Spinning My Wheels on the Highway of Life.

Last night my lips were turning blue because I was so cold in the house. The furnace is still not working and it was 36 degrees last night outside, about 40ish inside. I was wearing my ski pants and my ski jacket until I couldn't take it anymore. At 8:00, I decided to throw in the towel and made a call to Target, asking if they had any electric blankets still in stock. They did, so I hopped in the car and took off for Target.

Last night wasn't a pretty night. The fog had rolled in off of the lake, making visiblity about only 60 feet. All intelligent people had decided to stay home last night, but they also don't have a broken furnace. As I entered the interstate, and merged into the right hand lane (I live in the city and all the chain stores are in the 'burbs), I hear BOOM...rubble, rubble, rubble. The right front tire went flat and I had to pull over on I-90 to change my tire.

Now how many gay men actually know how to change a tire? Until last night...I wasn't one of them. I stopped the car over on the right hand side of the highway, and contemplated my next move. This is a job for a lesbian. I put on my hazzard lights and reached into my right pocket for my cell phone. Then I reached into my left pocket for my cell phone. My breast pocket. My jeans pockets. Mother of god...I realized I had left my phone on the coffee table as I left the house. I am on my own here. I tried to flag down a car to see if I could borrow their phone to call the lesbian hotline, but no cars were passing.

So after pitching a fit, crying, and finally realizing that I would have to change the tire, I popped the trunk open. No tire. Went to the Owners manual in the glove box, and took the shrink wrap off the book. The book says their is a spare tire in the trunk. Go back to the trunk, look...no tire....stamp my feet in disgust and curse at the clouds surrounding me. At this point it is so foggy, I can barely see the front of the car from the back. I reach in the trunk, and feel around, and notice that the floor of the trunk lifts up! I lift, and feel underneith and feel a rubber tire! Woo Hoo....I am saved! I take the tire out and roll it to the front of the car.

I can't get the the damn do-wops loose to take the tire off, even when I use the crow-bar. I put the crowbar on the thingy and take about four steps away. I then take a running leap, land on the bar and the thing finally turns loosening the bolt. Three more times and all the bolts are off, but I can't get the tire off. I forgot to jack the damn car up. Felt around in the dark and my hands closed on the cold metal of the jack. I took it out...well more like pulled it out because (boy that sounds sexual) and stuck the damn thing under the car. Finally figured out how to operate the thing, lifted the car, removed the wheel and put the new one on. How the hell NASCAR does it in 10 seconds is beyond me.

Got everything rigged back up, got in the car and took off for the Target. As arrived in the store, the familiar smell of freshly popped pop corn from the snack bar filled my nose as I walked towards the bedding area. Up and down the aisles I moved, in the unflattering florescent lighting, looking like a homeless person as I had the grime of changing a tire all over my hands and jeans (What the hell would Martha Stewart say?). After walking down every aisle, I finally found a sales person and asked her "where were the blankets?"

"We've been out for weeks. We had some on clearance, but they've been gone for a while. Whoever told you we had them lied to you". Now I've not used this line before, but NEVER PISS OFF A BITCHY QUEEN! I think she realized her offence because she offered me a heating pad. I stormed out of the store and went home, turned on the oven hoping that would heat me up some.

10 minutes later, I opened the oven door and my left hand slipped, burning my finger tips. So I am now typing one handed, and not for good reasons. Maybe a certain person will be willing to kiss my fingers better. Not to mention, maybe they could keep me warm until the furnace gets fixed.

Who Would You Pick?

First of all, I want to thank those of you who posted me a message saying you were worried or asked if I was ok. I'm fine and was just being introspective last night.

Taking the focus off me, I heard a few months ago this question asked at a party, and I thought I would post it for all of you to answer as well.

Question: If you could interview any 3 people in the world, two living and one dead. Who would you interview and why?

My Answer:
Living:

1. Oprah Winfrey...Who I just find to be absolutely fascinating. This woman made such huge strides in her career, I think it would be interesting to get to know her.

2. Nelson Mandella...a man who has led the change of an entire nation. He keeps out of the public eye now, and I would like to see his take on current international trends.

Dead:
3. Robert Johnson...Rumor has it that Robert Johnson sold his soul to the devil at the crossroads, in order for his music to be imortal. So far...the devil has lived up to his side of the deal. I'd love to have seen this master of blues and where his inspirations came from.

What about you?

Homo Sweet Homo

This weekend, I realized that I don't really have a place I would call home. I've lived in so many places, that I really have no roots to any area. I've lived all over this country, and I don't see me settling in Ohio, but it does make me wonder where I am going next. So far I have lived in:


Pittsburgh PA
Buffalo NY
Washington DC
Miami FL
Atlanta GA
New Orleans LA
Paris France
Santa Fe NM
Las Vegas NV
Los Angeles CA
San Francisco CA
Portland OR
Seattle WA
Florence Italy
Chicago IL
Tempe AZ
Maui HI
NYC NY
Boulder CO
Denver CO
Athens OH
Akron OH
Cleveland OH


It just hit me that having roots is a part of my life I never even realized I was missing, until Sunday night. I think it was just listening to people talk about the area they've grown up in, discussing their relatives they are close to, and having a history. I don't have that anywhere, and that makes it hard to create any where I am at. It's something that military brats and I have in common, the feeling that if they disappeared today, nobody would notice.

I guess it makes me wonder...what defines a home? What makes a particular place a home and someplace else not?

Getting Double Stuffed

Woke up yesterday morning, and started my day out by tackling Mt. Laundry. I think I'll set up base camp somewhere near the sweaters. The snowcaps of my whites and underwear are visible with binoculars. While the first of many loads of darks was in the machine, I went for a short run (one of the first of the season...my legs hurt now). I then called someone and had the most wonderful conversation with one of the most interesting people. I actually was a little down that I had to end the call, but I had lunch plans with my friend David, and needed to hang up.

Lunch at the Cheescake Factory where I had Pad Thai and 1/2 of a Macadamia White Chocolate Cheescake. Most interesting part was when David got paged. He works in the legal system and a juvenile was arrested. Interesting to find out that in his district if you are arrested on Friday after hours, you wouldn't be arraigned until Monday afternoon. Nothing like spending the entire weekend in jail huh? Remind me not to get arrested in his district.

