Easy Like Sunday Morning!

I haven't written you about Sunday morning yet:

Sunday morning, as the sun rises, its rays begin to caress my face, warming me out of a deep sleep. I hear the sounds of the birds performing their morning symphony and smell fresh brewed coffee. Coffee? I open my eyes, and see a small tray containing coffee, fresh baked cinnamon rolls, orange juice, and for the most romantic touch...a single red rose in a small bud vase. What can I say? He knows me well.

He placed the tray on my night stand, sat on the bed next to me, and bent down to take me into his embrace. Pulling me up slightly, he whispered "good morning" into my ear as I felt his stubble brush against my neck. What the hell! Beard burn is worth this moment.

His nuzzling against my neck had woke up other areas of my body, and suddenly I didn't really mind that the coffee was going to get cold. Something else seemed a bit hotter. The sun blazed across the his tan chest as he lowered me onto my back, and looked into my eyes. Lowering his face to mine, he started to kiss me slowly, starting just with my upper lip, then slowly working his way down to my chin.

He traced his way across the left side of my jawline, and as I ran my hands through his hair, he proceeded down to the most sensitive part of my neck. The area 1/2 way between my left ear, and my left shoulder. Using just his tongue, he traced small circles that sent electrical jolts all the way to my center.

He pressed his hardness to mine, and began his decent down my chest, stopping to kiss my stomach, ever so slowly working to where I wanted him most. He smiled as he could see that his teasing me was making me squirm in excitement. He reached the moment of no return, and I began breathing short quick breaths in anticipation of the wetness of his mouth. Looking me in the eyes, he said "YOU HAVE AN INCOMING TEXT MESSAGE." I stared blankly at him, not quite understanding. He smiled, opened his mouth and said "YOU HAVE AN INCOMING TEXT MESSAGE."

I opened my eyes, to the darkness of my bedroom room. What time is it anyway? 3:30 AM? What the hell? "YOU HAVE AN INCOMING TEXT MESSAGE" my phone cell phone chirps at me from across the room. In the dark, I fumble for the phone, trip over my shoe and nearly fall to the floor, only catching myself by grabbing my cluttered nightstand. My water glass goes flying, but it's only water and the cup is plastic. I grab the phone and open it, to see the following message from a friend:

"Just had an amazing trick"

*blank stare*
You woke me out of one of the best sex dreams involving the guy with the vodka bottle to tell me you got some?
I hate you.

Enough About Me! Tell Me More About....Me!

"If it's always about you, how can you have room for anyone else?"
"If you can't love yourself, how can you expect anyone else to?"

It's all about balance in life, and I've spent most of the summer out of that balance, so I've decided it's time to balance myself a bit. This week I find out about some bookings for September and October, which could make my life fairly chaotic, but well worth the ride. The summer is a slow time for comedy clubs (why stay indoors when outside is so nice?), but as the weather cools, the crowds begin to converge. I guess everyone wants to laugh in the cold weather.

So in attempts of finding a balance, I began the weekend by focusing on a few important people in the world.

In honor of both Holly and Shamus celebrating a birthday, Friday's Sangria was brought to us by Eduardo. I have no clue what his name really was, but this Chilean hunk of prime meat, with his dark hair, olive skin, tight butt, smoldering eyes, and only a rudimentary grasp of the English language brought forth a passion in all three of us. "Would you care to try our sausage appetizer?" Oh my God, yes, I'll be happy to eat your sausage....uh...where was I? Oh yes! The highlight of our evening...the three of us blatantly staring at the waiter, commenting on how much we delighted in hearing him say "How do you like it?", only to get busted as he noticed our stares of desire. Like three giddy school girls, we sat embarrassed and laughing.

I finished off the evening drunk Text Messaging bloggers MAK and Ryan.


Saturday I was given the opportunity to speak to two more bloggers for the first time. I spoke with Scott about everything and nothing while he drove to Chicago. Most interesting part of the event for me, was that he sounded exactly like I expected him to sound like. I call it the Internet Fantasy Phenomenon. When you email and read blogs, you fill in the details of a person that you don't know, like sound of voice. In his case, I felt like I had been talking to him for months already.

I also got to speak to the famed Tuna Girl, who I will attest, IS not A LESBIAN. Even though she played College Womyn's Softball, Volleyball, Football, and Basketball she has always worn her hair in a pony tail, and like yours truly, prefers and outie over an innie. Once again, I was surprised that the voice matched exactly what I had expected, and it's truly a pleasure to know her. Someday...I hope to touch her boobies, thus proving she is a straight woman for good.

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get yourself to Akron...drop your bags at my place, we'll go into Manhattan and a have a drink, then we'll come home with some cherry garcia and chubby hubby and watch lifetime made-for-tv movies.

Well I didn't have the chance to get to Manhattan, but I took the rest of the advice and had a nice evening to myself, thanks MAK. Did you know that a pint of Ben and Jerry's is nearly 3000 calories? I'm going to be running all week to burn this off.

Sunday's softball playoffs were cancelled because of rain, so I have a feeling the season will be completely over. Most of us on the softball league are also on the Volleyball league, and any playoff times would now conflict, so I have a feeling it's going to be an abrupt ending to the season. That being said, I won the Team Spirit Award! I've got spirit, yes I do! What else do you give a smart ass, who's not the best player?

Since the games were cancelled, I was able to tap into my "creative side" and paint some pottery for Holly at her official birthday party. Ahh...good times, and the piece looks nice. I look forward to seeing it once it's been fired.


VOLLEYBALL SEASON!!!



Dear readers...if you made it through all this rambling, I am looking for your opinion.

Which volleyball team name do you like?

1. Bumps, Sets, and Dykes
   
2. Sunday Service
   
3. Spiked Heels
   
4. The Fish Nets
   

Bottoms Up!

I never mentioned what would happen in the event of a tie bid for the Tiki Picture. In the event of a tie, both winners will get a tiki painted in the color of their choice. Ryan and Bill, you've both stunned me with your generosity, and I can't thank you enough.

The bidding is still open though (and this is for charity).

---

I was going to talk today about an engagement I have this weekend, but instead, I'm going to talk about something that is on my mind a bit more today. SEX! What the hell...It's freaking Friday!

Now there is no way to discuss this without disclosing a bit. I'm sorry to disappoint you all, but sadly...I am not a virgin. In fact...uh...it has been a long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, time since I first tackled that milestone in my life. Since then I have come to know a few other men in my life (shut-up in the back rows...I'm not telling the total number). That being said, there is no way to post this without revealing a bit of information about what I do in bed. Hmmm...Maybe this will get me a date, or at least increase the numbers.

