Hardly Alone

With low ceilings, this artist knows how to stick it up!

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Last night I watched all 6 hours of the film version of "Angles in America". Although very good, I was a little disappointed that they didn't put more of the comedy in the show. The show is so depressing, and having the comic lines really lightens the tension. When performed live...that break is needed. In the film, everything gets darker and grayer as time progresses, which was the original outlook of an AIDS diagnosis in the mid 80's. By the time this film ends, you've seen nearly every person's life get shattered by AIDS. Good entertainment!

What was horrible for me though, were the dreams afterwards. The one which sticks with me, involved me at a bar in NY with several friends (yet I couldn't see their faces). I left the table and walked into what has to be the most filthy restroom in all of New York city. It was there that I ran into someone from my past who is better left there. He asked for my number, and I was shocked enough to give it, and asked for his in return without having intentions of ever calling it. Now modesty tells me that I will not post what other things were going on around us (a bathroom in a gay bar...hmmm...) but if you must know details of that part...e-mail me. Aaron...Your ceilings aren't high enough.

Upon waking this morning (ok...it was the middle of the night, and I had trouble falling asleep again), I realized the people in the bar were those of you who read this site and comment, those whose sites I read and comment to, those of you who I email throughout the day, or those of you who I speak to over the telephone. Living alone, you have one enemy that you are constantly battling...Loneliness.

All of my life, I've had one thought moving forward. "I am alone in this world". For the most part, I have no real family. I have no siblings, and seriously...I'm more a parent to my mom than the other way around. In compensation...I place my friends in the position of substituting as family members...which may not be the best of ideas at times...but it's what I do.

So many of us come and go through this world and have no clue that we are actually touching the lives of those around us. We all make an impact upon each other, and it's our choice to choose how we impact others. So don't fuck it up people!

And the Academy Goes to:

This is an email I received on Monday afternoon:

Hello all,

At Sunday's softball picnic, Patrick Doyle was awarded the award for Most Valuable Player for the team......And get ready (drum roll please) He was also voted MVP for the LEAGUE!!!!

Congrats Patrick!!!!

This is so sudden...I...I don't know what to say. I'd like to thank the academy, for creating these awards, and to my fellow team mates who covered for me every single time I made a mistake (which was every game). To Adam, Steve, Michael, Dan, Thomas, and Andrew...who let me "choke on the bat" as I let them get to third base. I'll never forget those nights, mornings...and in Andrew's case...the car. Most importantly, I'd like to thank the referees, who let me take pictures of the cute batters before they would receive the pitches, encouraged me to tell inappropriate jokes, and even gave me a few new ones. Without you throwing calls my way...we would never have one some of the games that we did.


What I think is hilarious about this is that I truly suck at softball. Even my fellow team mates will joke about how bad a player I am. The furthest I have hit a ball was a grounder past shortstop, and if it wasn't for my speed, I never would have made it on base. (Thank God I'm a fast runner!!!). But every game, I would show up and scream like the Irish Banshee I was born from. With my Xena yell bursting forward, I would cheer on my teammates and jeer the other team's good players, all the while letting those who played as bad as I do try their hardest without interruption.

Does this mean I need to start screaming in Volleyball?

Modesty

I am right now thinking of a particular incident that took place in my past. The two of us had been dating and decided to go back to his place to spend the evening playing "snuggle bunnies" (read = Hide the salami). Now at first, he was very shy about taking any clothes off, but my attitude is that if I'm helping you out of your clothes, you don't need to be shy. We all have flaws, and seriously...I find them attractive.

Something I've always found strange is when you are about to have sex, the parties involved have no issues any longer regarding how their body looks. Once you get to the point of no return, the clothes go flying off and the uglies start bumping. But post sex, things get strange again. You walk to the bathroom, and as you walk back, he's covering up.

Puhleeze! I just spent the last 4 hours (Hey...I've got a reputation to protect) doing things that would insure that I have seen every part of your body. I've seen your best and your worst (face it...sex may be erotic, but sometimes the view isn't that pretty). You've got no need to hide.