Now if you never have had a meal at the Cheescake Factory, imagine getting a meal that could feed a family of four on your plate. Then add bread. I left, with half of the meal in a box, as I waddled back to the car...I need to go to the gym now. Instead, I got home, climbed another 200' and set up a second base camp. Mt. Laundry will be conquered!

Dinner was with my friend Kerri at Theory restaurant. Sort of a steakhouse/gourmet restaurant. First course, a poached pear salad with pecans and blue cheese. Second course was an incredible ribeye steak with blue cheese flan and bacon hash. Now I am way stuffed, but still forced down a three scoops of grapefruit sorbet. Waddled back to the car and was ready for bed.

This morning: I suddenly have a craving for Captain Crunch Cereal, and I think I'm going to indulge. Could I be pregnant?

Magical Words I heard

While I was reading your blog, I could tell how much you were hurting. I just wanted to put my arms around you.

My thoughts: You can.

Descending Into Hell

I don't often admit this, but three years ago, I committed a sin that ensures that I burn in hell for eternity. Now this sin wasn't the sin of practicing homosexuality (I'm an expert anyway). I didn't steal, murder, molest, or even blasphemy. No...I merely attending the taping of a television show in Chicago. At this point, all straight men reading this are getting pale, worried that I attended a taping of Oprah. I wish, and I still may. I don't nearly hate my gender enough yet, nor do I embrace female power and overeating enough.

My ex and I had been partying in Chicago, dancing at one of the clubs when closing time was upon us. Realizing that is was after 2 in the morning, we began the process of trying to find a cab. Getting a cab at bar closing time is the equivalent of finding $50 bucks on the ground. Of course, my Irish ass had been drinking mega cocktails all evening, and before I could come to my senses, I just walked out in traffic, while an empty cab screeched to a halt. My ex promptly got in and told the driver which hotel to take us to (never mind that it was the wrong hotel...that isn't important.) "Take me drunk, I'm home again."

Drunk = Illogical

Well we got out of the cab at the wrong hotel, cab drove off after we forgot to tip him, and I had fallen asleep in the cab, so I had no clue where in Chicago we were. This being said, two drunk homo's decided that the hotel must be around that area somewhere, so we just started walking. Note: Drunk = Illogical As we turn the corner, we see a long line of people, so we get in line with them. Sort of like getting in line for an amusement park ride. Once again Drunk = Illogical. Waiting in that line, we kept hearing people chanting for "Larry". I figured he's a popular guy I plan on meeting. After 30 minutes of waiting, the line starts moving. We assumed we were in line for an after hours club, and as we went in the door, we were given a card with a number on it. More than anything else, I was just happy to get inside as my bladder was going to burst, and my buzz was coming down.

For an after hours club, there was no music playing, which was odd...but who am I to complain as I at least found a bathroom. Upon returning to the main room, I found my ex, who informed me where we were. And this was my sin. We had gotten in the line to view a taping of the Jerry Springer Show. Now I guess I could have left...but everyone was so enthusiastic, and coming down from a buzz after partying all night, you just want to sit anyway.

We get seated in the audience seats and they have someone warm up the audience. This entails teaching us the hand signals for when we have to scream *shudder* "Jerry-Jerry-Jerry" (is my IQ actually lowering?). The audienced is warmed up, the taping begins and out comes the man who wants to now run for US Senate (God help us!). Now I admit, I was caught up in the moment and I was very excited to see the spawn of Satan come out on stage.

He introduced his first guest, a man who had a very unique fetish. He liked to vomit on his sexual partners. He then proceeded to show us, by puking on his dentally challenged girlfriend. It wasn't arousing at all. In fact, one of the security guys, was ill watching it. Where do they get these carnival freaks anyway?

Next guest...He and she like to do it with food. Ever seen a fat woman bath in cream corn? That's why I'm gay. I think puke guy was into it, as he saw just how much he could puke back up. All I can say is that I will never eat cream corn again. I won't even go into detail about the squash...you can just imagine.

Third guest...guy cheating on his girlfriend, with another woman. Now I am sorry, but if the Jerry Springer Show called me and said "someone want's to tell you something on the show", I'd just hang the damn phone up. I don't want to know what it is. So woman is broken hearted that her man is cheating on her, and out comes the other woman, who weighs about 350. Worst part...she feels the need to lift her dress and show her nasty ass, with all the crevices and creases. Have a little self respect....oh wait....This is the Jerry Springer Show. Is that the television remote stuck in her thigh fold?

It was then time for audience participation. One man gets up and insults the puking guy. He responds that the audience member is just fat. Audience member says "well I may be fat, but you're butt ugly, and I can lose weight." And that was when it hit me. The people in the audience were the real freaks. These people on stage were just looking to have their moment in the spotlight, and we as an audience were there to ridicule and berrate them...and I'm ashamed to say we did it.

No puking guy...well I think his girlfriend wasn't mentally able to make a decision about getting puked on. In fact, she couldn't form a sentence. But for the others, who am I to knock someone for getting their jolly's doing it in bacon greese? So as we left the sound stage, I realized the lesson learned while damning my soul was "Judge not, lest ye be judged". Hard lesson to learn....huh?

Isn't it Interesting?

I just noticed on a map today....Denver is nearly 1/2 way between Portland and Cleveland. Hmm...

An Ode to my Gray Hair

Here’s to the men, who have impacted my life.
Most of them are gone after causing me strife.
Remembering most of you, gives me a scare
Each one on my head in the form of gray hair.

There’s Chris who I met when I was just fifteen
Blond hair and blue eyes and smile that would gleem.
To my bed he agreed after tonics with gin
Broke up the next week ‘cause he thought it’s a sin.

I moved on to Dan who was 18 years young.
Who showed me there’s no need to sleep with the hung
My humor evolved as I kept him in stitch
He cheated on me with his new friend named Rich.

