The Art of Being Poor

I did it, guys! I made some friends in Armenia. But, since there has to be a balance in the universe, I seem to have lost, or at least conveniently lost contact with, a lot of people that I considered really important to me back in Oklahoma. Am I sad about it? Yes. What am I going to do? Save my tears and cry into my pillow at night just like Abby Lee Miller taught me to.

My friends are a diverse group: Armenians, Poles, Americans, Koreans. (Polish and Korean girls seem to be a necessary part of my social life wherever I go). We started just by eating lunch together but now we’ve moved on to traveling together and kicking ass at bar trivia once a week. (If you were wondering, Armenian beer DOES, in fact, suck major asshole and not in a good way.) We’ve also had dinner at each other’s apartments and I even brought them to the top of my apartment building, which has a spectacular view of the city and Mount Ararat. When I go up there alone, I am inspired to have indie photo shoots and write emo phrases all over my forearms. Needless to say, that’s my fav part of my apartment. And I like my friends a lot!

But let’s get to the lesson of this blog post: I am the best at being poor. I came to Armenia with less than $1000 in my bank account and more than that in medical bills that I keep running away from. This talent of “poor-ocity” is a gift God gave very few of us. Therefore, I would like to grace you with my knowledge that will hopefully keep you alive even in the most meager financial circumstances.

Pita’s tips for being needy:

1. Pick a ghetto place to live. My toilet runs all day and I haven’t really figured out how to use my hot water/if there is hot water. There are hoodlum children that run around outside and yell at their moms 24/7 and the other day, my doorbell rang 5 times, all to people that had no business bothering me. The apartment doesn’t have a microwave, which is kind of a dealbreaker. I don’t really cook using real appliances so I make everything in the one pot I own or eat cheese and bread. This brings me to my next tip.

2. Eat as little as possible. The first few days I was here were awesome because I wasn’t hungry. I was depressed and in a new environment, both of which make me lose my usually endless appetite. So, I got in the habit of eating one to one and a half meals per day. One of these meals was usually bread. One time, there was a farewell party at work and I hate so many hors d’oeuvres that I didn’t have to eat dinner. It was fantastic. At first, I loved my temporary anorexia. I was walking everywhere and not eating so my pants got looser and everything was great. But the downside of not putting anything inside your body is that nothing comes OUT of your body…like for three/four days. Yeah, not healthy. Plus, the cheapest shit is always loaded with carbs, which is not anorexic-friendly. If I were a dedicated T.Ano-Rex, I would eat one meal a day and it would be Ex Lax. I also have a weakness for ice cream. So, my weight loss plan didn’t work out but I still am a cheap mofo. I eat animal crackers with milk instead of cereal and I steal the UNICEF water from work. I almost stole the air freshener, but it wouldn’t fit in my pocket.

3. Don’t have friends. So this one wasn’t really my choice at the beginning but it happened and I got used to it. When you have friends, anything you do requires money: drinking, going the movies, eating, having sex. When you have no friends, your activities include sitting on your ass, applying for jobs like a madman, watching seasons of Desperate Housewives, and crying. The last one sucks because you get dehydrated and have to ration out more of your stolen UNICEF water.

4. Other ways to save money: cut your own hair until you regret it, walk everywhere even when you feel like you’re going to have a heat stroke, charge all your electronics and use the facilities at work as much as possible (saving electricity and water/air fresheners respectively).

I’ll finish this post with another list. For the record, I still dislike Yerevan. The drivers are morons, the air is polluted, and everyone still stares. I know it’s because I wear shorts and my legs DON’T look like you took a broomstick, covered it in molasses, and rolled it over a herd of gorillas. (This means Armenians are hairy). Anyway!

1. Armenian girls don’t eat. Every time I see them in the cafeteria at the office, they have like two tomatoes and three olives and rave about how full they are. Yeah, girl. I see you wearing those Hannah Montana-sized clothes and I wish I could fit into them too.