Body image is a bitch, and women can relate to gay men on this one; we are supposed to look perfect. If we don't...something must be wrong with us. All of the advertising for gay men is nothing but buff men.

Travel Ad for a Gay cruise


Underwear ad


This ad is for a therapist, who specializes in self esteem issues and depression!

WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH US?

If we can't like ourselves, how can we expect anyone else to like us? Yes, being fit is a good goal, for the health benefits. But when you obsess about the way you look, or refuse to eat because it will potentially make you fat, you are really doing yourself a disservice.

Could I use to lose a few pounds? Sure...but I'd rather be happy and have that t-bone steak for dinner with some mashed potatoes. I'll watch my health, but I'm over suffering for not looking like advertisements. You want a model? Buy a magazine.

Two things to start

Ok...Since I've been on a conference call all morning, I'll have to write later. That being said...two things:

1. To the person who found my site by searching for "mom's and daughters wanting threesome tonight"...Ewwwwe! Get yourself to a therapist ASAP...Freak!



2. Should I be offended that if you search for the term "GAYSEX" (all one word) on MSN.com that my site is the first one on the list?

That's So Racist!

There are days that I struggle to find inspiration for things to write, and then I have the days that I have too much to say. Today is falling into the latter situation, so this may be a bit rambling...but I have a point to it.

As I was driving to work today, I was listening to the news of Ohio. Currently Ralph Nader has a chance of appearing on the polls, but he is being challenged in court. Several of the signature collections are being double-checked. One involved an African-American woman who certified that she collected 1000 signatures. She actually didn't, but lied because she thought she was collecting signatures against gay marriage, and not signatures to put Ralph Nader on the ballet. When asked why gay marriage bothered her, she stated "gays were disgusting and didn't need to ruin marriage".

I've got a close friend who works as a lawyer who had a recent case involving a Asian teenager. The teen liked to dress in pink pants and half shirts, and was very obviously gay. This kid was doomed from the start to have problems in high school.

Now, I lucked out in this sense. I'm not very flamboyant, and although I can queen out like the best of them, I could probably walk down the street without anyone guessing I was gay (except for the hot guy I'm cruising).

The city of Cleveland is a fairly segregated community, with Lakewood and Edgewater being known as the gay areas, East Cleveland and Mayfield being known for the African-American community, and Parma being known for (and I hate using this phrase) the White Trash community. Think hairspray and black mascara...and lots of it. Now I'm stereotyping...but I've got a reason for doing so. This Asian kid's parents sent him to high school in Parma. The kids in that school tortured him...daily, and unfortunately...the kid finally cracked. He brought a .22 to school and threatened several of the other kids with the pistol. Cops came, took him away, and thus how my friend the lawyer gets involved.

The trial goes on, and the judge goes very easy on the kid, but here is what set me off. She stated (and it's in the court record) that "your parents made a mistake sending you to a school in Parma. When your probation is fully served, you should consider going to Rhode Island City (She meant P-Town) or San Francisco, where people like you belong."

Now if this had been an African-American child, the NAACP and ACLU would have been all over that judge for telling the kid to move to a neighborhood that is predominantly African American. Yet because this kid was gay...it's ok to make such a prejudiced statement.

Often, the gay community states the argument that we are just as persecuted as the African-American communities. It's not quite true, and a majority of African American people (based on gallup polls) disagrees with gays and their persecutions. Yes, being gay, we get discriminated against, but we can hide our sexuality. A person of another race can't hide that. One look and you know they aren't Caucasian.

So the issue...why aren't the two communities working together? Why are the minority groups so fractioned? My theory is that once again, we people are selfish bastards. We want everything for ourselves...and screw everybody else. One look at our political system and its candidates can tell you that. If we spent just 1/4 of the time looking out for our neighbor...can you imagine how much better things would be? I've always lived my life with the principle that if someone stands up for you, you always return the favor.

Phyllis puts it best when she says that sometimes you "feel 'used' and unappreciated" standing up for people, helping other all the time. However, when you really need help, at your darkest hour, those people you helped remember what you did for them, and they are there for you.