Anthony stepped forward as the next in line
Dark hair and dark eyes and an ass that was fine
“I belong to you, and you belong to me”
That’s what I thought until he stole my TV!

Along came Darren whose friends said he had lied.
When he was confronted he tried suicide.
The bathroom was where he took pills and did wail
They took him away and I “lost his e-mail”

Three more men did follow each one seemed the same
So ordinary I don’t recall a name
I’ll name them right now: Thomas, Harry and Dick!
In a police line up I couldn’t now pick

The love life was dead, and my life seemed just flat
Until I met a deaf man, whose name was Pat
Not a thing did he hear, but was good with his hand
No job and no future and played in a band?

Nick told me he had seven inches un-cut
If you believe that monkeys fly out my butt
We couldn’t kiss, most things were to intimate
JESUS H. CHRIST! I think I’ll call this one quits

Steve was a great guy. Cute and well worth the wait,
After seven months we continued to date
But soon after that, it wasn’t meant to be
Brought someone along, humiliated me

I then decided that I needed a friend
One who would hear how my relationships end
A kindred spirit who understood the scene
He had to be manly, not a screaming queen

I met this new friend through the net, yes online…
We met at my house where I thought, “Damn he’s fine!”
We kept things platonic, which worked out at first.
But then we got too close, took a turn for the worst.

Introduced him to my friends, now I regret
He had none of his own, a freak I had met
We went out all the time. He always was free
His mantra in Life? Well...“it’s all about me!”

A fool he had made me. I let him, that’s true
I spent months lamenting my loss. Just so blue.
The new year I found that I pity his mate
He loves a man without courage, but it’s too late

My gray hairs get larger in numbers you see
These are the things that boyfriends have done to me
To each of these men, in my past they do lie.
I forget them each time my gray hair is dyed.

I think of this now, and I learn from my past
In my history I have moved way too fast.
A fine strong man is out there, this do I dream
But until I meet him, I'll just eat ice cream

Why are my Balls Blue?

Last night, after getting home from work, I went to my friends house to help them move a carpet from their living room to their basement. Normally you would think this would be a 3 person job...but this is an enormous room and the carpet took 5 of us, and was heavier than you would have thought. Lots of grunting, Heaving and Ho'ing and we finally got it in their basement. Then we unloaded a truck of furniture that was finally ready for their pickup. The room looks great...I'm jealous.

Got home and went online. Now I should preface this by saying my computer is slowly going to pot. I can now keep it on for about an hour before it goes haywire. Then I have to shut it down, and restart it. Donations for a new computer will be accepted :-)

Well, while sitting and typing, my body started shiver. I usually sit with my feet near the heating register and a blanket around me, because then I can keep the heat low, but still stay warm. Well I waited....and waited....and waited, and the furnace wasn't coming on. After checking the thermostat, I realize I have a problem. Thermostat is set for 68F. Tempetature in house 52F. Did my gas get turned off? No...furnace go boom. Fuck!

Call the landlords, and my neighbor informed me that my monthly rent checks have provided them a two week trip to the Caribbean Islands for a vacation. So I may have NHO (Nipple hard on's) so bad that I could cut glass, but my landlords are nice and warm. Bitches!

I had to sleep under two blankets, while wearing a sweatshirt, hat, pants, and gloves. Last night it dropped down to just below 40. Tonight will be warmer. I only hope that the weather will stay warm until the landlords can get home. Until then, I will have random body parts turning blue and will be taking some very steamy showers.

*******************

Bragging rights

I got his number! I got his number! I got his number! I got his number! I got his number! I got his number! I got his number! I got his number! I got his number! I got his number! I got his number!
Boo yah!!

Getting Cremated!

Last night I lost my virginity...again. I had never used a tanning bed before, but since I am so white, I know that if I will blind all the people on the beach of Puerto Rico as the sunlight reflects off my white Irish skin. Anyone orbiting space would see the reflection off my pale ass. Thus my decision to go to a tanning salon.

In anticipation for the momentous occasion, I drove around the block 5 times because I didn't want anyone I know to see me go into the building. Finally gathering up my courage, I parked the car, got out and walked in the door. Actually bolted from my car to the entrance shielding my face like I was Martha Stewart on her way to sentencing is more like it. I was the only man in the place and five women were in line before me. Actually one of the people in line was a man, but he was so effeminate it was only a matter of time before his dick just fell off. Not my cup of tea.

So I wait my turn and when I finally get to the receptionist desk, this man (the receptionist) looks at me, smiles, and the most horrid thing happens. His face cracks. His skin is the texture of leather (although very brown leather), and it looks like he could use a treatment of mink oil. He seriously had to have more wrinkles on his face than on his cock. I wonder if ironing his face would help at all? Obviously the phrase "crack a smile" came from this man.

The receptionist cracked again as I explained that I was virginally challenged, and gave me a form to fill out that would help to determine how long I would have to lie in the bed. Now I wanted to say "as long as I don't look like you", but I figured I didn't want to piss this guy off in the event that he decided to zap me with enough rays to cook me.

After filling out the questionnaire, "leather face" went into the sales pitch and recommended I start out with the 20 minute beds, going only for 10 minutes and "work" my way up to the full 20 minutes. Then I can switch over to the 10 minute bed. After that point I can switch over to the high pressure beds. Got to love the sound of that...Lets put you in a pressure cooker until you're golden brown. I'm beginning to feel like a pork chop or a breast of chicken. Stick a fork in me, I'm almost done.

He leads me off to the "tanning room and explains that all I need to do is push the button on the wall when I am ready, then push the button on the bed. So I strip, put on the oil he sold me (Why do I feel like I am in need of a little salt and pepper?) push the button on the wall, then the button on the bed. WHAM!!!! I'm blinded by what seems to be the equivalent of 50 camera flashes stuck on at the same time. I've been in follow spotlights that were less blinding. The little goggles are barely covering my eyes, but I am trying to keep my eyes shut.

