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Still Mentally Incontinent
The second MI Book

The first Seven Chapters:

Chapter 1:
- Doing The Gay

Chapter 2:
- Never Saw THAT One Coming...

Chapter 3:
- Top Five Worst Birthdays Ever

Chapter 4:
- 1-800-STALKER

Chapter 5:
- Where's Your Sense Of Adventure?

Chapter 6:
- I Never Really Was The Outdoor Type

Chapter 7:
- Sorry, Deer



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Chapter 5:
- The Cows... They Talk!

Chapter 11:
- I'm Just Dying To Know You

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Book 2 Story:   Doing The Gay
By joe the peacock
Post your comment 35 Comments/Edits Share:   |    |    |    |    |    |    |  

I've always thought that, deep down inside, my mother harbors the thought that I might be, like . . . you know, gay.

A fairy. A poof. An other-side-of-the-fence-dweller. I think she believes my relationship with my wife is simply a mask I use to cover up my deeply hidden desires to smoke poles. And what might give me the idea that my mother secretlys think I prefer the company of men in matters romantic? Because at one point she not so secretly thought that I did. She even suggested to me that I was gay, openly and publicly.

Twice.

And I say "suggested" because for my mother, being gay wasn't so much something she would "accuse" me of as something she felt the need to be encouraging and loving and supportive of; something she felt that—if I'd just relax and come clean and admit it—I might slip into and wear proudly and be all that much happier for it, like a silk bathrobe.

This all started with a vengeful and angry ex-girlfriend of mine named Mandy.

Now, the Mandy Situation was quite an interesting one. Mandy was a sweet girl. I need to make sure that's clear before I get into the story, because she really was sweet, and she probably deserved better than what she got.

I met Mandy through a mutual friend—the same friend I met my wife through, oddly enough—and just as quickly as I'm explaining it to you right now, I somehow ended up agreeing to take her to her senior prom.

"Hi."

"Hello."

"Prom?"

"Sure."

Just like that.

I didn't even go to my own senior prom, and somehow, two years after I graduated, I was rooked into going to Mandy's. Honestly, I don't remember who spoke which lines, except that I'm fairly certain she's the one who said "prom." I'm also fairly certain she's the one who said "sure." She may have said both the "hi" and the "hello." Such was the nature of Mandy: a sweet girl, to be sure.

Shortly after her prom (which was shortly after we met—so shortly, in fact, that my tuxedo ended up being cheaper to buy than to rent), we began "dating." She interpreted the term to mean "We will soon be getting engaged and then married and then I'll start spitting out babies in between my career as either a successful hotel chain owner/operator or a botanist—not sure which." I, however, took "dating" to mean "You're leaving for college at the end of the summer, and once you're gone, I'll be able to call you twice a month and send you some jewelry through the mail to fulfill my boyfriendly obligations." And that's precisely how it went, which was perfect for both of us. She got to feel like she had a man back home, and I got out of dating the weirdos I had been dating because I now had a girlfriend.

This went on for a little over a year. She'd come home twice a month and demand that I go shoe shopping with her or buy her some new clothes or scale a barbed-wire fence so we could go see the movie Titanic. The standard stuff a boyfriend is expected to do. Once those little manic forty-eight-hour periods were over, she'd drive back to college and I'd go back to playing the hot new game for the Sony PlayStation and building websites and generally trying to be by myself as much as possible.

Until one day, when a phone call came at nearly five in the morning.

"Guess what?" Mandy asked excitedly.

"Uh . . . what?" I asked through a haze.

"Guess where I am?" she asked in answer.

"Uh . . . where?" I said, unable to care.

"Look out your window."

Oh no.

I did. Believe it or don't, she was there in her car, calling from her cell phone.

"Uh . . . hi?" I said. "Like . . . what are you doing here? It's Thursday."

"I just quit college!"

"You what?"

"Yeah, isn't that great!" she half asked, half didn't ask. "We can be together all the time now!"

Like I said, sweet girl. Clueless, demanding, smothering, clingy, a poor judge of other people's feelings toward her, and really bad at choosing her priorities. But very, very sweet.

"Yeah, uh . . . that's . . . mm . . . Hey, you want to hear what it sounds like when a relationship ends? It sounds like this—"

CLICK.