Perhaps if the gay community started to reach out to the other communities, standing up for their rights, the minority communities might be just as willing to stand up for ours.

Ok...where's my coffee?

I've Been Dying to Do That!

Bill of Billboard is coming for a visit to Cleveland this weekend, so I'm going to be taking pictures like crazy. Hopefully I can get them developed before he goes back on Monday.

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When I got sick, I went through my list of "I've always wanted to" and crossed a bunch of them off (bungee jumping, skydiving, white water rafting, touring Africa...etc) and realized that my list became nonexistent. So I figured it's time to start the list up again, and cross things off as I get them. I figure the list will keep growing, but maybe this way I can get a few goals out of it.

1. Learn Tai Chi


2. Practice Tai Chi on the great wall of China


3. Swim with Dolphins


4. Seduce a fireman


5. Go ghost hunting at a haunted house


6. Work a Halloween haunted house for charity


7. Watch a porn being filmed


8. Run a marathon


9. Own a home


10. Raft through the Grand Canyon


11. Learn to sail


12. Compete in a sailing race


13. Go to Rio de Janeiro during Carnival


14. Search the Bermuda Triangle


15. Find and meet my father's family


16. Learn to do a back flip


17. Go cliff diving


18. Run with the bulls


19. Learn to play guitar


20. Attend cooking school in France


21. Learn to throw a football


22. Complete an Ironman


23. Walk a red carpet event


24. Learn to surf


25. Hit a home run ball


26. Attend Tomatina

What things do you want on your list? What things would you like to do before you kick the bucket?

Who Wants to Play?

One of my mentors in college taught a beginning performance class where we learned the basics of creating a character and performing on stage. Call it acting boot camp. What I found fascinating was that the first day of class, he lectured us on how "adult" we had become. Actually...He had chastised us for it. "Adult's have too many inhibitions" he told us. At first I thought he was full of crap, but after a few days...What he said really sunk in.

As adults, we worry about adult responsibilities. Bills have got to be paid, kids need food, I want that new car next year, is my boss pissed at me? Will I get the new account? Unfortunately, we forget how to have fun by ourselves. We have to have things to make fun for us. When we were kids, if you wanted to entertain yourself, you didn't need $2000 golf clubs, or a sports car to have fun...You could do it with a package of silly putty and some imagination. Somehow as adults, we become inhibited.

Inhibited...I can hear a few of my friends laughing at my calling myself that because after a few drinks...But that isn't what we I'm talking about. Kids aren't embarrassed by themselves like adults are. Adults constantly want to "fit in". Keep up with the neighbors, "what will they think?", What if the neighbors saw? Little children aren't worried about that, but their parents teach them these inhibitions. A child whose parents tell him to "keep your voice down", becomes an actor that has trouble being heard on stage. We all have our blocks and as we get older, we've become so inhibited in our daily lives.

When was the last time you played (in a non sexual way), and it didn't involve your own or someone else's children? When did you last play Freeze Tag, Red Rover, Hide and Go Seek, or Kickball? Why did you stop? And more importantly...Why can't you start again? As we grew up...That stuff never stopped being fun! We just decided we were too old to be playing it.

Life is too short to forget how to have fun. Go out and play, and see if you feel better. So what if you look silly? Kids do all the time! You have nothing to lose. Go hide and I'll seek. Counting: 1...2...3....4...5...6...

Something's Coming

I've got my reasons.

Could be!
Who knows?
There's something due any day;
I will know right away,
Soon as it shows.
It may come cannonballing down through the sky,
Gleam in its eye,
Bright as a rose!

Who knows?
It's only just out of reach,
Down the block, on a beach,
Under a tree.
I got a feeling there's a miracle due,
Gonna come true,
Coming to me!

Could it be? Yes, it could.
Something's coming, something good,
If I can wait!
Something's coming, I don't know what it is,
But it is
Gonna be great!

With a click, with a shock,
Phone'll jingle, door'll knock,
Open the latch!
Something's coming, don't know when, but it's soon;
Catch the moon,
One-handed catch!

Around the corner,
Or whistling down the river,
Come on, deliver
To me!
Will it be? Yes, it will.
Maybe just by holding still,
It'll be there!