During last week's softball game, another team had coined me the "best Bottom" of the field. This both flattered and bothered me at the same time, and it's for stupid reasons. This isn't the first time this assumption has been made with me. Several people in my past (including my long term ex) thought I was a bottom. It's the butt (also labeled "Juicy Booty" {thanks Shamus}) Yes...I have anal sex (and for those of you who don't...you are missing out, but I'm willing to teach you...). I both give and receive (AKA versatile), however, when a gay man is labeled strictly a "bottom", the image that comes into my head is a nelly queen, who needs to wear heavy boots to keep his feet on the floor.

Now of course this isn't the truth. Masculinity has nothing to do with sex, does it? Is being penetrated always equated with the feminized? Does oral sex count as being penetrated, or is that strictly a form of foreplay (albeit tasty foreplay). I've been with some of the most masculine men, including a policeman who was creative with handcuffs, who once the clothes came off, you could only call "Helium Heels". I've considered tying a rope around my waist in fear of falling in.

Yet my being called a bottom somehow affronts my definition of my masculinity, which it shouldn't. My own internalized homophobia forces me to look at myself and see just how masculine I really am, as well as try to determine what exactly is masculinity?

In looking for that definition, I go to a reliable source, Straight Acting Dot Com where you can take a test to determine how straight acting you are. I am assuming that the more straight acting you are, the more masculine you are. According to the quiz, I earned a level 2. A level 0 would be a straight man, and a level 10 would be a drag queen. It must be all the sports I play, but seriously...I don't want to be straight. In fact, I like being gay. I get to touch strange women's breasts and they let me. How many straight guys get to do that? But that is off topic.

Maybe me thinking this much about this is really just a sign that I need to get laid. Perhaps I should be practicing my pick-up lines. "Nice shoes...Wanna Fuck?", "That shirt would look great crumpled on my bedroom floor.", "If I told you that you have a great body, will you hold it against me?"

Yeah, I'm ready for the weekend. So grab a drink of your choice with me, toast it to the world, and...well..."Bottoms up!"

Tongue Tied

I'd be absolutely reprehensible if I didn't thank all the people who either donated to the AIDS walk directly, or have offered to send me a check. The kindness of you, most who have never met me personally, actually astounds me. For the first time in a long time, I am at a loss for words.

I'll be taking donations up until the date of the walk on September 19th, so feel free to contact all your friends and guilt them out of 5 bucks as well. (ok...so I am shameless).

Last night, I had a dream that I was speaking with my mentor from business school. I rarely mention here I went to graduate school for a MBA, mainly because it's part of my old life, a closed chapter in my book. I've categorized that life as PC (Pre Cancer) and it's amazing how many changes I've had since then. But that's a bit off topic here.

My mentor and I both have a fascination with how people communicate. He specifically was interested in the differences between how Men and Women communicate and why they don't get along all the time (hey...he lived in a house of 4 women...he had no choice). Now what I found interesting in his research was regarding problem solving issues:

• Men: Unless a man has exhausted all of his options, he will rarely share a problem he is having with others. If he does, he is asking for someone to give him a solution.



• Women: Generally will share the problem, but are not always looking for a solution. Rather they are looking for commiseration.

Now if you disagree with this, please tell me your opinion, as I'd like to know what you think about this.

Last night, I was talking to a man on the phone who was telling me his problems with work. I offered up 4 solutions, all of which he ignored, and I was beginning to get angry. It was when I said, "if you don't want my help, why are you telling me this", that I realized...I am such a man. Oink Oink.

I Suck at This

All right, I'm going to preface this, by saying that I never ask for help. It's a character flaw of mine, and I'm slowly learning to work on it. Talk to me in 5 years and I'll have no problem doing this.

That being said, I need your help. HIV/AIDS infections are on the rise in the USA once again. We've lived with a disease that doesn't discriminate against anyone, and at this point, has no cure. For those who are positive, medications are increasingly expensive, and prevention measures are losing their funding. I've lost too many friends to this disease (I lost count after over 100 funerals) and I get quite a bit of hits a day on this site. If each of you would be kind enough to donate $5 bucks, (less than the cost of a two Starbucks Venti Lattes) I can raise well over my $100 goal. I'm not one to ask for money, and belive me, if I had the $100 bucks, I'd just give the money myself, but being the broke office temp, I'm scraping my change jars together to see what I can come up with. If you can find it in your hearts to support a very worthy cause, I will be forever grateful.

Additionally, I am willing to send a Patrick Doyle original tiki painting in the color of your choice, similar to the one you see below, to the highest bidder, as a small token of my gratitude. The picture size unframed is 20x28 inches.




I'm only asking for $5 bucks (the cost of a Big Mac Value Meal)...which can be donated by credit card, by clicking the link below. So please...I need your help.

Yes! I'll donate!

When the page opens, please click on my name and make a donation.

Freak Magnets!

This morning, for reasons I'd rather not say, I found myself reminiscing about one of my two best drinking buddies in College. Even more so, these two ladies were my best friends in college, and whenever I had a problem, I could tell them everything without judgment. And likewise they could do the same. Bridget and Corisa were my drinking buddies, confidants, general freak filter, and for lack of a better phrase...my Fag Hags.

Now I never understood how the term Fag Hag came about, but the basic image I always get is a 500 pound woman, who relishes in the attention of gay men, because other men aren't paying her any attention at all. But there is more to it. Most Fag Hag's love getting us gay men laid. My ex and I met through his Fag Hag, who introduced us, handed me his telephone number and said "see you in the morning". Scary part...she did. I'm digressing

Now living in Boulder without a car, Corisa, my hag who preferred the term Fruit Fly, and I used to take the bus down to Denver if we wanted to hit the bars. The busses were the Greyhound style (sans smelly bathroom), and the last bus left Denver for Boulder at 1:07 am. Unfortunately, Corisa and I are the original freak magnets. Between the two of us, we had some of the craziest men after us, and this title sitll haunts me.

Some highlights I remember it:

• Corisa sets her jacket down on the floor to dance (she didn't want to spend the money on the coat check). Her jacket gets stolen while she is dancing with Avin. Being distraught, we miss the bus to go home. Avin offers to ride us home (or should I say, ride Corisa home). Avin has a two seater car and wants to leave me at the bus station (Freak alert...freak alert! Wooop wooop wooop). Thankfully she rejects this option, and Avin switches cars with a friend to drive us both home. On the way, he promises to buy her a new leather jacket, to which Corisa shows a little smile. She's still waiting for the jacket, and we made sure to not give him her home number.
  