2. They think I’m British. WTF? I almost took this job teaching at a local high school but the pay wasn’t worth it. The English teacher kept telling me to make a PowerPoint presentation about London or the Olympics or the weather in England. Obviously, she should NOT be teaching English if she thinks the words coming out of my mouth sound anything like Madonna’s. (That’s a joke, you guys. I know Madge is from Michigan.)

3. My latest obsession and goal is doing the splits. My flexibility is something that I’ve been “complimented” on before though it’s weird when it comes from a boy you’ve met in the biblical sense (if you can use that expression with gay boys).

Me: “I’m really flexible”

Boy who will stop talking to me in a week: “Yeah, I’ve noticed”

Me: “Thanks?”

It’s not the sexiest talent but ain’t no boys coming to dip this pretzel in cheese any time soon so I can do whatever I want.

If you find me a job, I’ll show a pic of me splitting like a banana!

The Bitchy Post

Don’t worry guys; it’s here. Don’t know who’s going to read this because hardly anyone likes my Facebook statuses or photos or ANYTHING any more (Come on now!). So, this is my inevitable blog post when I’m abroad where I bitch about how things suck and how I don’t want to be here. Usually, things get better after I describe to the virtual world the (not-so) terrible situation I’m in.

Here goes!

I have no friends here. Period dot. None. Not one. I have been here over a month and I’m still on the struggle bus to Friendshipville. Of course, I’ve met people. And they’re nice. But I have like two numbers in my phone and I never use them. Also, no one thinks I’m funny. So, I just laugh with myself a lot. Have I told you that one of my best friends(?)/frenemies lives like 4 hours away and won’t talk to me? Cool man, cool. You win. You’re better than me. You’re having a good time with your friends and I’m not.

But I will entertain myself with all these things on my “no friend” to-do list:
1. Solo photo shoot in my apartment (let’s be honest, I probably won’t have clothes on in most of the pics, might be some fire/props in there too. Who knows?).
2. Have a competition with myself to see who can go the longest without washing his hair? Wonder who’s going to win?
3. Throw moldy food at the hooligan children downstairs in my apartment complex.
4. Have a séance to talk to the spirit of my dead cat Bubbles.

Let’s get all the bitching out right now. Everyone stares at me. And not discretely, like 15-second stares. Armenians CANNOT (CANNOT!) walk in a straight line. The sidewalk can be 8 feet wide and they will zigzag the fuck out of that slab of concrete. Always in my way. Like super jumbo maxi pad Always Ultra!

Armenians, like Turks, have a very distinct…smell. I’m scared because I think I’m starting to smell Armenian. ☹

Ok, venting is over. I have to tell you what happened a couple of weekends ago. My supervisor/boss? is a really nice British guy. I don’t understand his accent a lot of the time but we get each other. He invited a bunch of young(er) people from the office out on a Thursday night. We went. It was lots of fun. Food and wine at a fancy restaurant. The whole time I was hoping that one of the nice older guys would offer to pay because I’m poor, and they did! I drank quite a bit because the alcohol was free and I somehow end up with two old guys who said they would give me a ride home. The older one, probably around 60, was the drunkest and started talking about getting a prostitute. Haha. We’re laughing. It’s funny. Next thing I know, I’m in a hotel and we’re asking the front desk for a prostitute. How did I get myself in this position? Lucky for me, they didn’t have any available (maybe they’re all on maternity leave) so we ended up at Cinnabon at 2am. Needless to say, I was kind of out of it at work the next day.

Last weekend, I was in a mood. No surprise there. I had no plans, which is normal, so I decided to walk around the city a little. It’s easy to get stuck in my own little bubble so I tried to branch out. I sat at this restaurant and overheard these three girls talking. I realized they were speaking Hebrew and finally got up the nerve to ask them if they were from Israel. They invited me to sit with them and we spoke in Hebrew for a while. (Remember that one time I spent years learning Hebrew because I fell in love with a boy from Israel?) They were visiting Armenia and were trying to get to this Mime festival in another city. Mime like black and white shirt, painted face. Whatever floats your boat. I must mention that these girls were hippie shit. Not in a derogatory way but they were like the definition of hippie. Long dresses, dreadlocks, hairy armpits. Somehow I end up going with them to this festival. I thought we would come back that night but we didn’t. It was an adventure and I hardly spent any money so I can’t complain. We came back to Yerevan and they asked if they could stay with me for a night. Sure, I have no friends and nothing to do. One night’s no big deal.