Come on, something, come on in, don't be shy,
Meet a guy,
Pull up a chair!
The air is humming,
And something great is coming!
Who knows?
It's only just out of reach,
Down the block, on a beach,
Maybe tonight . . .

~West Side Story

20 Things to do to Survive a Break Up!

This past week, a friend of mine broke up with his boyfriend. His break up was amicable, but I've witnessed breakups that are far from such. In honor of those I remind you that the honeymoon is over, the marriage has failed, and that Son of a Bitch took some of the best days of your life. Don't get mad...Get even.

Twenty Ways to Get Over the Jerk!

1. Stalk him, making sure to take particular notes as to where he goes, and how long he stays there, and once you know his patterns, randomly show up in those areas and stare at him to make him uncomfortable.


2. Report his car stolen to the police.


3. Break into his apartment while he is out and sew bullets into the seams of his carry on luggage. He'll get a nice surprise on his next trip, and very likely a cavity search.


4. 5 Words: Stink bomb in the sunroof.


5. Sleep with his best friend and let it slip that your ex called his friend's name out during sex often.


6. Publish those "private pictures" online.


7. Send him a subscription to "Juggs" magazine.


8. Out him at his workplace by sending a stripper of the same sex.


9. When he leaves for his next vacation, type up a resignation letter and mail it to his boss (use the last letter he sent you to copy the signature).


10. Fill a garbage can with a mixture of beer, corn syrup, water and milk and lean it against his front door while he is sleeping.


11. Set his house on fire (added benefit...You might just meet a hot fireman!).


12. Break into his apartment, and put tobasco sauce on his dildo, and Nair in his shampoo bottle.


13. Via Hot Toddy, Submit his Cell Phone number and email to every marketing firm in existance.

Obviously...I'm still trying to complete this list. What evil ideas do you have?

Not in Kansas Anymore

I'm sorry, but I don't remember who gave me the idea for this, but if you remind me who you are...I owe you a kiss on the cheek of your choice.

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Dorothy Gale of Kansas filed legal papers today against Glinda "The Good Witch" North and Professor "the Wizard" Marvel in both Kansas District and Oz district courts. Gale cites severe emotional distress, reckless endangering, child endangering (Gale was a minor at the time said charges occurred) and kidnapping.

In 1939, Dorothy Gale was taking shelter in her home from a tornado when her house was lifted and transported to OZ. Upon arriving, North placed the famous Ruby Slippers onto Gale's feet. The dispute is that when Gale asked to return to Kansas, neither North or Marvel informed Gale that all she would have to do is click her heels three times and state that "there's no place like home".

Instead, Gale charges that both North and Marvel supposedly devised a scheme to force Gale to murder the Wich sisters. Gale who was acquitted of involuntary manslaughter in the deaths of both Wich sisters, complied in her desire to return to her family.

Gale when asked why she is suing after so long a time period has passed, stated "Glinda's a witch! She deserves to pay for what she did to me". When asked if she was merely bitter for her book deal falling through, Gale countered "How would you like being abducted by flying monkeys? I don't sleep a night without waking in fear".

North, who gave a press conference on the steps of the Emerald City, said "Dorothy has been through a lot. But it was 1939, and most of us in the emerald city were under the effects of the field of poppies. Although I am sorry that Dorothy feels that she has suffered, I know full well the courts will declare that I have done no misdeeds." North lives in the Emerald City with her husband Nikko, the head Winged Monkey.

Expected witnesses to be called are The Scarecrow, The Tinman, and the Mayor of Munchkin Land. The Cowardly Lion has refused to testify after suffering recent panic attacks.

Professor Marvel was unavailable for comment.

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Now Appearing

TunaGirl has officially come out of the closet and let it be known that we are going to NYC the weekend of December 4th. Yes...once again...a bunch of bloggers are going to be meeting on the mother ship. So far, Tunagirl, myself, and I belive Hot Toddy and BoBo will all be there, as well as the NYC gang. I'm going on the record as of now. What goes on in NY...stays in NY.