  Corisa 1, Patrick 0
  
  


• While dancing at one club, two guys who are together start dancing with us. The one guy, who seems to be interested in Corisa, says he's a fashion designer. She directs him to me, even though he insists he's straight. His "straight" friend, who also makes a move on her, is wearing a mesh shirt, and shows me all 8 of his tattoos in the bathroom. On the way home, he gropes me in the back seat of the car.


Corisa 1, Patrick 1


• I get set up on a date with a guy, and we hit it off fairly well. While getting to know each other, the guy mentions the name of his ex. Corisa is dating him.


Corisa 2, Patrick 1


• Bridget, my other drinking buddy, asks me to take out an out of town visitor Darwin, as she's not legal to get into the bars. I agree and after dinner and drinks we end up back at my place. Without going into the gory details, during the middle of what could have been the best night of his life, he jumps out of bed, runs to my bathroom, wails for 20 minutes before running out of my house. He gets back to Bridget's house, where she wonders if I'm murdered, and is worried that Darwin is suicidal.


Corisa 2, Patrick 23 (extra points for that one)


• Both Corisa and I get into relationships with men that have no sex drives. Seriously NO SEX DRIVE


Corisa 3, Patrick 4

Now I'm glossing over way too many of them but the final score has us both in the double digits. Corisa has rid herself by finding someone that actually beat her stories, and I would like to pass my title on as well. Somebody...Anybody...Email me your story and if it beats mine, I'll publish it but keep you anonymous. Any takers on the challenge?

I'm Turning Into a Jock Strap

Softball playoffs Week 1:
There isn't a muscle on my body from the shoulders down that is not sore at this very moment. Seriously...I hurt, but I played well. We Flowerville Wildcats won our first game, beating the higher seeded "Lady Buffalos" (formerly called Lady Bulls) 7-1. Yes, Tunagirl, you would have been a proud little fishy. This boy caught a ball thrown in from center field, tagged out the runner going for home, threw it to third who tagged out that runner, and who passed it to second for a triple play.


Game 2, Wildcats vs. Bears (The team I played for last year). We lost...fair and square. What I like though about this league is that most every team cheers me on, even when we are playing against each other. While playing the Bears, their best player pulls me aside to give me some hitting advice, telling me that I'm losing my swing power because I am moving my hips. I lock my hips and hit a double, and while I'm running to the base, the opposing team is cheering me on!

So many of the people on this league are people that suffered teasing by the jocks in high school. These guys pushed sports out of their lives and avoided it for years, only to try once again, in what they hope is a supportive league. For most teams, they get that support. Last year was my first time picking up a ball and mitt in 27 years. I had no idea how to catch a ball, and had never hit a ball in my life. So to learn to do both, I take as a serious accomplishment.

Game 3. Wildcats vs. Lizards vs Blind Umpire. We lost but both teams agree that this umpire is just not mentally there. She called a strike on a ball that was pitched behind the batter. Both teams know...just swing on anything. It's your safest bet. We look forward to playing them next week with a more perceptive umpire.


Bowling Season:

Somehow I was elected captain of my bowling team, which means I get to make all the phone calls regarding when we start up, decide on a team name, and insure team fees are being paid. We have a good group team though, and since both Shamus and I are horrible, we have a great handicap.

Volleyball:
When Volleyball had ended last year, our team manager had told me that she would not be restarting her team. After speaking with someone, I found that I was actually being shut out from my old team as they are joining the league again. Surprised? Yes. Hurt? Not really...as I had already been in the works to start up another team. Somehow...I've been elected team captain of this one too. Thus, besides collecting $55 from each player, getting shirt sizes, getting a team name and sponsorship, and setting up a few practice times, I've found two upper division players to coach us. It's official...my plate is full.

So looking at Volleyball team names, I've received some suggestions

• The Spikettes
• Spiked Heels
• Bumping Uglies
• Ball Busters

So what do you all think? Any suggestions for team names?

Playing With my Private Parts

My first mentor in my theater program once told me that as a performer, you are always under a higher public scrutiny than others. At first I didn't believe him, but as I continued in the theater program, while working in a highly visible position in the financial aid office, I learned he was right. And I wasn't the only one who learned this. My best drinking buddies Corisa and Bridget (love you both ladies) would get stopped at parties with people who had "just a quick question" regarding their financial aid. When I would go out, I would be identified as "the financial aid guy." It was part of the work, and we accepted it, and learned very quickly to give enough information to be helpful, but never enough information to be dangerous.

Like it or not, I lead a public life. The minute I publish something on this website, it's public domain and everyone out there in the world with access to a computer can read it. For instance, someone whom I am personally acquainted with, felt it necessary to share this blog with others in hopes of upsetting them. For what gain? Good question, and I'm not sure I can answer it. Some people prefer to meddle in other's lives to avoid their own. That's not my problem. Nothing I say is slanderous or libelous, and if it is construed that way, it isn't my intention. Tell me about it, and I will review the material for changes.

Writing a blog is a lot like doing a porn movie (although I haven't done that...yet...but I always believe you should do what you love). You need to go into it remembering that your mom WILL find and read it, your coworkers will see it, and your boss will know about it. Once you realize that, it's your responsibility to fully disclose what you are doing, and disarm anyone who would be a potential enemy or face the consequences. If you write something that could offend someone personally, expect that you have offended them. It's that simple.

Currently I know of a blogger who had not told his mother about his blog (don't ask me who...I'll protect his privacy). Someone, and we don't know who, printed out his blog, added a few slanderous extra posts, and mailed it to his mother for her own shock. Luckily, she called her son, and upon finding out that it was trash, disposed of it into the #13 file.

The Washington Post just printed an article Sunday about a mailroom staffer for Senator Mike Dewine (R-OH), who lost her job after her blog was discovered. Granted...the girl got a six figure book deal out of it, and a spread in Playboy (Is Playgirl looking for sexiest bloggers?) but she learned the hard way what can happen.

All I'm saying is that writing a blog is not private, and if you think so, you are surely mistaken. Protect yourself. You don't need to self censor, but realize that anyone could be reading your site.

Trotting to the Finish Line

I've got way too many stories to tell about yesterday, but I'll wait until the pictures are developed, and post it all together. Until then, I figured I'd share this one with you.

An old co-worker of mine told me this story when we worked together back in college. Now being a mother of a child about to enter high school, I wonder if she appreciates this story as much as before.

---

It was the spring of my Senior year in high school and I and 4 other girls on the track team were looking forward to the new freedoms of post graduation. I had been accepted to Boston University, as were all my friends, so this wasn't goodbye as much as a step into the unknown.