Can I take a shower? Ok, fine.
Can we all do our laundry? Uhh sure but you have to buy soap.
No, it’s ok we’ll just use yours.

I was pretty on edge at this point because I like my space. The kicker was the next morning. They had to get up early to leave so they “tried” to be quiet. Well, they weren’t. I was wide awake in my bed and I look over and one of them is eating my cereal. EATING. MY. CEREAL! I hadn’t even opened the box. But she helped me out with that. Sorry this isn’t a kibbutz. Time to go! They were very sweet but obviously it’s hard to host 3 people in a studio apartment when you like your space.

This has been the bitchy post y’all. Stay tuned for pics from my sensual greasy-haired photo shoot. Fierce and Love…

Officially a Kardashian

So, I somehow managed to make it to Yerevan, Armenia, where I am interning with the UNDP for six months. It was a pretty big decision to make because I’m poor, medicated, and knew zero people in Armenia before coming here. But I figured I might as well let this tiny mountain country handle my jelly for a while.

I had been eager to get out of Norman for a while, or so I thought. I wanted a big boy job and all the benefits that come with it. I anticipated life after graduation would suck with no job, but this summer was actually a lot of fun. The morning I left for my 20-hour drive back to Virginia, I sobbed so hard I needed paper towels (not tissues). That might also be because I left a certain boy behind.

After days of round the clock anxiety, I finally set off on my trip to Armenia. Luckily, someone was waiting for me at the airport and drove me to another person’s apartment where I would be staying. Super nice, right? The only catch is that the guy who lives in the apartment is out of the country. So, I’m all alone in this apartment with no internet, I miss my friends, AND I can’t sleep. This led to some serious feelings of anxiety, depression, and doubt about whether I made the right choice about coming here L.

My first day I was on my own and only went into the city to use wifi  at a local café. I needed to tell my momma that I was alive! Other than that, I just stayed at home because it was damn hot out. On my second full day, I met up with someone from the UNDP office who offered to help me get a cell phone. She gave me a tour of the office and being the dork I am, I got chills walking around the place because IT’S THE UN!!! Ani introduced me to some of her family and friends and we just hung out in Yerry (Yerevan). One of her friends, who I assumed was gay, kept asking me about girls, which I assumed was a ploy to out me so he could out himself and make the moves on me. Instead this is how it played out:

Unibrow (Use your imagination to figure out why this is his codename): You have a girlfriend?

Me: No.

Unibrow: There are many beautiful girls in Armenia. You want an Armenian girlfriend?

Me: No.

(I thought his reaction would just be like “Oh, yes, you are a player! You want many girls.” but instead, he went for the money.)

Uni: You do like girls, right?

Me: …No.

U: There are many beautiful boys in Armenia!

Me: But isn’t it kind of weird to be gay in Armenia?

(You know what I mean. Like am I going to get stoned for it?)

U: I think that it’s weird everywhere to be gay. (<=best quote ever)

Antywhoze, the night was fun. I was glad to make some friends and not be left sitting at home reading a book and doing sudokus. Let me remind you that there is no internet in the apartment! The bar we went to was nice but so strange. It’s called Bourbon Street and the menu consists of Cajun chicken and “chilli”. That’s right, with two “L”s. While showing episodes of Dexter’s Laboratory and other cartoons on a projector, they played an assortment of American music that included Backstreet Boys, Fergie, and the soundtrack from Sister Act 2. It was pretty happening. I think I got a good feel of the Armenian youth. Some girls are quite pretty as Unibrow told me, but the guys don’t have as much luck. For example, Bourbon Street probably had 50-75 people there Saturday night. Imagine both you and I went together and I was describing a guy to you. This is how the convo would go:

Me: Hey, you remember that guy from BS? (which is what I’m going to call that place from now on).

You: Which one?

Me: The attractive one.

You: Oh yeah, I know exactly who you’re talking about.

