but CALM. DOWN. BRAZIL. They started off with that tap dancing fool and then swiftly moved on to some crazy broad in a dress made of umbrellas, then transitioned to a man in a cape made of light bulbs and somewhere in there, a bedazzled pimp strutted around stage, soccer legend Pelé made a small appearance and a completely random drag queen (who later turned out to be Alessandra Ambrosio) danced around lip-synching to all the Brazilian music. Like, what the actual fuck, Brazil? I’ve never been there. Not sure I want to at this point. But if I learned one thing during their cultural showcase it’s that we’ve all got four years to adequately prepare how to classily, casually and comfortably handle an acid trip. For real.

2) RUSSELL BRAND: Okay. First. Oh my god. SWOON. Willy Wonka. One of the best of all time. Ever. I could watch that movie over and over again. And not just because I love chocolate and believe whole-heartedly that Veruca Salt is the one true diva none of us will every be able to fully embody. And then, just when you think, oh, cool, Willy Wonka. Russell Brand pops up on the top of a psychedelic bus in striped pants and a top hat singing the beginning of “I Am The Walrus” into a megaphone and you’re like, “IS THIS REALLY HAPPENING?” and then, after swooning like 18 more times, you’re like, “I can’t believe this is still happening”. Now, let me make clear that these feelings are probably only unique to those of us who love Russell Brand in an extremely unhealthy way like I do. So, back to the scenario. You’ve been swooning over Russell for such a long time that you’ve now learned to do other things while you’re still swooning so, other feelings are starting to creep in. Those girls pretending to play the violins look like drag queens. Did I accidentally take LSD earlier? You’re feeling elated and happy and wonderful that they’ve chose to include such whimsy in the closing ceremonies and not take everything so dang seriously. But, don’t worry, your swooning will win out. Because Russell Brand is literally everything on the planet.

1) SPICE GIRLS: Let’s start simple. They all look great. Mostly. Ginger’s looking a little rough. But regardless. They’re gorgeous. They’re perfect. “Wannabe” was a great start, of course, but when “Spice Up Your Life” filled my ears, all the hair on my body stood straight up and I started crying. I’M NOT EVEN EMBARRASED. If you’re not a 90s girl and didn’t grow up with these 5 in your Walkman and their videogame in your Playstation and a drawer full of their lollipops in your nightstand, you can stop reading  because you will never ever understand what these women mean to me. THE BIRTH OF GIRL POWER. From these 5. They shaped everything I believed in elementary school. I bought a pair of black and white lace up sneakers WITH A CHUNKY HEEL on them because of the Spice Girls. Can you even imagine how grotesque looking those were? But I wore them like, everyday because I wanted to be Baby Spice. My brother and I watched Spice World on Christmas Eve a few years ago and they were touring London and fighting off an alien invasion and they were still FABULOUS. And now they’re in London (!!!) riding around on the roof of a light up taxi reuniting in a way only the Spice Girls could. And none of them are wearing platform shoes. And I don’t even care. If there isn’t a worldwide reunion tour in the works I am going to FLIP OUT but somehow I will get over it because their performance was so perfect that I’m thinking this should be the end for them before Geri Halliwell truly goes off the deep end or Baby Spice’s name starts to become a little too ironic for any of us to deal with.

Honorable mentions: George Michael SERVING IT, Eric Idle, Jessie J, Prince Harry singing along to Monty Python, Take That and Missy Franklin. Because no Olympic-related talk would be complete without a mention of that perfect little baby.

Big Things!!!

Dan Savage, syndicated sex columnist and king of the sassy gays and one of my FAVORITE people on the PLANET shared a link to the article I wrote about him and his show SavageU on MTV. This exposure is EVERYTHING I’ve ever hoped for in my writing. I’m hoping this leads to bigger and better things for me. Stay tuned for more exciting news!!

Bawdy Talk

This is my latest article from The Daily Aztec

I think it all started when I was 9 and in Purple Ballet at Bobbie’s School of Dance. I realized all the other girls didn’t look as round as me in their leotards, but I don’t think any of them perfected the soft landing out of a sauté as well as I did. It continued through elementary school. Kids made fun of me for being fat and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t sting. But at 10 years old, all I really cared about were The Backstreet Boys and how fast I could perfect the Spanish versions of every song on the “Selena” soundtrack while our housekeeper, Esmelda, laughed at me for singing words I probably had no business singing.

I never really had body image issues. I was always a big girl and that was pretty much the beginning, middle and end of it. Most everyone in my family had the same body type and we all loved eating Jewish food on Passover, so it was never really a thing. I was never ridiculed by my family, only by outsiders who were quickly put in their place by my big brother. Surprisingly enough, he would always have my back despite the fact that he was my biggest annoyance at home. But if that isn’t the most clichéd brother / sister relationship you’ve ever heard, please tell me now.

People stopped caring in high school. Everyone was too focused with fitting in, and while I didn’t care too much about boys and who liked me as a friend, I managed to have an “in” with almost every group there was. Everyone liked me for my extremely loud and totally hilarious (and modest) personality. I escaped the typical high school pressures of eating disorders and the need to be like everyone else running around Thousand Oaks High School.

I’ve only had one boyfriend in my entire life. Our relationship lasted three days and all I got out of it was a kiss on the cheek. I think he’s gay now and I’m totally happy for him, but if that doesn’t sum up my entire life in one fabulously glittery package, I don’t know what would.

I’ve always loved the body I have, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t sort of hope that someone would see past my body type, into my charming personality and want to date me because I’m a good time and a funny person to have around. But that’s never happened.

Every parental figure in my life has told me how beautiful I am, how great my personality is and how lucky I’m going to make someone someday, but I never really believed them until I fell in love with a 6-foot-4-inch bearded gentleman covered in tattoos. He made me feel like none of the superficial stuff mattered … until he told me he wasn’t physically attracted to me, and that was the reason it would never work between us.

That one hurt. A blow to not only my elevated-but-not-in-your-face-or-cocky ego (my self-image is flawless, I think I’m the cat’s pajamas) but also, it shattered my heart into a billion little pieces. I’m confident I will never fully get over it. I went through all the motions of a breakup, even though we never had an actual relationship. So basically, I was just being an excessively emotional and completely delusional girl. Why wasn’t I good enough? Shouldn’t my personality count for something? Oye, I’m lamenting again. I swear all those feelings are sorted and filed and I’m good. For the most part.

After that saga, the idea of feelings and relationships seemed bleak. I had no interest in getting back on the wagon. I did online dating for a while and, let me tell you something, a girl can only withstand so many awkward coffee shop dates and awful-smelling, cologne-soaked young men. However, I can say with confidence that online dating showed me there are people in the world who like me for exactly who I am.

Everyone says it gets better when you get older and, even though I’m still young, I know they’re right. I grew up really fast in the sense that I moved out on my own when I was 17 and my body image has only gotten better throughout the years. I don’t know how men see me and I don’t think I ever will (because men are from Mars or something like that, right?) but all I can do is be the kind of person I’m looking for. What I mean by that is, instead of suffering for the “perfect” body, fitting into a leotard the way I should or having the type of body society tells me is OK, I should focus on loving myself, having confidence in my kick-ass personality and attracting the kind of man who will love and accept that.

And while Kim Kardashian’s ass and Gwyneth Paltrow’s shiny legs aren’t going anywhere anytime soon, accepting what I’m working with is key because, in the words of my spirit animal RuPaul: “If you can’t love yourself, how in the hell are you gonna love somebody else.” Can I get an amen?