End of year rites had already begun (the principle had announced that there was no Senior Cut Day...which everyone, including faculty, ignored), and the buzz of the Prom was on most everyone's lips. Of course, spring was my busiest time of the year, as I was on the girl's track team. Now I never understood why it was called the "girl's track team". The boys were on the "Men's Track Team" (in caps of course), but we women were reduced to "girls". Well...it was the 80's, and people were more worried about nuclear war than semantics.

Each year, the senior women on the team had a tradition of playing a prank on all the other teammates by the final track meet. Last year, the seniors put peanut butter in all the teams shoes while we were all getting ready to go home. Imagine finding peanut butter, a week old in your shoes because you hadn't run in a while. I was sorry enough to have taken the summer off from running, and only found my shoe surprise when I saw the trail of ants. My fellow seniors and I had to top that, and as of May...we still hadn't thought of anything appropriate. Until we had 3 meets left.

I'd like to say that it was a teammate who came up with the plan...but it was all me. I proposed it as a joke, but my fellow seniors thought it was a freaking hilarious idea. We planed it out, and realized we would need two track meets to pull it off, the first being the decoy prank.

The decoy was fairly simple. We finished the meet, and as we all headed to the showers, my friends and I grabbed all the clothes of all of my teammates, taking them outside and putting them on the bus. As the girls came out, they would have to go to the bus in their towels to get their clothes. It was pulled off without a hitch, and our coach, Ms. Feldman, laughed as she went out to the bus to get their clothes back. HA HA HA...prank was great...top that next year. Little did they know that we would top that next week.

Our last track meet was to be held at a school 3 hours drive away from our school. Anytime we had such a long drive, everyone would bring sugary treats for the trip. The sugar helped give you just a bit more energy for running. The night before the meet, my fellow conspirators met at my house with all the supplies. Six boxes of brownie mix, three cans of frosting, and 20 boxes of Ex-Lax. We gleefully made the brownies putting most of the Ex-Lax into the batter, and melted the remaining chocolate squares, which we mixed into the frosting. They actually smelled really good. We cut them, placed them on a plate, and put a few normal ones on one edge so that we could eat some without causing suspicion.

On the bus trip out, the plan was executed perfectly. Each of the seniors grabbed an untainted brownie and passed the plate along to out unsuspecting teammates. Georgia, another senior even brought along several jugs of orange juice to "help things along". By the time we had gotten to the field, all of the brownies were eaten.

After changing into uniform, we did our usual stretches and warm up, and as we were doing our warm-up laps, my teammates began to show signs of discomfort. Roberta (a sophomore) kept stopping saying she needed to stretch her hamstring, but wasn't bending over to stretch. My group kept glancing at each other so often that I'm surprised people didn't figure it out earlier.

Our first competition, the 100 dash. I was in this race, as was Angela, a fast freshman who showed promise (in fact, she went on to state finals her next three years). As the starting gun went off, I've never seen Angela run so fast. She crossed the finish line first, but oddly enough kept running, turning only once to the right to head to the restroom, while the track turned to the right. It took every bit of power to keep a straight face, but I kept it under control.

By the time the 400 was about to start, three other girls and our coach had used the bathroom. Roberta, who seemed very uncomfortable (she kept crossing her legs) while waiting to take the starting block was in this race. I'm sure she has never forgiven me, but as she ran the first bend of the track, Roberta could not control herself any longer and shit herself while running. My fellow senior's and I doubled over laughing, and that was when the coach figured out what we had done.

We lost every event except for the first that Angela had won (she stayed in the bathroom for most of the meet). Our coach had continued to yell at us all afternoon, and called our parents, and the principle to meet us when the bus returned.

The trip home took us 5 hours, mostly because we had to keep stopping at rest stops, or fast food restaurants, or the bushes on the side of the road. After several girls had emergency mishaps (and were now underwear free), the coach finally bought several cans of coffee, dumped the grounds and kept the cans as emergency toilets if the girls were not able to wait until we stopped.

Getting off the bus, I could see the disapproving glare from my mother that said I'd be lucky to see the light of day until college started. My father looked just as stern, except that once he saw the coffee cans, the corners of his mouth seemed to twitch. The lecture from the principle, and mom was horrendous. We would be required to pay for cleaning uniforms, we lost our prom tickets, and we couldn't attend graduation the graduation ceremony (the last punishment was repealed though).

As we were getting in the car to go home, my father said I should go over and apologize to my coach. He and I walked over, where I apologized the best I could. As my dad and I walked back to the car, he said "Good one, Elaine." and once again gave me a stern look as my mom glared at the both of us.

Get to the Point

CEDAR POINT BABY!!!!
Today, Shamus and I will be at Cedar Point Amusment park, and because I think everyone needs a little rollercoaster therapy, I'll be blogging from the park all day. I'm shooting for a "day in the life of" with the traveling spotlight. Anyone care to get on this ride with me? As you can see from the height comparisson, this rollercoaster is actually taller than the Statue of Liberty by 5 feet.

Yes Hot Toddy...this is the one you screamed like a little girl on.

Strangely Estranged

I'm feeling a bit self analytical from my overdose of ice cream. Pensiveness follows. Read at your own risk!

---

Growing up in so many different places, I learned to make "nice" with other kids my age very quickly. I would develop what appeared to be an intense friendship with a few kids, only to have those friendships fizzle when I moved away. The relationships never ended in bad feelings, but rather contact would just end. It was the way I protected myself, learning that if I never got close to anyone, I'd never know what I was missing.

Now that I'm older (I'm not old damnit!), I find it's become a lifelong survival pattern for me. I never let people get too close (friends or otherwise), and if the relationship moves in that direction, I begin to distance myself. Sometimes stopping contact. Even in my longest relationship, I kept a lot of my thoughts and feelings to myself, only exposing myself enough to allow minimal risk. (He wasn't ok with that, which is likely why we couldn't work it out).

Now I'm seeing the downside of this strategy, and I'm not sure I like it. In my life, I can't think of anyone I trust implicitly, and maybe nobody really is trustworthy. I always wonder what are someone's motives behind their actions. What is it that they want? We humans are greedy adult versions of children. We try to get what we want, and we will try almost anything to get it.

But that gets me away from this topic. The question to myself is why make yourself vulnerable? What good becomes of it and is it worth it? How do you learn to trust people and is it worth it?

Maybe I just need some insulin to clear the sugar coma from the ice cream...

RIP Lestat

He's actually my ex's cat, but I did live with the bundle of fur for 6 years.

November 1993 - August 16, 2004
Cancer
Good night little guy.
Figures you would upstage me in my disease.
You may have hated me (which he did), but you'll still be missed.

*sniff*...I'm gonna go have some ice cream.