There was also the typical gay guy who hasn’t realized he’s gay yet but has man boobs and knows all the lyrics to every Rihanna song. We see you chubby gay!

I’ll leave you with a list of my personal observations of Armenia so far:

1. Approximately 90% of Armenians need makeovers. In terms of clothing and personal upkeep, I give pretty much everyone an E for effort. But most guys’ haircuts are gross, like mullets and shit. A lot of girls try to be fashion forward but many fail and end up looking like Big Ang from Mob Wives.

2. Not many people wear shorts. Sorry if I offend you Armenia but if you see how much I’m sweating right now in my shorty shorts, you can imagine how bad this would be if I was wearing jeans like you are. There would be puddles of ass-sweat all over your city.

3. How I am going to learn this language???

Anxiety's Next Top Model

I had high hopes for my final semester of college. I planned to get in shape to run my first half marathon, have a boy not act like a complete douche to me, and secure a job for after graduation. I usually follow this pattern of goals every semester: something physical, something melodramatic, and something success-oriented. Typically, I accomplish the third category goal, fail the other two, and end up drinking away my half marathon body and embarrassing myself in front of a cute boy. But second semester of senior year, I failed all three.

Back in January, right when classes were picking up, I started to have health issues. I came home one day stressed out about money, my car, my teeth, and my future. I planned to nap all the frustration away but found that I couldn’t fall asleep. My heart was racing, my vision was fuzzy, and my hands were tingling. When these symptoms persisted for more than an hour, I pretty much flipped my shit. I didn’t know what was wrong with me. Finally, my roommate drove me to the ER where the doctor ordered a series of tests. When nothing suspicious turned up, I was diagnosed with an anxiety attack and sent home. I wish I could say this was a one-time incident but sadly, it was the beginning of a hellish semester, even worse than the one in high school where I spent every day crying in my bed mourning the loss of my ex-boyfriend.

Following this episode, my body did not act the way I wanted it to. I had tightness in my chest off and on throughout the day and felt like I was either going to vom or pass out in all my classes. Some days were better than others but I had never felt this way before and didn’t know how to act. Of course, me being Peter, I diagnosed myself with an array of diseases and conditions: asthma, allergies, cancer, heart defect…It seems silly now but I had myself totally convinced that May was never going to get here and I wouldn’t graduate (because I’d be dead or dying). There were times when I almost wrote to the Make a Wish people to make my dream of meeting Oprah come true.

I can’t count the number of times I have seen the doctor and the number of procedures I’ve endured since January. Cardiologists, eye doctors, regular doctors… x-rays, EKGs, heart sonograms, running on a treadmill…But time after time, no problems were detected. After my second serious “attack” where I drove myself to the emergency room convinced I was dying (don’t ask me how many traffic laws I violated), I began treatment for anxiety. I was hesitant to admit, to myself and others, that stress could be causing all this physical pain and emotional terror. However, one of the perks of anxiety is that I received a complimentary prescription for Valium.

Shortly after I started treatment, I experienced my second serious car crash ever. My first one was last October. Once again, I ended up in the grassy median of an Oklahoma highway. Although physically I was fine, my anxious feelings were anything but alleviated. In the end, I somehow managed to finally make it through this disgusting semester and graduate with Carol Ann there to watch me.

Now what? After submitting approximately a bajillion job applications without receiving a single glimmer of hope, I was without a job and losing hope. I decided to dedicate my summer to relaxing, working on my anxiety, and paying off my thousands of dollars of medical bills. Initially, I thought this would suck. But, it has turned out to be quite a godsend. I still have some anxious feelings but nowhere near as bad as during the semester. I owe a lot of credit to yoga and Zoloft…and a boy.

 Just as I was getting settled into my easy going summer routine of work and chill, I got an email from the UN Development Programme in Armenia saying they wanted to interview me for an internship position. WTF???!!! Some piece of shit NGO in DC doesn’t want to talk to me but the UN does?! I thought they must have emailed the wrong person. But I played along and had a Skype interview with some very pleasant Armenians. I thought things went well. They didn’t seem to mind that I was sitting in my garage and not wearing pants during the interview. A week later, they told me that they had accepted me for the position. So, it looks like once again my scandalous international blog will be revived. Prepare to be up to date on Yerevan fashion tips and gossip.