That was when the doorbell rang.

The worst part of what followed was that I didn't even get to break up with her in my own house. No. In an effort to be courteous to my housemates, I rode with her to a Waffle House to break up with her. When that didn't work, I rode with her to the park where we once spent a few hours, which held some sort of meaning to her, to break up with her. When that didn't work, I rode with her to her house to break up with her. Which was really smart, since she lived nearly an hour's drive away from my house.

Anyone who's had to walk the distance covered by an hour's drive can tell you that it sucks to walk it. But that night it was fine, because it gave me time to think about how awful the past day had been. It was a treat thinking about how she was nearly clawing my eyes out and calling me a name that, to her, probably made a whole lot of sense but really just sounded like every conjugation of the verb "fuck" and the noun "fuck" that could possibly be strung together at once, before she switched to literally clinging to my pants leg, begging me not to walk out the door. Again.

When I finally got home, I crawled back into bed. And I attempted to go back to sleep. And I succeeded for all of about twenty minutes. Until another phone call came.

"Hello?"

"Guess where I am."

Oh, no.

I walked out the door, right past her car, where she sat still clutching her cell phone, and got into my car and drove to the one place I knew she wouldn't dare to follow me: Mike's house.

My best friend, Mike, hated Mandy. Mandy hated Mike. It was a difficult situation until it became an ideal one. I knew I could sack out on his couch and not have to fear her sudden appearance, as Mike's mere presence struck a fearful chord within her and made her turn a ghostly shade of white.

In retaliation, she went to the one place she felt she could try to get me back. She went to my mom's house. And she stayed for nearly twelve hours a day, every day, for a solid week. At first it was simple demands.

"Mrs. Peacock, you've got to help me get Joe back!"

Then it turned into very long and drawn-out laments.

"Mrs. Peacock, why won't Joe come back?"

From there, she began spiraling down, beginning with examinations of her character and what possibly could have driven me away, and turning to examinations of my character and what possibly could have made me want to leave. And that was where the correlations were drawn.

At the end of the week, I called my mother to find out if the coast was clear—which it was—and I went over to mow the grass. There I was confronted by one of the most surreal conversations I've ever had with anyone at any time whatsoever.

"What's this about?" I asked in response to my mother's request that I take a seat at the dining room table.

"Joe, honey," she said, taking a seat across from me, "I want to go ahead and say right up front that I love you."

"I love you too, Mom," I replied with a queer look in her direction.

"I mean it," she reaffirmed. "No matter what you ever do or say, I will always love and support you."

"That's . . . That's really great, Mom . . ."

"And if you want to have a relationship with Mikey—"

"What?" I said, taken aback. I narrowed my eyes and spoke very slowly. "In what context, exactly, do you mean the word ‘relationship' to be taken in this instance, Mother?"

"Well . . . you know . . . like . . . if you and Mikey are . . . gay. Together."

"Gay together!" I shouted, nearly as perplexed that she would think her girl-chasing son of twenty years would be homosexual despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary as I was at the fact that she actually said "gay together."

"Son," she said, "I know all about it, and it's okay. Your father and I accept the fact that—"

"What!" I couldn't believe this. "You told Dad that I was gay?"

"Well, I didn't," she replied. "Mandy did."

Sweet girl, that Mandy. Misguided, in denial, absolutely psycho, and completely off the reservation. But sweet. Very, very sweet.

"Mom," I said, clearly and distinctly. "I want you to tell me exactly what she said."

"Basically, she said—"

"No, Mom. Not basically. I want to know exactly what she said."

"Here, you can read it for yourself," she replied, and stood up to go and fetch a letter. A letter by Mandy.

A twenty-two-page letter by Mandy, which conveyed in rather excruciating detail first how much she loved me, second how much I'd broken her heart, third how gay I was with Mike, and fourth how that was the only explanation behind the dissolution of our relationship because what we had was REAL and PURE and only something like DEVIANT SEXUAL BEHAVIOR could possibly pull the two of us apart.

And what was the evidence she had to substantiate my desire to place my penis in the anal crevasse of my good friend?

1) At one point she asked me, if Mike moved somewhere like Seattle, would I go with him. To which I answered yes.

