Introduction

Cosmo.

That’s what everybody calls me, because Constantine sounds like some dead Roman emperor or a dude whose portrait is hanging in a museum.
Nah, bro.
I’m Cosmo.

And before you start building some dramatic Netflix backstory in your head, chill.
I didn’t run away from home.
Even though, lowkey, that might’ve been the smartest move for everybody involved.
I ain’t from the hood. I ain’t from the streets. No tragic backstory, no sleeping behind gas stations, no childhood montage with sad piano music.

My family is actually stupid normal.
Like painfully normal.
Super Christian.
My dad’s a pastor.
Yeah.
A whole ass pastor.
Which means God basically has a permanent seat at our dinner table.

My mom is the perfect pastor’s wife too. Church every Sunday, Bible verses everywhere, praying before meals, before trips, before basically anything that could possibly go wrong.
She probably prays every night for God to fix me.
Respectfully, He’s got work to do.

There’s six of us kids.
Three brothers, two sisters and me.
When we go out to eat, restaurants don’t give us a table, they start moving furniture.
My oldest brother already moved out.
He’s the golden boy.
Responsible, polite, got plans, probably owns an iron and actually knows how to use it.
My dad looks at him like, “That right there is a man.”
Then he looks at me like, “Lord, give me strength.”
Fair.
My little brother’s still young enough to think adults know what they’re doing.
Cute. Give him time.

And then there’s me. Dead center.Middle child. Family software bug.

My parents tried everything.
Rules. Church. Bible study. Youth group. Curfews. Lectures. More lectures. Lectures about why the other lectures weren’t working.
Didn’t matter.
I hate being told what to do.
Like, genuinely.
You tell me, “Don’t touch that.” Now I gotta touch it.
You tell me, “Be home by eleven.” Cool. See you at twelve forty three.
You tell me, “Stay away from that person.” Now I wanna know their name.
You tell me, “That’s a bad idea.”
Bro. Now it sounds fun.

My sisters are the opposite.
Good Christian girls. Sweet, responsible, exactly the kinda daughters parents brag about after church.
They’re also apparently doing their part to make sure humanity never becomes an endangered species.

Meanwhile I’m in the gym six days a week acting like civilization depends on my next set.
Gym is basically church for me.
Except the music’s better and nobody asks me to confess shit.
Lift heavy.
Eat everything.
Check the mirror.
Pretend I’m not checking the mirror.
Check again.
And yeah, My hormones are basically running a hostile takeover.
I wake up horny.
I go to the gym horny.
I come home horny.
Somebody hot walks past and whatever intelligent thought I was having immediately gets evicted.

Girl’s hot?
Bet.
Guy’s hot?
Also bet.
I’m equal opportunity when it comes to terrible decisions.
I don’t need a label meeting, a committee, a PowerPoint presentation.
If you’re hot and the vibe is there, my brain is already like, “Bro, we should absolutely make this more complicated.”

And my brain is dumb as hell. That’s important context. I flirt with basically everybody. Sometimes on purpose.
Sometimes because apparently my face does shit without consulting me first.
Eye contact lasts half a second too long.
Stupid grin.
One smartass comment.
Then boom, now we’re doing that little game where both people know exactly what’s going on but nobody says it yet.
That shit is fun.

My mom, obviously, knows none of this.
She still thinks I’m some innocent church boy whose biggest temptation is skipping Bible study.
Which is adorable. Wildly inaccurate. But adorable.

Me and my boys are always doing some dumb shit too.
Not criminal mastermind dumb.
More like, “Bro, technically nobody said we couldn’t.”
That’s usually how it starts.
We talk shit.
We wrestle.
We scrap.
We race each other.
We make bets nobody should make.
And somehow there’s always one dude saying, “Yo, Cosmo, don’t.”
Which obviously means I’m already doing it.

I’ve gotten into fights.
Some necessary.
Some unnecessary.
Some so unnecessary I can’t even defend them properly.

But sometimes a dude runs his mouth and suddenly we got a community event. It happens.

My dad keeps telling me real strength means walking away.
Beautiful message.
Very spiritual.
Personally, I think it depends who threw the first punch.

At home, I know the routine.
Clean shirt. Nice smile. “Yes, Dad.”
“Sure, Mom.”
“God bless.”
Sit straight in church. Shake hands with old people.
Look like I’m listening.
Easy.

Then I leave the house and my actual personality clocks back in.
Gym.
Parties.
Bad ideas.
People my parents would absolutely pray over.
Flirting with somebody I definitely shouldn’t.
Kissing somebody because I absolutely should not.
Getting into situations that start with, “Bro, hear me out,” and end with somebody saying, “We are never doing that again.”
Spoiler.
We probably are.

Honestly, half my life is just me choosing between lifting something heavy, saying something stupid, hitting on somebody hot, or getting involved in something that clearly ain’t my business.
Sometimes all four happen in the same night.
Efficiency.

My parents still think I’m going through a phase.
Like one morning I’m gonna wake up, put on khakis, start drinking decaf, apologize to everybody and become youth pastor of the year.
Could happen.
Meteor could hit the gym too.
Anything’s possible.
Till then, I’m Cosmo.

And Cosmo usually has a worse idea.

Last login: 3 days ago
Start of membership: 11 days ago