So here’s a summary of this mega long blog post: This semester was one of the biggest struggles I have ever gone through but I still managed to look good. Now, I’m on my way to Kardashian-land to add more stamps to my passport and make yet another country fall in love with me.
Peace and love, Peter Kardashian Jones

My sisters and me

Yerevan

Easy, Breezy, Beautiful...GAY?!

As my last winter break as a college student comes to a close, I decided to reflect on all that has happened in the month since last semester’s classes finished (and my 23rd birthday eww). This winter break was anything but cold in terms of juicy shit in my life. It was HOT HOT HOT! I faced my fear of flying with a record-breaking five flights. On the way back to Oklahoma, I thought I wasn’t going to make it because it felt like we were attacked by a swarm of pterodactyls. Maybe watching Lost isn’t good for my phobia…

My parents live in the high-class town of Front Royal, Virginia where banks count their coins by hand and the county fair has midget wrestling so that is where I was for most of the break. For Christmas, we went down to a cabin my parents have in Georgia. It was on the nine-hour car ride that I realized that I have a new phobia: road trips. After crawling out of the back windshield of a flipped car last semester, I’m not really happy to be trapped in a car for long periods of time. I especially hate passing semis, RVs, or any other vehicle that has the potential to 1) crush me or 2) force me off the road. But somehow we made it there and back in one piece. The cabin doesn’t have internet or really anything to do, but it was nice to relax and spend time with family…for the first day or so.

I also took a trip to visit my grandparents in New Jersey for a weekend with my mom. That’s only five hours away so the car ride didn’t make me as anxious. It was on the way back that I decided to tell my mom that I’m gay once and for all. I’ve wanted to come out to my family for a while and I thought that they were becoming more open to the idea. But ever since I came back from Turkey, they have seemed uber weird about anything relevant to gay people and sometimes even talk to me about bringing girls home. I know you’re probably reading this thinking “How does Peter’s family not know? He’s SOOOO gay!” First, you’re a shithead and two, my parents were in the military and are conservative and don’t really understand the concept of gay because they know zero gay people. But I decided to do it in this five-hour car trip so that my mom couldn’t run away from me. It could have been super awkward but it actually went quite well. She’s supportive and wanted me to know that she loves me, etc etc. But once we got to talking more, she got a little too confident and looking back, it kind of makes me a little uncomfortable. She went from “we kind of suspected” to “yeah, well we’ve known for forever because your stepdad caught you looking at gay porn that one time in seventh grade”. She also asked me if I’m attracted to black guys and proceeded to tell me that she’s never been sexually attracted to them. The biggest overshare was when she decided to let me know that my 12-year-old sister is expecting to get her period any day now. Thanks, Carol Ann for your support with my gaydom but we don’t need to get that close.

Now that I’m back in Norman, Oklahoma, the asshole boy capital of America, I’d like to make a list of resolutions for this coming semester:
1. Regain some of the confidence I lost in the fall. After being the hot American in Istanbul, I was at about an 8 on a scale of 1-10. After multiple failed attempts at hooking up/relationships (?) and even more embarrassing run-ins with boys, I am now at about a 4, a 5 on good days. I haven’t exactly decided how to regain this confidence but I have a whole semester.
2. Run a half marathon. It’s pretty self-explanatory. Somehow I got to get this boney ass across the finish line. Is it going to be easy? No. But it’s going to happen.
3. Figure out what I’m doing with my life. Red Lobster is still an option, but not my ideal choice. I’d like to find a job in a city where I’m considered attractive, so that eliminates most places in America…

Lots o’ luh!

Rejection Plus Acceptance

Being back in Oklahoma after studying abroad for an entire year has really surprised me. The things I expected to be good at…aren’t really working out. And things that I expected to be lame are actually super fun.