Creeeeeeaaaak, the lid of this electric coffin closes down encasing me in the sarcophagus of light and heat. It gets hot in there....very quickly. I begin to feel like I am being cremated. Now certain portions of the traveling spotlight have never been exposed to sunlight (or I guess I should say been tanned), so I decided to cover the giblets and gravy with one of my socks. At one point I remembered that the receptionist told me to keep my elbows out so I don't get the racing stripe down my sides. As I lifted my arm, wack...I hit the ceiling. Damn...this is what it feels like to be a corpse. I'm getting cremated for sure, so I can get dumped off a bridge, or into the ventilation shaft of a gay bar, and scattered across 100 shirtless sweaty gay men.

The lights shut off and the lid pops up, allowing me to pop out like a piece of toast out of the toaster. (side note....We call a cooked piece of beef a roast, we call a cooked piece of bread...toast, so why do we call a cooked egg and egg?) but I digress. After getting dressed, I go home, and cook dinner. I sit at the table about to eat, and my butt really hurts. I figure I must have scratched myself somehow. I've also noticed that I'm feeling really hot. Deciding to check things out with a mirror, I see that I have "bed-burned my ass". This of course goes well with my 7 inch scar. So for the next few days, I may be going up to men I don't know in hopes of getting my boo boo kissed better. You think that might get me a date?

Living Large on the Highway to Hell

Well it's official, I am working on a new contract project. Before this, I was working in a downtown Cleveland Office on the 6th floor. This office was located about 8 minutes from my home, and allowed me to get up at 7:15, shower and shave, and be out the door by 7:40. Park 12 blocks away and never once was I late.

As of today, I am now working a new project on the East Side of Cleveland. For those of you who don't know Cleveland, the freeway system here sucks massive donkey cock! The West side of Cleveland has three freeways that run East/West, while the East side has only 2...neither of which are anywhere near the city. Basically the East side has access to the freeways only in the suburbs. What this means is that I have to travel 20 miles to my new location, but it takes nearly an hour because of traffic. I would consider selling a testicle for a decent subway system in this city. This of course is interesting because it was mentioned on the radio that Cleveland is not very public transportation friendly. I lived in several different areas in this country and this is the first state I have ever lived in where I have had to own a car.

I've never really enjoyed owning a car. Car payments and insurance are so expensive. If you could live without your car, and could get anywhere you needed on public tranport, would you? Why or why not?

Playing with my Balls

Flew back to the city of Cock and Roll (whosh...I meant "Rock" was that a Freudian slip?), and rushed home to drop off my suitcase. Grabbed a cup of coffee and then went over to the gym to play volleyball with the our team The Badgers! We won 4 games out of 6, but only one was a legit win. The first three were won because the other team didn't have enough players show up. So we won by forfeit, however we still played the other team. Those three players spanked us pretty bad. It was interesting watching them play, especially when they would spike. I payed attention to the players and one thing I noticed is that when they set the ball, they set the ball very high (several feet higher than we do) which allows them the time needed to spike and place the ball.

So I learned to set the ball a lot higher and we won a game against a formidable team, and I feel a little proud at how we all played. A special commendation should be given to Holly, who took a nasty fall during the game, and got up and played really well. She kicked "boooo-tay!"

Yesterday's show turned out really fun. I got to work with 5 other comedians, none who I have worked with before, and we had some real creativity going. At one point, I had to play a teapot, where I of course sang "I'm a little teapot". I had a call on my machine when I got home, letting me know about an audition that is right up my alley, but I don't want to talk about it too much just to insure that I don't jinx myself. If I get the part, then I'll go public with it.

Lastly....A very special thanks to a wonderful woman who realized she was hearing a call for help, and answered it. Her words hit me exactly where they needed to hit, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Love you lady!

Giving til it Hurts

Last night was bowling with the gay league in Cleveland. Ladies and Gentleman, I have now scored my highest ever at 166. DAMN! I need to drink vodka while bowling more often! I'm sure that's it. Nothing to do with luck.

Afterwards, our bowling crew went off to Union Station for dinner. One of the substiture teammates, went off to talk to a very handsome gentleman, for a bit of one on one time. I'm telling you now SHAMUS....CALL HIM!!!!

'nuff public embarassment.

Today I fly off to Chicago for a show tonight. This is an improvisational show, so I really can't prepare any material for it but I do make sure I'm relaxed. I like working like this, flying by the seat of my pants. The club will have a few audience plants to get things going if they aren't responsive, but once the alcohol flows, people will shout out pretty much anything. This will ususally lead to a lot of sexual innuendos but with a little creativity, performers can change that. It's all part of the challenge.

This morning I was thinking about the nature of pain, and what it means. I know from my own experience that I would prefer being hurt physically over being hurt emotionally. Physical pain heals, but emotional pain festers inside of you, coming out at the most inopportune moments. It's harder to deal with, and at times, you never get the closure that will ends that pain, and you end up living with it forever. Give me a broken bone over that anytime.

How Hard it can Get

Something I find fascinating is putting off and finally ending a relationship. Now ending a relationship is never easy, and as my very near and dear friend Brian told me, it never is the right time. I couldn't agree more. Every month seems to have a holiday or event that you don't want to ruin for the other person.

• Janurary? No...I don't want to ruin his new year.


• February?....It's Valentines day...that's bad.


• March? St. Patrick's day.


• April? That's usually Easter.


• May...Memorial day.


• June...Gay pride day.


• July...Independence day.


• August...end of summer sports banquets.


• September...Labor day.


• October...Halloween.


• November...Thanksgiving.


• December...Christmas.

Obviously no matter when you break up with someone, it just ain't pretty. Of course, from what I have observed, men and women break up entirely differently.

How women end relationships

1. Purchase six pints of Ben and Jerry's ice cream (all flavors except Chubby Hubby...as that can be a reminder to the failed relationship).


2. Call all of her friends, and tell them that she has decided to end the relationship. Make plans with all the friends so that they will all be near the phone once the breakup takes place. (Each friend will be in charge of preparing the necessary items of Margaritas, fuzzy blankets, chocolates, and a box of tissues).


3. Rent Thelma and Louise to watch after breakup with friends.


4. Call man and say that you want to meet him for dinner at a restaurant. This restaurant will be nice, not too loud, and fairly populated, without having a wait for a table.