God Bless The American Melting Pot

One of the things I like most about traveling (both foreign and domestic) is experiencing the local culture, shops, galleries, and restaurants. So imagine my dismay the last time I traveled to San Francisco, only to see a Wal-Mart, Chili's, and yes...a freaking Red Lobster (although to be honest...I've never been inside a Red Lobster, so I can't rag on them too badly).

It's even worse when you travel overseas. When I went to Africa, besides going for the final trip, I wanted to learn as much about the culture as I possibly could. Getting off the plane, I took a train, and taxi to my first guest house looking forward to meeting some real Africans! After checking in, I went for a short walk, only to find a McDonald's down the road.

Nearly every city is losing it's culture, and instead going for a mass homogeneous mess that can be found almost anywhere. So wanting to explore local culture, I decided to take you all on a trip around the world: Starting in Cleveland, let's will have dinner at the Cheesecake Factory and then hop a plane for Los Angeles.

Los Angeles:
Stay at the Hyatt hotel, and have dinner at the the Original Cheesecake Factory (which is so much better than the others). The next day, go to Disney Land. After leaving, stop at Subway to "Eat Fresh" before heading to LAX to go international.

Auckland, New Zealand:
Arrive exhausted...but ready for new experiences. On the way to the Hyatt, stop at the local Subway (246 Karangahape Rd Auckland 9-366-0058) to keep on losing the weight like Jarred! Check in, and sleep off the Jet Lag. Rent a camper van ($500 a week) and travel a one way trip to Christchurch. Stopping at McDonald's (where over one Billion have been served), we will grab a plane for Beijing, China.

Beijing, China:
Yes...Eat more McDonald's. Quick trip up to the Great wall for a photo op before switching to the Great Wall Sheraton Hotel. Since the country is communist, and we Americans don't like those commies, we'll just leave quickly for Tokyo, Japan.

Tokyo, Japan (which if you ignored the writing on the signs, looks a lot like Times Square):
After having lunch at the Bubba Gump Shrimp Company (which ironically is located also in Times Square), let's go shopping at Gucci (once again, very close to Times Square as well). Tiring of all the Japanese speaking taxi drivers, we will stop to have dinner at The Hard Rock Cafe, before leaving Asia for Africa.

Cairo, Egypt:
After checking into the Grand Hyatt Cairo, you will have dinner at the Hard Rock Cafe. Make sure to get the obligatory sweatshirt, as nobody will believe you were there. Skip the archeological digs...(we've all seen the history books), and instead rent a Jeep and drive in the desert.

Skipping all of Europe (or as I would call, Euramerica), we are going for the culture of Southern African. Cape Town, South Africa. Sun City!

Cape Town, South Africa:
There are 22 McDonald's to sample the local food from in this area. Inside are all the American's in the area, gorging themselves on what one can only HOPE are two all beef patties. (When you make friends with the locals, you find things out you don't want to know, but that's not what this trip is about!) Does this country even have a culture? ...Probably not, so lets head to Latin America!

Guam:
Dinner tonight will be courtesy of Taco bell. After a day at the beach (and because the cost of the air fares are nearing $7000, we will be heading back to Cleveland.


We hope you enjoyed the Americanized version of the world. Next time you want to go on vacation, might I recommend your local McDonald's which can provide you an international experience for under $30 bucks a family. Me...I'm going to Wal-Mart.

Egg Shells Anyone?

I have currently laid out several dozen egg shells all around the floor of my work space. Those of you currently willing to come near me, may only proceed at your own risk.

A letter I received in the mail yesterday

Dear valued xxxxx employee:
We are proud to announce the beginning of a new employee recognition program. All employees who qualify will be entered into a random drawing to receive one of two $75 dollar gift certificates for Red Lobster Restaurant! To qualify for one of these valuable prizes, you must meet the following criteria:

• You must not call off from work for the next 6 weeks.



• You must be on time for work for the next 6 weeks.



• You must receive a satisfactory rating from your supervisor.

We have created this program as a way of showing our gratitude for your valuable services, and we look forward to continuing your career with xxxxxx.

sincerely
XXXXXXX

You have got to be fucking kidding me. Just reading the letter, got my blood boiling, and I realized...I haven't had a melt down in quite a while. My response:

Dear XXXXXXX,
I have recently received your letter regarding your recent employee recognition program. Although I applaud your attempt at creatively motivating your employees, I seriously question your recruitment methods if you are having problems with employee tardiness or absentees. Perhaps if you took the time to search for better candidates, provided fair wages, merit increases, and affordable health insurance benefits (which are currently $300 a month for single coverage) you might recruit a better class of candidates that have a stronger work ethic.

Exactly what type of employee do you think I am? I have never called off work (nor taken a vacation day), have consistently worked more than 40 hours in a week (while only getting paid for the 40), have never been late to my assignment, have never been reimbursed for travel expenses to other work locations, and have taken the label of General Office Clerk while my duties are far from the title.

Currently I am the Systems Administrator and HTML developer for the XXXXXXXX XXXXXXXX program. My duties involve providing Tier 2 support for the field training systems, the global support center, branch operations, and retail training as well as perform the coding of HTML and JAVA needed for the new software roll out. Additionally I am the sole contact for software issues for the recent merger with three additional companies the client has recently purchased.

I have continued to market my services to the client, extending my contract with them for the third time, with a new supervisor each time. I have done this without the effort of your recruitment staff, who should be working to expand the number of contractors you currently offer, as well as improving upon your existing relationships.

You have also stated that I would need to have a favorable review from my current employer in my evaluation. In the 2 1/2 years that I have worked as a contractor for your company, I have never received a review of any kind, but since I am still working for your services, I can only assume that my reviews have been favorable. Please provide me copies of my reviews, as I would like to know what my prior assignments have said.

In response to your efforts at recognizing my talents and loyalty, I would prefer that you pay me the holiday pay that you still owe me from July 4th, and if you feel the desire to award me a gift certificate, I would prefer a gift certificate to Columbia Gas of Ohio, as I currently still owe them well over $75, but ever dollar still counts.

Sincerely,
Patrick Doyle

In other words: Fuck You!

Getting Down Wit It

Yes...I'm looking for my dignity. I think I dropped it somewhere in my past. Have you seen it anywhere?

When you are first recruited as a homosexual, you must sign a contract that has been ratified by the International Homosexual Agenda (I can't wait to see who googles this...). This contract obligates you to a number of things involving recruitment, home decorating, sports, gerbils, and of course one line responses.

I, unfortunately, fail at the one line responses. Where the hell is my gay wit? I have it, but it's like my timing belt is off and I only think of come back lines 10 minutes too late. It's at these times that I wish I could turn back time (how Cher) and relive the moment.