2) She thought my need to constantly punch him in the shoulder was born from an innate desire to place my hands on his penis. This was supported by a passage she read in Details magazine, photocopied and given to the students of a Psych 101 class she'd taken the year before.

3) I went to his house after we broke up. She knew this because she followed me over there.

4) I hugged him upon his return from a three-week trip to his home city of Detroit.

5) We were always calling each other "dick" and "penis."

"Mom . . ." I said, tossing the letter aside and propping my right cheek on my right palm.

"Now you see?" she asked. "I know all about it. And it's okay—we support you." Then she hugged me.

It could have been worse. She could have hated me based on these incredibly ludicrous and absolutely disjointed pieces of evidence that I wanted to make beastly, sweaty love to my hairy and rather stinky best friend.

The other long, drawn-out talk about my sexual orientation came shortly after I had my nipples pierced on a bet.

I went over to my parents' place to help pack away the January snowman decorations and pull down the February Valentine's decorations and, in the midst of everything, got rather sweaty and needed to shower before I went out on a date (with a girl). Since I had been living on my own for a while, I'd forgotten about closing the bathroom door to hide things from my parents. So after the shower, I was shaving my face with the door open and a towel around my waist when my mother walked by and saw the little silver hoops hanging from my teats.

"OH MY GOD!"

"What?" I said, wincing from having cut myself due to her outburst.

"You really are gay!" she cried.

"Wait, what?"

"You have nipple piercings!" she announced. "Only the gays have nipple piercings!"

"Well, no, Mom, that's not necessarily true," I responded. "Guys who take stupid bets have them, too."

Because I really had to get ready quickly and meet my date, I didn't get to battle with her about my non-homosexuality. Which left her with the indelible impression that I was, very clearly, doing the gay. With men. And not women, like the one I was going to meet.

It took a long-term relationship that subsequently resulted in marriage to convince my dear sweet mother that I was (and am), in fact, not gay. When I think back on it, I want to think that she was eager for me to admit to her that I was gay so she could prove to me how supportive and loving she really is. Knowing I could count on my mommy to be there to support and love me makes me love her dearly.

I'm just glad I didn't have to plow man-butt to find that out.





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Posted on Friday, May 12 2006
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COMMENTS / EDITS



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Re: Doing The Gay (Score: 1)
by malmgren1 on Friday, May 12 2006
(User Info | Send a Message)
I dunno Joe, you gotta admit Mandy had some pretty damning evidence. And we all know Details magazine is an excellent source of top notch research and journalism in the area of being queer.



Re: Doing The Gay (Score: 1)
by G-ray on Friday, May 12 2006
(User Info | Send a Message)
"“I love you too, mom,” I replied with a queer look in her direction."



This is why I love your writing



Re: Doing The Gay (Score: 1)
by Arquinsiel (mephistopheles@ninehells.inf) on Friday, May 12 2006
(User Info | Send a Message) http://www.redbrick.dcu.ie/~tuelean
I'm glad to know I'm not the only person who's had that kind of pant-damaging break up. I ccan't wuite place it but at some point I stopped feeling sorry for hurting her and started feeling irritated that it just keep going and going and going.......

Turns out the human boyd can hold a hell of a lot more liquid than I expected.



Re: Doing The Gay (Score: 1)
by Billyonaire on Friday, May 12 2006
(User Info | Send a Message | Journal) http://www.livejournal.com/users/billyonaire
Do you still take editing suggestions?



the same friend who I met Andrea through to the same friend through whom I met Andrea.



If I ever get into a situation where it can be used, I hope beyond all hope that I can remember your "Hey, you want to hear what it sounds like when a relationship ends? It sounds like this—" method.



Re: Doing The Gay (Score: 1)
by 1mouse53 (doodoo@aol.com) on Friday, May 12 2006
(User Info | Send a Message)
I don't know why women need the drama. it is never their fault. I think we all ( us men ) meet one phycho female in our quests. You were lucky, some are violent. Moms are moms, you gotta love them.



Re: Doing The Gay (Score: 1)
by jezibelle on Friday, May 12 2006
(User Info | Send a Message) http://img55.exs.cx/img55/66/jezi9iq.jpg
"6) What other explanation could there be? Our love was PURE and REAL and all that other shit I just said a few sentences ago. And it "



And it... what? What did it __?