5. Arrive at restaurant, conservatively dressed, no cleavage showing!


6. Hug him when he arrives, sit down and say the words "We need to talk".


7. Ensure that you say "It's not you...It's me"


8. Hug goodbye, call girlfriends, and when you arrive home, begin eating ice cream and watching movie. Cry with each girlfriend as they arrive at your house.


9. Wait one month before having a girls night out


10. At six weeks, she can begin dating once again, but only if one of her girlfriends actually knows the guy

How men end relationships

1. Begin by telling your friends when you go out that she is a bitch who nags you all the time. Give examples.


2. Go to a strip club, pay for a lap dance.


3. Forget to return her phone calls when she calls you. If you are home and her number comes up on the caller ID, don't answer it. If you do by accident, tell her you were leaving to go out with your friends.


4. Forget her birthday


5. Call out another woman's name during sex.


6. Put on women's perfume before coming home (A kind that isn't one the current girl wears).


7. Have sex with her sister or best friend.


8. Deny it when she confronts you on it, and lie about the event ever happening, even when she shows you the pictures.


9. Get drunk with friends and hit on strippers at strip club.


10. Go out and begin hitting on new women two days after breakup.

*************************************************************************

On my lunch hour today I was french kissed by a man! This is the best tongue action I've had in a while, which some may think is pretty sad, but this guy was a giver, and wanted nothing more than to show me how much he cared about me. Of course, we had just met. I posted his picture below.

When You Can't Let it Go

If you twist and turn away
If you tear yourself in two again
If I could, yes I would
If I could, I would
Let it go
Surrender
Dislocate

If I could throw this
Lifeless lifeline to the wind
Leave this heart of clay
See you walk, walk away
Into the night
And through the rain
Into the half-light
And through the flame

If I could through myself
Set your spirit free
I'd lead your heart away
See you break, break away
Into the light
And to the day

To let it go
And so to fade away
To let it go
And so fade away

I'm wide awake
I'm wide awake
Wide awake
I'm not sleeping
Oh, no, no, no

If you should ask then maybe they'd
Tell you what I would say
True colors fly in blue and black
Bruised silken sky and burning flag
Colors crash, collide in blood shot eyes

If I could, you know I would
If I could, I would
Let it go...

This desperation
Dislocation
Separation
Condemnation
Revelation
In temptation
Isolation
Desolation
Let it go

And so fade away
To let it go
And so fade away
To let it go
And so to fade away

I'm wide awake
I'm wide awake
Wide awake
I'm not sleeping
Oh, no, no, no

Got Any Irish in You?

Do You Want Some?"

What's the difference between an Irish wedding and an Irish Funeral?
One less drunk at the funeral!

There once was an old man of Esser,
Whose knowledge grew lesser and lesser,
It at last grew so small
He knew nothing at all,
And now he's a college professor.

There once was a woman from Calcune
Who wouldn't eat soup with a spoon
She driped on her chin
'till her body was too thin
And she wasted away by June.

There once was a man from Cork
Whose boyfriend never wanted to pork
Frustrated with Grief
He needed relief
so online he bought a fake dork.

Let me introduce the woman named Skoal
Who was dating a young virginal Pole
The First time was his plan
but he put it in her can
'till the young lady screamed out "WRONG HOLE!"

There once was a strapping buck named Shamus
Who was always trying to tame us.
Our teasing him was mean
But then he did a porno scene
Now we homo's consider him famous!

Always a mom is a fine quality mother
No better qualities can be found in another
But married to Brent she be
And for that woe's me
Sweetie, would you happen to have a gay brother?

The second man on my favorites is Maurice
Who irons his pants so that they have a fine Crease
He's shy did you know?
And now I'm sinking a little low,
But shy guys usually have a large piece!

To my fine friend from Canada Bill
Whose retirement made the theater boss ill
I smile and I sigh
Things will work with special guy
And you'll never need another happy pill

To Brent the BMW machine
Whose blog is 95% clean
If you didn't have a mate,
I'd ask you out on a date
and I'd love to get you out of your jeans!

CopTalk is run by officer Brent
a fine and incredible gent
Trust the uniform I must
but instead I just lust
Leaving me alone until I am spent!

Leslie is known as Critter Chick
Who will care for any animal even if sick
Happy I'd be
As a kitten stuck in a tree
knowing Leslie would be comming quite quick!

Dorthy is the lady who cuts hair on our heads
and she has walked down the aisle to wed
Her site caught my eye
with pitures of a stud guy
who I assume she would like to get into bed.

The Glass Slippers in the mother of Twins.
That she conceived after a bottle of gin!
She owns a cute puppy
and a tank full of guppies
and being married she's not living in sin!

CJ is Up on the Honey Side
With her hubby to Colorado she did ride
Truely special you see
was her advice once to me
and without knowing she made my eyes cry.

Hot Toddy is known also as Whorus
And his sketch comedy will never bore us
His head shots you see
Take control of me
And leave me feeling amorous

Julia's blog theme is part caffeine
her writing make me envious and green
Few writers you see
are better than she
and you can agree with me sight unseen!

Mary Lou is the theater Diva galore
Who's audiences cry out "give us more!"
Her blog was to me
the first one I ever did see
and as a fan she is one I adore!

The Isle of Whidby is Phylis' place
in a home she calls her own space
In the dark she has sex
Because she believes that it's best
If he doesn't see the grateful look on her face!

Paul is 23 years young
and to Aaliyah music he often has sung
To me he has offered to wed
and take me to bed
which tempts me because he hung!

Rachel's husband is looking for new work
Because his current boss can be considered a jerk
to the south they will go
where the warm winds blow
and snowless winters are considered a perk!

Iceveil works in I. T.
doing a job that is similar to me
answering questions of mindless Jacks
we would much rather whack
but we work until we're bill free!

Searching for self-love is Faustus M. D.
Who should be a writer I'm sure you'd agree
an intelligent gent
who's somewhat quite bent
and who's antics I'd love to see.

Swimfin's from my alma mata west
the class that year graduated the best
A hottie you see
he earned his degree
and with life he has a certain zest!