Past infractions of the one liner:

1. Situation: The guy hitting on me. This guy approached me last Halloween, saddled up to me and said:
   "I just want you to know that looks don't matter to me"
   I answered by looking at him slackjawed.
   
   BUT
   I should have said "Well size matters to me and I just don't like a teeny man."



---



2. Situation: The guy hitting on me. This guy approached me and said:
   "I just love a big ass"
   Me...slack jawed again
   
   when I should have said
   "You must love looking in the mirror then"



---



3. Situation: The know it all wanna-be athlete. He said:
   "Patrick, you want to hit the ball further up in the air, so I can get under it"
   "ok" I answered
   when I later thought"As many times that you've dropped to your knees, you shouldn't have any problems"



---

Now granted, there are some moments, people, and incidents in my life that I would rather forget I ever encountered, but I'm still looking for the time machine so I can go back and regain my dignity in the times it was most hit.

Playing with my Texticals

I never realized I was getting old older until this past Sunday while measuring inseams at the bar. The 24 year old who wants to date me has "dated" (as in carbon dating) me, and it just ain't pretty. How? So many ways...

First there was the dancing in the bar. The song that came on was Deborah Cox's Absolutely Not

Should I wear my hair in a ponytail?
Should I dress myself up in Chanel?
Do I measure me by what you think?
Absolutely not, absolutely not
If I go to work in a mini-skirt
Am I givin' you the right to flirt?
I won't compromise my point of view
Absolutely not, absolutely not

The standard dance Diva song. Now every gay man knows exactly what I am talking about here. There is dancing, and there is the "gay twinkie interpetive dancing", which is what he was doing. Imagine a hand movement for each phrase of the above song and combine it with aerobics. My buddy Pearl Drops walked over, took one look and whispered in my ear "bet he's a wildcat in the sack". I figure if I drink a lot of coffee with sugar...I might be able to keep up with him.

Secondly, when he called me Tuesday night just to say "yo' what up?" (which upon searching the slang dictionary I discovered means "Hello. How are you?"). Of course...this young man called when he got off work...at 2:30 in the morning. I value my sleep. I am an insominiac. I could not get back to sleep after he called to say "hi". I'll be calling him tomorrow at 5:00 AM when I get up for work to get even.

But the last nail in the coffin of my youth came when we had a text message conversation via cell phone. I really don't know who the hell came up with this stupid idea, but I have never had such a complicated conversation:

• Him: ;0)~



• Scratching my head wondering what the hell that means. I figure I should message him back. So I begin my "typing" my message.
  Me: How's it going? (which typed out on my phone is: 446669function287777#4448#4666444664function23 )



• Him: Good thx. At work now. What do you do for wrk?



• Me: 444#9666777555#28#2#2226655#3666444664#4448#



• Him: U there?



• His incomming message made my typing dissappear. I begin retyping again.
  Me: 444#9666777555#28#2#2226655#
  3666444664#4448#777799977778367777#2364446644477778777277744466666#
  2663#4486555#333888335556667633668function81 (I work in IT systems administration and HTML development.)



• Him: Cool. U have plans tonight?

And the conversation went on, until I finaly called him, as it was just damn easier. Now I realize that high school kids use this damn system all the time, but who ever came up with the idea of text messenging really was not thinking properly, and I realized, I'm just too damn old to deal with these new contraptions. Give me a phone and I'll just call.

Going Through the Motions

Sometimes, softball really is like life. Last Sunday, our softball team was brutally murdered by the Tuscany Tile team. Seriously...it was brutal, and a fascinating look into human psychology.

We had three games scheduled. First game against the Hairy buffaloes, a recreational Lesbian team that loves joking with me. Somehow, my nickname of "Juicy Booty" has gotten around, so when I am up at bat, they lovingly cat call me (I'm flattered). I hit the ball, my foot slips in the dust, and I go falling to the ground. By the time I got my footing, they were throwing the ball to first. That, was my best batting of the day, and sadly we lost 6-4.

The second game was actually ridiculous. I can lose by enormous point spreads, but if the game is fun, I still enjoy it. This wasn't the case. The Tuscany Tile team started out by scoring 12 home runs in the first inning, at which point they called an immediate end to the inning and had us up to bat next. "Three up!!! Three down!!!" The Tuscany Tile pitcher began to piss me off. Our third batter popped a fly ball to the pitcher. She caught it, then intentionally dropped it so that our runner would get on base. He didn't bother running.

Next inning, the same female Tuscany Tile pitcher was on third base when their next hitter hit a slow grounder. I recovered it, only to see her walking from third to home. She waited by the home plate for me to tag her out (was that really necessary).

Last inning, I began watching my teammates, who no longer ran for the ball, most of whom looked very annoyed with the whole game. We quit...and ended the game 28-0...and I let it be known that I will not play that team again. I can lose badly...but I won't play with poor sports.

By the time our team started the third game, we just weren't there anymore. We played, but no one played well. We would swing at wild pitches, barely run for the ball, and it was obvious that the team morale was completely gone. No cheering, no fun, no real playing.

And this was what made me think of life a bit. When bad things happen for a while, your morale drops. What happens when your morale drops so far that you just don't feel like playing anymore? How do you get that morale back, and quit the process of only going through the motions.

Every single night
The same arrangement
I go out and fight the fight
Still I always feel
This strange estrangement
Nothing here is real
Nothing here is right
I've been making shows of trading blows
Just hoping no one knows
That I've been
Going through the motions
Walking through the part
Nothing seems to penetrate my heart

Will I stay this way forever
Sleepwalk through my life’s endeavor
Cause I don't want to be
Going through the motions
Losing all me drive
I can't even see if this is really me
And I just want to be
Alive

Strip Teasing

Last night I found out what it was like to be a stripper in a bar, and this morning I am a sore, exhausted mess, who after his third shower, still doesn't feel that clean.

The Nort Coast Softball Association had its final fundraiser at the Leather Stallion Saloon from 5:30 til 10, and Pearl Drops and I were selling raffle tickets to earn more money for the league. 1 ticket for a $1.00, 6 for $5.00, and for $10 we would measure your inseam from up inside your shorts down to the floor. I had my hand up so many men's shorts, I felt like I should have just said "cough". Do you know how many nasty men don't wear underwear? I do. Thank god I had brought a bottle of purell, as I'm sure I could have caught an infection, or at least spread crabs to someone else.

Worst part of this was that we had to approach everyone, even those that you didn't want to approach. You want to measure an 80 year old man's crotch? Go right ahead. Me...I went to my happy place, as these men are the biggest spenders. Flirt a little, get a lot, and this is what the strippers do. They approach the older and fat men who normally get ignored, knowing that these men will pay money for the attention. It made me a little sad really.