Priceless Joe. I love your mother, I really do. I think SHE should be in here writing a guest story... I bet it'd be fantastic! :D




Re: Doing The Gay (Score: 1)
by dizkord on Friday, May 12 2006
(User Info | Send a Message) http://www259.pair.com/mfrese
I feel that pain. My dad, when I decided I was gonna pierce my ears when I turned 18, asked "Ears? Are you...?" "What dad? Am I what?" "Well doesn't the right ear have *ahem* certain *ahem* connotations?" "Yes dad, it means I don't want to be lopsided. Not that I loves t3h cock."



Re: Doing The Gay (Score: 1)
by sexcpotatoes (sexcpotatoes@nibblyanklebitingsquirrels.com) on Friday, May 12 2006
(User Info | Send a Message | Journal) http://www.sexcpotatoes.com
THERE is the joe we all know and love.



Home Fucking Run, dude, this is the best story yet of the new batch. I love the hooters story, but Doing the Gay is amazing.



at least, you endorse it.



Re: Doing The Gay (Score: 1)
by CallieMo on Friday, May 12 2006
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Great story.



So...how does Andrea feel about being married to a gay man?



Re: Doing The Gay (Score: 1)
by VictoriaE77 on Friday, May 12 2006
(User Info | Send a Message) http://ladydyani.livejournal.com/
"Doing the gay." I love that.



Didn't your nipple rings get removed in a violent and bloody fashion? Are you saying you PUT THEM BACK IN AFTER THAT?!?



Re: Doing The Gay (Score: 1)
by cassandra on Friday, May 12 2006
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Awesome story Joe!



Happy weekend! :)



Re: Doing The Gay (Score: 1)
by poisnedcoke on Friday, May 12 2006
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I always knew you were a homo-queer-fag joe.



Re: Doing The Gay (Score: 1)
by DarkAngela on Friday, May 12 2006
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First off, the name "Doing The Gay" kicks ass. Just...Yeah. Awesome.





"Such was the nature of Mandy – a sweet girl, to be sure. Demanding, high maintenance and pushy, but sweet."



Isn't that the anti-definition of a sweet girl? I think so...





"A twenty-two page letter by Mandy, which conveyed in rather excruciating detail..."



Funny...That crazy letter from Rachel to Ross (on Friends) was 22 pages long. FRONT AND BACK! Hahaha!



Re: Doing The Gay (Score: 1)
by maggot_hex on Monday, May 15 2006
(User Info | Send a Message)
"other references to mail genitalia" shouuldn't that be "male genitalia"?



Re: Doing The Gay (Score: 1)
by DrewbieTech on Tuesday, May 16 2006
(User Info | Send a Message) http://abeautifulcollision.blogspot.com
“Yeah, uh… That’s… Um… Hey, you want to hear what it sounds like when a relationship ends? It sounds like this—”

*CLICK*


That is the best line. I wish I had thought of that last summer.



Re: Doing The Gay (Score: 1)
by ShadyNurse (shadynurse@earthlink.net) on Friday, May 19 2006
(User Info | Send a Message)
I love you, Joe...thank you for "Doing the Gay"



Perfect title...sounds like my grandmother...she asked me (when I was the ripe, young age of 15) how gay men "did it" by saying "do they eat each other?"



...a VERY surreal experience explaining to your 63-year-old grandmother (now 80) the mechanics of homosexual relations between 2 men...






Re: Doing The Gay (Score: 1)
by thej2 (j.jakubowski@gmail.com) on Friday, May 19 2006
(User Info | Send a Message)
I would like to read the actual text of the third section of that letter. It just seems like it could come in handy one day.



Re: Doing The Gay (Score: 1)
by DannyBoy (replies@dannysdump.com) on Friday, May 19 2006
(User Info | Send a Message | Journal) http://www.www.bigdan.us
Yet another awsome story by Joe.



Your last few stories have been great!



Re: Doing The Gay (Score: 1)
by Paradoxic (Nonthing@noway.nohow) on Saturday, May 20 2006
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I liked this one a lot... I just wish it wasn't in the same bracket as the Wings one.



