A hobosexual is the opposite of a metrosexual. It is a person who cares little for one’s own appearance. I’m pretty sure people could often mistake me for a hobosexual, given that I can often be seen wandering around the gay village in my sweats with my hair up in a messy bun and hidden under a giant toque, and wearing my dad’s old lumberjack jacket that’s four sizes too big. I’ve also been known to hobo travel, which is essentially trying to find the cheapest possible way to travel. This might mean taking a three-day greyhound bus ride instead of a three-hour flight because you can save $50. It could mean taking the bus from Toronto to Buffalo, a flight from Buffalo to San Antonio, and a bus from San Antonio to Monterrey Mexico, just because you desperately wanted to visit your sister and if you spent 36 hours traveling like that, you could do the whole trip for under $200. That’s hobo traveling.
Being a hobosexual is not necessarily a bad thing, though a lot of people (including my long-term lover, who is constantly trying to convince me not to leave our apartment in my pajamas) seem to believe it is. I still manage to get laid in spite of my hobo tendencies, which just proves that everyone needs to find someone who accepts them for who they are. The trick is to sometimes dress up so that you remind them how incredibly hot you actually are under the track suit and the oversized Value Village jacket and the unwashed greasy hair. Once every few weeks you’ve got to shave and pull on some sexy tights and a little skirt and some John Fluevog heels and a low cut blouse and get some colour on your face and curl your hair and brush your teeth and step out of the bathroom leaving a cloud of glorious perfume behind you and do your very best to show off that hot wagon you’re dragging. Take your lover to a nice restaurant and give her eyes while you drink your wine. Leave a lipstick mark on the glass and on his hand when you kiss it. Lean in to listen to all her funny stories so that your cleavage is so obvious it becomes palpable, this living breathing thing. Then take your lover home and fuck his brains out. Let him carve the tights off your body with his pocket knife. Let her bury her face into your freshly shaved pussy. Come as hard as you can.
Then, the next day, you can leave your pajamas on all day and even leave the house in them and your lover won’t even notice. He’ll be blind to your hobo-ness once again.
1. I’m more of a hobosexual when I’m in a relationship. I don’t really like to shower.
2. My boyfriend’s a total hobosexual. He wears the same jeans every day. Yesterday he took them off and they walked themselves back into the closet.
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