Now not all customers were undesirable though. The other customers fell into two categories, those who were too embarrassed by the whole situation, and those that enjoyed the attention.

The embarassed guys usually have their friends shelling up the money, and will complain as Pearl Drops and I were copping a feel. But the one gave me his number. He's 24. As in bundle of energy...oy!

Those that enjoy the attention make a bigger production out of it. Several times someone grabbed my head and pushed it into his crotch (back off buddy...I know what I'm doing). And thus...24 year old number 2 gives me his number. What's going on here? When did I start attracting boys 10 years younger than me? Must be my new vitamin regime.

Money made: Just over $1000.
Most money from 1 customer: $40 bucks I made from the woman who request I drop my pants and show her the goods (seriously people...I really am shy).
Most unique pick up line used on me last night:
George: Were you at the Grid last night?
Me: Yes.
George: I thought so. I remember your ass.
Me: *slack jawwed*....
George: Let me measure your inseam.
Me: It'll cost you $10.

He shoots...and He's Blocked!

Being funny is not always a fun job. It's a lot of work. My performance coaches a long time ago taught me that you get most of your material from three places. Newspapers, your personal life, and from new experiences. I was also told to write every single day...Regardless if it is crap or not. Today...I'm blocked...so it's crap (but I am my worst critic).

I've read the newspapers, and really, the political arena...it has all been done. Every time Greenspan farts, the market fluctuates (but Martha Stewart hears about it first). Scott Peterson...no matter how much weight he loses...he still looks guilty in the eyes of the public. Otherwise...no real tidbits of news worth making fun of. Somebody commit a crime for me and I'll make fun of you!

My personal life...well that is really nothing but funny, but today, I just don't feel like talking about my life. I do it enough already, and since TunaGirl and I are having a contest to see who can go longer without wild monkey sex...my mind is preoccupied. "Daddy needs it bad!"

And for the new experiences...house sitting, I've been watching way too much television (last night's Law and Order marathon nearly killed me). I actually think I lost some intelligence watching so much TV (I usually only watch 4 hours a week...I did that last night).

So any suggestions? Anything you want to know about? The time I had sex in the bushes in front of a church? The list of my injuries (way too many x-rays in my life)? Top ten and bottom ten sexual partners and why? What it's like to jump out of an airplane? Bungee jump? How I've switched places with a nemisis? Stories from the softball mound? Commentary on Bush? Commentary on Kerry? Philosophy on life? How about I tell you my last therapy session (I recommend therapy...just remember that denial is way cheaper).

Thank You

To the man who found the courage to send me such a "hot" picture of himself: Image is somewhat work-safe and edited to protect his identity.

Imagine my surprise, opening my e-mail, to find your picture. I'm truly blinded with desire. Seeing you stretched out, so that I can see the crevice between your ample buttocks, as well as the soft limpness of your manhood. And with such ample gray hair in your nether regions, you have given me an image I will carry with me all through this day, and maybe even into next week. In fact, each time I feel vaguely sexually aroused during the work day, instead of working at my desk putting the thought out of my head, I will think immediately of that picture, and what would happen if I met you in person.

Now I know that some people would say that you aren’t their cup of tea, or that sending someone an unsolicited picture of yourself naked is rude. But not me! Personally I love receiving naked pictures, as it is the coup de grace of my day, allowing me the opportunity to imagine exactly what I would do first to you.

Tell me, “Dave”, what was the first clue that I would like to see your naked pictures? Was it my sentiment yesterday that said I enjoy being single, but still like sex, or was it just the fact that you knew I’ve been depressed and saw this as a way of cheering me up. Because cheering me up is exactly what you have done. Currently I can think of nothing else that could possibly put a bigger smile on my face, knowing that you, out there, have naked pictures you are happy to send me.

And so artfully done, I should think that you paid your photographer quite a sum of money. That one shot…wow…I didn’t even recognize what it was at first, thinking it was instead a winking eye. I should have known it was an eye all right, just the one that stinks…not the one that winks. And your offer to play a game of “Stinky Pinky” is noted and if I have the time…I just may take you up on the offer.

Because “Dave”, nothing interests me more that close up shots of areas that I normally don’t look at unless I’ve been staring at the face of a person first. You’ve showed me that the mystery of what’s under the clothes is worth exploring, and left my stomach churning in anticipation of the next picture you send me, and I can only thank you for your gift. Thank you Dave, thank you, thank you again.

Using my Ass to Make Money

The call I recieved last week instructed me in all the details. For 12 nights, I am to be Eddie's male companion, going out with him, and going back to his place at night. In return, I'm paid a nice sum of money, and we keep this discreet as I want. Obviously he doesn't know about this website, and I'm not that discreet...bills have got to be paid.

So here it is...The fourth day of this arrangement, and besides being surprised I haven't written about this before, I'm astonished at how exhausted Eddie has made me. I value my sleep and he likes waking me up at 3 in the morning. That's 3AM! As in Ass Mine...bite it! He's sweet though, so I'll forgive him, and it doesn't take him long to satisfy his needs, so I can get back to sleep fairly quickly. My work place has been my downtime, my place to unwind alone, away from him.

But tonight, It's back to work, taking Eddie out on the town, before we retire back to his place for an early evening rubdown.
Now, does anyone else find it pathetic that I can talk about dog sitting and prostitution in nearly the same way?

---

Eleanor Rigby?

The Ohio legislature is once again shoving their heads up their own asses by sponsoring legislature that would require all online dating services that operate in Ohio to make the consumer aware if they do background checks on their users. Sounds good, right? Of course, the bill is being pushed by the owner of TRUE, who is the only service who actually does background checks. Now you can know that your potential mate is not a criminal, and isn't married. Big deal. One of the sweetest men I know is married, and I've been arrested and charged for protesting.

Where is the time spent getting to know each other if all of your interests are pre-matched. Where is the opportunity to learn new things from this person? If you already know each other...why date? Does online dating really work? Maybe for some...but I don't think for the majority of people.

Not that any of the other online dating services are any better. Fill out this form, attach your picture, and in 20 minutes you will be online for the browsing of any member in the system. Think of it like one big singles bar, and everyone is looking for a mate, because without a mate, your life is meaningless. That's the rub. These services (each who charge nearly $100 a year) market to the belief that when you are alone, you are less of a person. What loser can't find a date? Don't you realize that when you are in a relationship you are happy? Do you want to die alone?

Fuck you!