Brian from tales of the City
whose recent events have earned my pity
his appartment went boom
as fire consumed his room
and yet he manages to stay witty!

Dear, dear Leigh I know your depressed
But your blog designs are considered the best
Little did you see
a kindered spirit you have in me
and knowing that we can face the rest!

And to Peaeye Billy, enjoy the St. Paddy's fest
As the young boys ogle your sculpted chest
Thinking your old is a joke
Give those boys a long, hard, poke
and when you've finished you will have earned the rest!

Kiss My Shamrocks Everyone!

Getting My Rocks Off

Last night I was lucky enough to accompany Shamus to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame for the induction of several artists. He had scored tickets through his contacts at a radio station. The official ceremony was being held in NYC, but it was simulcast in Cleveland. It does annoy me a bit, as if the Hall of Fame is in Cleveland, WHY IS THE CEREMONY IN NY? But alas, I still got to see the museum, as well as the patrons.

This was my first time in the Hall of Fame, and I found some of the displays to be very poignant. One thing that moved me the most was the music of the Vietnam Era. This was one of the last times that popular music and culture really made a statement. Weather you were a supporter or protestor of the Veitnam "Conflict", you knew of someone who was going off to fight. This was a group of people that were outraged and passionate about the way their government was running their lives.

Currently college students are apathetic. When asked what is going on in the news, they will commonly answer "I don't watch the news because it's just too depressing". This is the same generation that doesn't vote, is outraged when they earn less than an "A" in a class even though they haven't completed the work, and expect that when they graduate, they will be guaranteed a job. I'd say that maybe we've done a disservice educating this generation, but they are also to blame. This generation could easily get off thier lazy asses and ask some provoking questions! How would that 18 year old feel to know that the the person they sat next to last semester in English class will be dead before June?

Is it simply that this generation feels that they have nothing to fight for? Are they that alienated that they can't find something to believe in? Just my thoughts for a Tuesday as the snow storm attacks Cleveland.

Getting the Shaft the Hard Way

So last night I was typing away at my computer, writing up a great little tidbit about my experiences with Volleyball that day, when I did the dreaded deed. I knocked my water over onto my keyboard (I have a laptop) and now, my monitor does not work. The words that came out of my mouth were a sort of motherf*ckgodd*mmedsonofaf*ckingbitchwhoreshit! That of course came out as all one word.

So after taking two Valium, I start thinking what is my best option here? I have a laptop, but I really don't need the portability anymore, and I use a laptop at work if really necessary. The computer was top of the line in 98 (which means it's basically obsolete now). Additionally the floppy drive is broken, it does not have CD write capability, and the hard drive has only about 500 mb left on it, as most of my work from the past few years is on it.

So the question is do I buy a new computer, or get this one repaired?

I went to the Dell site to price out computers and realize that of course Desktops are going to be cheaper. This is where I get shafted though. You can get a bare bones computer from Dell for $479, but the minute you upgrade a processor, or the RAM, or anything else, you suddenly have a computer that is costing $1500. So why not just say "This computer is $1500".

Additionally they are now selling their computers the way a car salesman tries to sell a car. This feature will only cost you an extra $2 a month. Of course if you multiply that over 60 months, you realize you just paid 120 for a 56k modem. So now I need to figure out what is my best option here. The consumerist in me says BUY NEW, but the realist says fix the damn thing. What would you do?

The Dangers of Crack

A big thanks to a special person who let me take this picture on the ski trip. Nobody will know it was you.

Buttering Up My Buns

Wanna see my web cam?

I'm having a creative block lately, most likely from going through that medical experiment last week. I've been warned that going through the depletion tests can bring on an onset of depression (it has). So since last week, I've been going through the motions of "faking it", something I've grown accustomed to doing.

I've been thinking about my crazy grandmother recently. My mom's mom is the polar opposite of my real mother. Republican, catholic, neurotic, and afraid of everything...including butter.

When she was 2 years old, she was playing under the kitchen table while my great grandmother was getting dinner ready. Her older sister was setting the table and put a 2lb stick of butter out for the rolls. My grandmother reached up, took it, and proceeded to eat the entire 2lb stick under the table (sort of like my old Labrador retriever...but that is another story). By the time my great grandmother noticed her daughter, she had eaten nearly the whole 2 lbs, with whatever she hadn't eaten having melted into her hands, smeared all over her face, through her hair, and all over her clothing. That was the last day she ever touched or even ate butter. As she grew older, and started cooking on her own, she would throw a frying pan out if someone let butter touch it. The smell of it cooking could make her gag. She lives in an apartment now and won't use the butter holder on the door of the refridgerator because she is afraid that someone put butter in there before her.

She raised my mother on a butter free diet. How many of you like butter free baked potatoes? Bleck! So my mother learned very quickly that she had a secret weapon that she could use against her mother when necessary. My mom would offer to bake a cake, and would use a recipe that required butter, or she would take my mother out to dinner at an Indian restaurant, where everything is fried in Ghee (a clarified butter). My mother the vegetarian actually ordered lobster once, just so she could dip the meat in melted butter in front of her mother.

Now I've never really had a need to use this weapon, but lately my grandmother has been going on ranting and raving about how things were so much better when "those queers kept quiet". I've been thinking...maybe it's time to mail a batch of cookies to old granny. Anyone got a good recipe?

Heckling the Heckler

One thing I've gotten used to is hecklers in the audience. You can't ignore them, as it only makes them scream louder, and generally all they want is the attention of the audience. I figure this has to do with some sort of narcissism, and having to be the center of attention. Up until now, I've haven't had anyone heckle me on this site, but now that I do, I guess I should address him. Why? I'm not sure...I normally wouldn't do this...but this person just pissed me off. I can't say why, but the attack was a bit more personal in nature, so:


To the person who felt the need to leave me the anomyous message:
1) What do you care?
2) You don't know me, so why do you think your opinion would matter?
3) If you don't like the way I feel or what I write, don't read it.
4) Fight your own battles.
5) This isn't the first time. Will you react the same way when it happens to you?