Re: Doing The Gay (Score: 1)
by Budasolkai on Thursday, May 25 2006
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hehe, its funny that one of my very good friends just broke up with her boyfriend last night, after he made a 3 hours "suprise" visit to see her. It was dumb. Anywho, I would have to jack that biotch up if she tried to convince my parents of something like that.



Doing The Gay... (Score: 1)
by joe_jo (joejo4@epals.com) on Saturday, June 10 2006
(User Info | Send a Message | Journal)
You know what, it's un-fucking-believable how uncanny this is. It is so close to my situation, only it's my father who thinks I'm gay, and he wants to kill me, not nurture me. He's asked countless times, and he refuses to believe I'm not. Now he's going to even more. I left this page open. At the last paragraph of the story. Yep. That sentence. Here we go again...life sucks...





...and good story.



Re: Doing The Gay (Score: 1)
by Kabukiboy (Grendel) on Friday, June 16 2006
(User Info | Send a Message) http://lavender.fortunecity.com/westbridge/574/
Elton John was married once. Liberace swore to the day he died that he wasn't gay. What is it with flamboyant, nipply artists wanting to cover up their torrid gayness? Joe, you're a flamboyant, nipply artist. There I said it.



Re: Doing The Gay (Score: 1)
by hitbyslimfast (w) on Sunday, June 25 2006
(User Info | Send a Message)
I'm in the same boat you were. My mom and I got in to a fight a number of years ago after I told her that I was moving in with a friend from school. She asked, "wherever Jesse went, you would go to, wouldn't you?" to which I answered, "yeah, probably."



Ever since then when my dad comes to my apartment he plants Playboys in my bathroom when I'm not looking and he raids my dresser drawers (no doubt searching for a stack of love letters from my "boyfriend") if I don't keep an eye on him. When I call him from college the first thing he asks is, "so, you get laid yet?" and when I tell him no he insists that I just go out and find a "blonde, big-titted chick" at a bar.



Also, when I first moved to college my grandpa warned me about "catching the gay".



I don't actually know what evidence they have that would cause them to behave this way. I mean, my mom has found some of my porn. Twice. (I hid it well, she was just really nosy.) It was entirely non-gay porn.



I've thought about leaving a donkey-midget-porn magazine on my bed for the next time they come over to visit and really fucking with their heads.



And for clarification, I'm not gay. Not that there's anything wrong with that...



Good story, Joe.



Re: Doing The Gay (Score: 1)
by Maff (ifawoodchuckcouldchuckwood@hotmail.com) on Thursday, April 19 2007
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Heh, strange that we seem to have it the wrong way round... When I told my mum that I'm gay, she didn't believe me at all. I actually had to convince her that I don't find girls sexually arousing at all and would much rather be with a guy.



Also, nobody at college believed I was gay, either. Weeeird. I'm sure most of them had even SEEN me groping a guy once or twice, so I don't know HOW they could refuse to believe it. Was rather amusing to hear my friend Caitlin bitching about idiot girls not believing her about my sexuality, though ^^ Heheheheh....



It is rather annoying to have a girl clinging to your leg in public and begging very loudly for you to become bisexual. Yeah, because I can totally change it... She was one of those "sweet" girls, too.



Re: Doing The Gay (Score: 1)
by Maff (ifawoodchuckcouldchuckwood@hotmail.com) on Thursday, April 19 2007
(User Info | Send a Message)
Heh, strange that we seem to have it the wrong way round... When I told my mum that I'm gay, she didn't believe me at all. I actually had to convince her that I don't find girls sexually arousing at all and would much rather be with a guy.



Also, nobody at college believed I was gay, either. Weeeird. I'm sure most of them had even SEEN me groping a guy once or twice, so I don't know HOW they could refuse to believe it. Was rather amusing to hear my friend Caitlin bitching about idiot girls not believing her about my sexuality, though ^^ Heheheheh....



It is rather annoying to have a girl clinging to your leg in public and begging very loudly for you to become bisexual. Yeah, because I can totally change it... She was one of those "sweet" girls, too.



[No Subject] (Score: 1)
by Rygaud on Monday, June 30 2008
(User Info | Send a Message)
Wow. I actually had the same "love you no matter what" conversation with my mom last night, it's just a coincidence I happened to read this.




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