I remember watching the TRL premiere of Livin' La Vida Loca next to my first "real" girlfriend and trying not to sweat. I'd caught Latin fever.
And yes, I said girlfriend. It happens to the best of us.
It was the summer I transitioned from having a "butt cut" to highlighted (would-be) spikes. I was maybe 14, and bleach-in-a-box aside, hadn't quite reached the understanding that I was supposed to hate Ricky Martin because my girlfriend thought he was cute. I just hated her instead. After all, he was mine — and as it turns out, I guess I'd have had a better shot with him anyway. (Or at least that guy pictured "exercising" with him does.)
Ricky Martin is gay.
Just typing it makes me feel like every junior varsity footballer from my middle school.
This article appears in Mar 31 – Apr 6, 2010.