Truth in Advertising

I don't watch too much tv, as I hate the brain drain it causes. However when I do watch television, I love watching the commericals, and seeing how much they blatantly lie to the viewer. It makes me wonder, if advertising had to tell the truth, what it would sound like.

*********************
Massengill Douches
What they say:
Daughter: Mom...lately I just don't feel so fresh.
Mother: You need Massengill, with the bendable applicator that will allow you to feel light as a summer's breeze!

The Truth:
Daughter: Mom...I sat down today and got a big old wiff of stank. I think I have crotch rot.
Mom: Good lord child...I could smell you the minute you came up to me. If you can't keep clean at least mask the smell with a douche. Then you can smell like an italian salad!

*********************
Virginia Slim Cigarettes
What they say:
"You've come a long way baby!"

The Truth:
Feed the addiction!

*********************
AllState Insurance
What they say:
You're in good hands with Allstate.

The Truth:
Term life insurance...guaranteed to rip you off.

*********************
Cattleman's Beef Council
What they say:
Beef. It's what for dinner

The Truth:
Beef...one dead cow closer to a coronary.

Stalking Ricky Martin!

It's official...vacation plans have been decided and I am heading off to the mountains of San Juan in June for a little Puerto Rican Pleasures...



...Well maybe not so little.

So in order to be ready for this trip, I need to learn some key Spanish phrases, the kind of phrases that will ensure that I'm not taken advantage of...or that I am taken advantage of, depending on the situation. So any help translating these phrases to Spanish will be greatly appreciated:

• One Margarita with extra tequila please.


• One beer please.


• I shouldn't have anything else to drink.


• If I have more than three drinks, who knows who I'll do!


• oooo...I'm so drunk...would you help me home? *giggle*


• Wait! Are you older than 18? Prove it.


• Is that your wife/girlfriend? Will she mind?


• No!


• Stop!


• To the right!


• Pinch it!


• I've never done this before.


• Slow down.


• Is it in yet?

Seriously though, if anyone who reads this can give me some information on things to do in Puerto Rico (or Ricky Martin's address), I'm open to suggestions. This is going to be a great trip.

Losing my Virginity

I'm sitting here in my office chair, having recently lost my virginity (like 5 minutes ago), experiencing the tremors, the slight sick feeling in my stomach, and wiping the sticky white powder from around my lips. Yes...I had never eaten Girl Scout Cookies before today, and this morning I polished off a box of Lemon Coolers.

Sweet mother of Jesus...where have these things been all my life? I opened the box, and upon placing the first powder sugar coated morsel into my mouth, something overtook my senses, and I started to eat them like a voted off cast member of Survivor. The first 15 went down in one bite each, no chewing necessary, only the sucking of the sugar, which melted the pastry into a soft paste that could easily be swallowed.

It was the final 15 that I began to savor, the artificial lemon flavoring tantalizing my tastebuds, the calories moving straight to my posterior, increasing the size of what some would call the "Juicy Booty", or as I like to call it...my "African Ass".

It is as I sit on my cushion for pushin' that the pure sugar hit my system. This is what small children feel like when the have a coke (and a smile....who the hell ever thought up that crappy ad campaign?). If I didn't know better I'd think my mother made a batch of her "special" brownies. We feed our children this stuff on a regular basis?

We Americans eat 16 pounds of sugar a year (I feel like I ate that today), and at the same time wonder why obesity is so prevalent in our society. We jump onto fad diets (like Adkins...eat all the bacon you want...you'll be thin with heart disease) and all marketing campaigns are geared to losing weight without having to exercise. Personally I like to exercise, and had only recently took a few months to work on some other things in my life. I'm actually looking forward to getting back to it again.

Now before people start sending me hate mail saying "you've never been overweight" or "Adkins works", I have been overweight. I came back from Africa, and was told by my oncologist that I needed to put on weight very quickly. I responded by eating anything I shouldn't normally eat. By the time I had my next appointment, my doctor told me I needed to lose weight...and a lot of it. I tipped the scales at 230, putting me into the clinically obese territory (I prefer fantastically fat!). (I weigh 155 right now)

I lost it, by doing it the hard way...exercising like a mad man, and watching what I ate. I've learned how to eat right, and will spluge at times, but I've been maintaining, and that is important to me. So yes...I have issues with fad diets...because they generally prey upon people that feel hopeless.

So in the meantime, I'll be at the gym tonight, working off this box of sugar hell that is causing my legs to shake "like a Polaroid picture".

On the Edge

I'm finally back home! The thing I hate about traveling on the weekends is that I have to work on Monday and I don't get enough sleep. It makes Monday at work a real bear.

Next weekend...off to CHICAGO for the next comedy show! This is the same club as last time, so it should be a blast. Time to finish up the newest material, show my right nipple and call it a wardrobe malfunction, and comment on reality tv and marriage.

So this weekend was spent in the mountains of western New York (Elliotcottville to be exact), having what can only be called a self indulgant snow free skiing weekend. Yes...the slopes were open, but it would have been more like ice skating, so instead we as a group chose to not ski. So what do 7 gay men with, 3 bottles of vodka, 2 bottles of wine, and hot tub do for fun? Shop! Lots of fun artist stores, and some really interesting pieces.

All weekend long, I heard some great quotes from people, some of which I'm posting here.

Having sex with a woman is like bad masturbation with a lot of distractions. ~ Bobby

I've never been wit a man before...*giggle* ~ me

You shake your thing! ~ Random woman at the bar

******************************

The Jizz Biz

While living in NYC, I learned that whatever you do, no matter how deplorable or morally reprehensible, you can always claim immunity by saying "I needed the money". Thus, after not paying my rent for two months, and having completely run out of excuses to give to my slumlord, I was desperate. My roommate (who I can fondly say was a complete whore), gave me some ideas for additional income...none of which I was thrilled over. But..."I needed the money".

Thus began my sordid ride on the express train to smutville! First stop: The Land of Oral Pleasures!
In order to increase my income, I took a third job as a phone sex operator. I was given a completely smutty script, and was told to use that as a guide. My typical phone call could last 15 minutes, and I was known as the "choir boy" (voice of a young innocent guy, who just happened to be a willing sex pig). Thanks to my parents and their wonderful DNA, I had a tenor voice that allowed me to sound my young 18 years. I used to describe situations and events that were nearly impossible, not to mention, I would be doing crossword puzzles as I was talking.

