Everything I need to know in life...

...I learned from Patrick.

Tuna Girl here.

Since Patrick has been working his fingers to the bone to make money (or maybe I should say working his bone for tips) these last few days, he hasn't had time to blog. So this morning, during his daily drive to Provincetown, he asked me to fill in for a day.

I think it was about a year ago that I wrote in my blog that I suspected Patrick may be as sexed up as I am. And that is saying a hell of a lot.

In the intervening year, as I've gotten to really know him and develop an amazing friendship, he has proven me absolutely right.

But knowing Patrick has taught me other things too. Invaluable things that can really shape a life.

For example, he has taught me how to dress. Because when you're best friend says, "Sweetie, you dress like a lesbian", well, there is just no ignoring that.

And in teaching me how to dress, he has taught me the power of my boobs. I'd rather just ignore that they existed. But somehow he convinces me to do things. And I spent many a night out in the Cleveland bars with my cleavage all sparkly and proud. Of course my boobs got molested and doused, but I also got a lot of free drinks.

Speaking of which, Patrick also taught me how to drink. He started me off in NYC in December with training wheels (aka Amaretto Sours). And he moved me up to intermediate over my birthday week when he forced me to drink shots and Cosmopolitans.

And while out in the bars, he taught me how to be graciously molested. I have to tell you, I've never seen one man get grabbed so much as Patrick did when we went out. I'd say that it's his booty that draws the boys like honey, but I suspect that it may be what he's packing in front too. (Though I only suspect. I haven't actually seen. Well, not really anyway. Only once, by accident. And I covered my eyes!)

And speaking of my friend's dick, does anyone remember Mr. Happy. I don't know how to make a work safe link, so you're just going to have to imagine the huge dick that he has hanging from the ceiling. (By the way, my first comment when I saw Mr. Happy in person: "It's not that big! I could take it.") Well, he used Mr. Happy and a squirt of lube to teach me his secret, ummm, handshake. Hot damn, but my husband is going to be glad I have a gay friend.

And last, but far from least, when it comes to getting things done Bitchy Queen trumps Happy Housewife every time. You're just going to have to trust me on this one.

Oh, and by the way, now that I have his blog username and password, well....payback is a bitch, Baby!