School is pretty much all I’m good at these days and I guess that’s going pretty well. Go to class, study, do homework, take a test, it’s all whatevs. I’m ready to graduate but that’s where things get fuzzy. I’ve always been one to be proactive and think about things in the future and all that stuff. And I have been. I’ve already done a lot to prepare for next year. The problem is none of them have worked out.

1. Four fellowships for next year. Applied. Rejected in first round.
2. Campus award. Applied. Rejected. (No surprise. Should have stayed in Norman and helped plan “DaD’s DaY” or “DaNcE mArAtHoN” and done some BS study abroad like “ZOMG! 3 days in Peru+6 hours of non-western upper division credit for 5 million dollars” if I wanted that.)
3. I also took the Foreign Service Officer Test to decide if I could work in an embassy. Sounds cool right? I failed the test by 1.25 points!!! ☹

So, things haven’t really been going my way with regard to my future. It stings to be rejected so much by October of my senior year, but box wine (a.k.a. juice boxes) help me cope. It’s funny because honestly I think study abroad was the thing that messed that up for me. Try taking a break from your life and then coming back to it in a year and see how successful you are. The plus side of this is that now I can make new friends really quick because I don’t know anyone! Which brings me to my next point.

After three whole years of not being noticed, I have finally been accepted with open arms by the gay community of Norman, Oklahoma!!! They were ready for me before I even got back from Turkey. It was gay add Peter o’clock and I ate that shit up. Now, I meet them for like two seconds or call them an asshole and then they add me on FB. Who would have thought?

What’s my secret? Be a big douchebag! With most people, being nice and outgoing will usually lead to a good friendship. Wiff duh gays of Okla, they live for the sass. Just tell them all the gossip you’ve heard about them behind their backs. Instant friendship!

Yeah, so maybe this isn’t a foolproof plan. I ideally would like to keep some of these friendships and not just converse with these people while intoxicated. I also would not like to be working at a Red Lobster after I graduate. I mean the cheddar biscuits would be bomb for a while but I hope things don’t come to that.

Wish me luck faithful blog followers!

Hot and Dangerous

Yo lovers!

Wanna hear about my shitty but very entertaining love life in Norman? Well, let's get on it!!!

I've never had much luck dating in Oklahoma, or in America for that matter. I can't really come to any conclusions on why that happens but it's the truth. I think it's because they love the gama (gay drama) and I just like foreigners. But since I've been back, weird. things. are. happening.

1. I have been gay added on facebook SO MANY TIMES both while I was abroad and since I've been back, and I'm loving it like it's fucking McDonald's. I hope they read my blogs too so then I can be interwebz famous at OU.

2. Went to a party a couple weeks ago and kissed someone (heaven forbid!). Of course, that has led to nothing and I can't understand why. Maybe I AM a bad kisser like Cindy told me that one time...

3. This is the best story ever. Predrank at a friend's place this weekend before going to Campus Corner for one of the foreign people parties. One of my friends invited a friend that he was semi-intersted in. I thought he was dorky cute, but I backed off because bros before hos, right? (P.S. this rule never applies to the gay community of Oklahoma) But anyway, things didn't work between them and somehow I got to talking to my friend's friend. The conversation turned to other things and we eventually decided that we'd go home together after the party. The whole party I had this in my mind. I even felt bad after someone else grinded on me. We finally left the party and decided to walk to my house from Campus Corner. According to Google Maps, that is a 1.6 mile walk that should take 31 minutes. Keep that in mind. We get all the way to my house, I use the bathroom for two seconds. When I come out, he's not there any more. THAT BITCH IS GONE! HE RAN AWAY FROM ME!!! You would think that during those 31 minutes of walking, you might have had time to change your mind. Nope. It was during those two seconds that I was in the bathroom. And could you say "hey, I'm not interested any more" or leave a note? Nope. Ran. Away. It's like dine and dash but you didn't eat anything. What's the point?

So, boys have been testing my self-esteem lately. I don't know whether to be flattered that they're interested in me for a part of an evening or be offended that they quit it before they even hit it.

NO MORE AMERICAN GAMA PLZ. I'VE DECIDED I'M MOVING TO GERMANY.