I was given performance bonuses if I could keep a caller on the line for longer than 10 minutes. It was here that I learned about delay tactics. To keep the customer from "finishing" I would bring up the strangest things. Things like, "oh wait...get an ice cube from the fridgerator", or "oh wait...I think I hear my mother calling".

That job paid one month's back rent. So I still needed to pay the additional back rent. This need pushed me back onto the smut express train to the depository. I went to the sperm bank and sold my sperm. This is not as easy task as you think, for several reasons. Gay men were not allowed to donate sperm, so when I shoed up at the bank, I had to "straighten up". Changed into a pair of jeans, took off the belt and put a hat on backwards.

When I was filling out my application, I had to tell about my parents. In this case, I said my mother was a doctor and that my father was an engineer. They believed it (not very smart people at the bank). I was given a cup and led down a hall to a room. The room had a chair with wheels (don't ask me why) and a television with a video. That was probably the worst experience, as I had performance anxiety. Lucky I was 18...which meant I didn't take that long....shorter than one of my phone sex calls....MUCH SHORTER!

3 minutes of work...$125 dollars. I don't even remember how much I donated, but I worked until my fingers bled!

Now it makes me wonder what job I'll take next? How about all of you? What crappy jobs have you taken?

Tonight...I meet Steve Martin! You all jealous?

Doing It in Public

Went to my favorite coffee house last night and witnessed one of the most tremendous public displays I have ever seen. The kind where your jaw just drops open. It was so good I actually started taking notes in the event that I might need this someday. Additionally...the whole coffee shop stopped what they were doing (including the employees) and watched the whole event take place.

The Public Display of Aggression

You are a coward, and I never knew that when we first got together. If I hadn't spent the last year fellating you, I would have questioned if you had any balls at all, and you can wipe that smirk off your face. You can smile at me like I really don't know what I am saying, but I can prove what a cowardly freak you are.

You're too afraid to tell you parents your gay. Instead...you just pushed them out of your life...rather than tell them the truth. You wouldn't stay with them over the holidays...but rather stayed with your sister instead and you haven't even told her! You're 35 years old, you've never been on a date with a woman, even during high school, and yet you think they haven't figured out that you suck dick? Believe me...you don't pass that well!

You don't even have the balls to come clean at work, and instead just avoid the issue at all costs. You never bring pictures of anyone important in you life to your desk...Because nobody is important to you except for yourself and who would want those pictures? It's no wonder so few people are truly interested in your life and well being as you can't free yourself to be interested in theirs.

You're weak, so weak you can't even fight back as I tell you this. You have no interest in anything except yourself, and it has taken me a year to see past the frail sick facade you put up and see the actual narcissistic person you really are. You gave strictly what you needed to give to keep me stroking your ego...and your cock...and for that I am so ashamed of myself.

I'm leaving, and believe me...you will go into the books as the worst mistake I have ever made, but I have learned from that mistake, and will go from this day forward, knowing that I can do so much better than you. And I know that when you talk about me, you will refer to me as a bad memory in a pathetic attempt to say that I caused this, but inside you will know that you are the true failure.

And the guy giving the speech got up and walked out the door slamming it behind him! The whole shop just stared at the other guy, who looked very embarrassed. Nobody spoke a word, you could have heard a pin drop. Before I could stop myself, I said "Damn...Got Milk?" The guy promptly got up and left.

I love living in the gay ghetto!

Hot Dripping Candle Wax!

"And the Academy goes to"...blah...blah...blah... I can honestly say up until last night I had never watched the Academy Awards. Critiquing the outfits that the celebrities are wearing, listen to the never ending acceptance speeches, and realize it is well after 11:00 and we aren't 1/2 there? Just not my scene or interest.

And I guess this could be hippocrytical, as being an actor and comedian, I've gone to award shows (the Tony Awards twice) in the past, and I guess what bothers me is that it comes back to the whole reason why performers perform. I can't speak for others, but I never try for awards or recognition. Yes it's nice to hear someone tell you that you've done well, but it's more important to me to realize I've done my best. I don't need to hear critics tell me that I did a good job.

An award on the mantle is one thing, but I feel EXTREMELY honored when people are compelled to imitate my performance or pass along my material (giving due credit...or course) as they like or hate it that much. That tells me that I made an impression, and that is always been more important to me.

So the Birthday weekend: I GOT A CAKE! I GOT A CAKE! I GOT A CAKE! I GOT A CAKE! I GOT A CAKE! I GOT A CAKE! I GOT A CAKE! I GOT A CAKE! I GOT A CAKE! I GOT A CAKE! I GOT A CAKE! I GOT A CAKE! I GOT A CAKE! I GOT A CAKE! I GOT A CAKE! I GOT A CAKE! I GOT A CAKE! I GOT A CAKE!



At the Friday night bowling league, Shamus brought a cake and substituted in for a missing teammate. And the best part was he had ordered the cake before he had read that I had never had a cake before. Next year I'm thinking bigger. "I've never had a birthday winning lottery ticket...I've never had a birthday vacation to Australia...I've never had a birthday with a naked Brad Pitt"



I am still editing Shamus' picture, but I thought this one from the art museum turned out really well. Hopefully I can clean up the edges some and then I can put a copy of it in the picture frame he gave me.

I stand proud and say..."I got a 156 bowling!"...although I have no freaking clue how. Bet me I won't do that again...it's a safe bet.

My Saturday: Well a little uneventful. I have a show coming up in Chicago, and I'm working on another for a college in Atlanta after their Spring Break, so that is beginning to take up my time. I went to dinner in Ohio City, had a glass of wine with the meal, and was zonked out by 11:00.

I got a really cool present in my front door from my friends Brian and Kevin. Fresh pasta, sauce, bread sticks and a Bottle of wine. Now all I need is candles and Brad Pitt and I'll have that romantic dinner I wanted.

Today...it's gray and gloomy again. I want spring already!