Who says that we have to "be with someone"? I like being alone, and to be honest...most men couldn't handle me (I am a handful!). I like the person I've grown to be. The only person I am responsible for is me, and if someone wants to come along for my ride, they are welcome to it, but I'm not slowing down, so you better grab hold tight.

If you can't stand alone, how can you expect to stand next to someone? The idea that being alone makes you lonely is absolutely ridiculous. As long as you have yourself, you're never really alone. And when it comes to getting sex...well...call me and we'll work something out.
:-)

Setting Up Residence

One of my best drinking buddies in College, Corisa, once said to me "There are two types of people; the people who lived during high school and the people who lived after high school". At the time I found those words to be incredibly wise, and mostly true.

I was reminded of it this weekend upon seeing a performer sing at a bar here in town. One of the most difficult things to ever do in theater is close a show. The production can easily become your life, and especially in the event of a long run, the cast and crew can become your surrogate family. This was his case. This man had been cast in a touring production that allowed him to tour all over Europe and the United States (I won't mention the production to protect his identity). Since the tour has ended, he performs the music from that show.

We spoke after he sang, and our conversation related to how successful the production was. The way he spoke, I assumed the show had just recently closed last year. So I was a little stunned to find out that the tour he had been on had ended over 6 years ago. This man was still living in his past achievements. When I asked what he is doing now, he proceeded to tell me more about the touring show.

Now I tend to have the opposite approach on life. I always look far in the future. When I get to point x, I'm going to do this. "Things may be bad now, but in the future, they will be better". Now I do look to my past for lessons, and I have the memory of an elephant when it comes to competition or people who leave an imprint in my life. Sort of a way of learning from my mistakes. But I also think living in the future is a dangerous place, as you never see the current opportunities.

As I've gotten older in life, I realize their is one other place to live, and that is the present. You see opportunities where they currently are, and remember the immediate mistakes you have made, so that they aren't made again. No long term goals, you just run with life.

I have yet to meet a person who has successfully molded all three together, but I think that is the ideal situation. And maybe that is the true rub...when you finally learn how to do this...you find the meaning of life.

So where do you live?

One Dull Life

I hear people often tell me that their lives are boring and ordinary. I'd say the same thing about myself...Except that my life really isn't dull. I have a very active social life, and I go out often to different venues, but even more so...I have fun just with the events in my life. Nobody's life is boring. It's just what you make it. So how was my dull weekend?

Friday
A typical work day, I arrived to find that I was surrounded by children everywhere. Someone had neglected to tell me that it was "Bring Your Brat to Work Day" at the bank, and everyone had brought their kids. I never understood why this is even done. The kids are bored because the parents don't have the time to pay attention to them, and the parents are annoyed having to keep an eye on their kids all day. I'm digressing here.

(drama visits upon Patrick)

Around 12:00, I went to use my cell phone, only to notice that it was not on my desk. I always have the phone on my desk. I searched the desk just in case, and then dialed the phone number directly from my office phone. The call went directly to voice mail. At that point, I knew my cell phone was stolen. Since all of the employees in this building already have cell phones for work, it was unlikely that any of them would have taken mine. Their brats? That's another story.

After having the security guard chastise me for leaving my phone at my desk, another employee reports having their phone stolen as well. Two phones??? Sounds like a job for Scooby Doo. I call the police and fill out a stolen property report. Phone value, $300 (I just got it last week with my new contract).

3pm: Police call saying they have my phone and that I need to go to the station to identify it so I can get it back. !?!?! Damn...That was faster than Scooby Doo! The story as I was able to gather from the police.

The 14 year old suspect informed the security guard that he had to go to the bathroom, so the guard let him in (assuming he was a visiting brat). The kid wandered the halls and stole two cell phones. He then went across the street to another office building, and did the same thing, stealing several phones and a purse. He also took a set of keys. Upon leaving the building, he used the keyless entry to find the appropiate car, stole the car and drove away...Only to crash the car. When the police arrived, they found all the stolen property, and all of us owners had to go pick it up. Want to be this kid's parent?

---

Friday night was spent at a charity event called the "Blue Moon over the Garden of Good and Evil". This party, which was supposed to mirror the Midnight of the Garden of Good and Evil book, is an event that raises money for the Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual, Trangendered (and whatever I'm missing) center. Well over 100 items were up for a silent auction with another 2 dozen up in a tradition auction. Biggest selling item, flight for two to NYC in October, hotel and tickets for two to see Wicked and Avenue Q. Valued at $600, the item sold for $3500 dollars. I am currently seeking out the winner of this item for a future marriage, as he obviously could pay my bills.

I also came out a winner, winning season tickets to the Cleveland Public Theater. We were required to "confess" our most evil crime, and if it was picked, we would win the prize. Now I have only confessed this as a guest blogger on Pesky apostrophe's blog, but the cat is now out of the bag. Last May, I bought $100 worth of candy from Wall Mart at $.25 a piece. I then took them to work, put them in a box and labeled it "SCHOOL FUNDRAISER" and sold the whole batch for $1.00 a bar.

The judges loved it so much, I won the prize.

---

Saturday
I woke up early, loaded the scratched coffee table into my car and drove the 200 miles to Pittsburgh so I could return the item back to IKEA. The weather was fairly bad with rain, and much to my dismay, the car in front of me was hydroplaning, and when he changed lanes, he did a full 360 degree spin on a major highway before drifting off into the ditch. Terrified that he was hurt, I pulled over, but the guy was ok and borrowed my newly recovered cell phone to call for help.

Now I do have the gift certificate to spend in Ikea, but upon walking in the store and seeing way too many people in the place, I wasn't too sure. I did walk around and lost my patience with one woman. She was taking her 5 children around the store, letting them run and do whatever they wished, while she (pregnant with the 6th child) looked at the bedding. After her one child moved and hid my cart for the 3rd time (they wanted me to play hide and seek), I lost it, looked her in the eye and said, "STOP BREEDING". I will never go to Ikea alone again.

---

Sunday

Softball Spanking

Yes...we were spanked badly by the Mustangs on Sunday. The team was beating us so badly, they started batting lefty to make it easier on us (which it wasn't). By the end of the game, the mustangs had 22 runs (better Karen?) to our big fat 0 runs.

Post game, we all headed to our manager's home for a team BBQ and a little time at the Leather Stallion Saloon (don't even ask me why I went...but I was a nice, sober boy that night). Hung out with my teammate PearlDrops (PD), who has an evil inner bitch that I love. Best picture was PD posing in front of the man in the diaper. Sometimes a picture really is a worth 1000 words. This one just left me speechless.


So was my weekend dull, hardly...but this is a typical weekend for me. Pretty dull. What about you? What did you do that was dull?