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I'm going to be so sorry I posted this. This was the first picture taken from the other night, and the only one I'm posting regarding that evening. Once again...never go out on a Wednesday again...or at least confiscate all cameras. There goes my chance of running for president.

A Challenge

Him: "Since I've been taking Paxil, I can't get it up without taking a viagra"
Me: "I could get you hard"
Him: "I seriously doubt that..."
Me: "I like a challenge"

...a few minutes pass...

My friend: "Hey Patrick! Smile for the camera!" and takes picture, proving that I won that challenge.

note to self...never go out on a Wednesday night again, and destroy that disposable camera.

Financial Aid Acronyms

Yesterday was my current supervisor's last day. Now I've told him this to his face, but I'll also put this in print, he's been one of the best bosses I've ever worked for/with (I put that slash in, because being the contract employee I am, I never really know who I report to at times).

I've had three great bosses in my time, but the best boss I ever had was my first long term job working in financial aid. He was such an encouragement of my comedy work that he invited me to the National Association of Financial Aid Administrators convention to give a comical yet factually correct rendition of how to apply for financial aid at the University of Colorado at Boulder. The information is true...just a bit harsh.

Good morning! My name is Patrick Doyle and I am one of the Financial Aid Advisors here at the University of Colorado at Boulder. Go Buffs! *gives the thumbs up and cheesy smile* Welcome to your first day of college orientation, and to the session that tells you how to borrow the money to pay for it.

In order to apply for Financial Aid, you will need to fill out the Free Application for Federal Student Aid, called the FAFSA. The deadline to have this application mailed out is April 1st. That's 14 days before tax day, and since you need your taxes completed to complete the application, you just can't procrastinate anymore.

The application will ask some basic questions about the student and will determine if the student is independent. For independent status, a student must meet one of the following criteria:

• Be over the age of 24
  
• Attending a graduate program
  
• Be married
  
• Have legal dependents
  
• Be and orphan or a ward of the court
  
• Be a Veteran of the US armed forces

If you don't meet any of these criteria and still want to be classified as independent, I suggest you kill your parents. Of course, by the time you get out...You'd very likely be over 24.

Once you've completed your FAFSA, you will get a Student Aid Report (SAR) back from the Federal Government that will have all of your information summarized, as well as your EFC (Estimated Family Contribution - the amount the government says you can afford to pay for college) at the top right corner. 70% of the student's take home pay is expected to go towards the next year's education. So before you buy that 2 Live Crew CD, featuring the song "me so horny", you should sing "me so poor".

Students with less than a 3200 EFC will get some type of grants. Those who don't can borrow loans formerly called Guaranteed Student Loans. Annual loan limits for students are set by the federal government.
Freshmen can borrow 2625
sophomores can borrow 3500
Juniors and Seniors can borrow 5500
Independent students can borrow and additional 5000 per year.
The maximum loans an undergraduate dependent student can borrow is 23,000 during their academic career.

Pay your loans back. Don't think the government will forget about you. If you do not pay your loans, the feds can garnish your wages by 55%. If you fail to pay both your student loans and child support, the government can legally garnish 100% of your pay, meaning that you will be moving back in with your parents unless you had killed them to become independent for financial aid purposes.

So to recap for all of you:
Using your 1040's, fill out the F-A-F-S-A A-S-A-P but no later than April 1, so that you can get your S-A-R and E-F-C. We will process and send you a package consisting of potentially a P-E-L-L, S-E-O-G and more than likely a G-S-L to put you in D-E-B-T. If your looking for scholarships, you're basically F-U-K-T because their is currently 1 scholarship for every forty 4.0 students, which means you have a cold chance in H-E-L-L to actually get out of school without debt.

Thank you... for choosing CU. We know that your education is important to you, and although we make no guarantee that you will get a job out of college, we can guarantee that you will pay a lot of money. Go BUFFS *thumbs up*.

Yawn

Today...we will discussing bad dates. I feel like discussing this mainly because I am the King of bad dates. Now we've all had bad dates before and I'm sure everyone can tell me about the time they had a guy try to commit suicide after having sex with you (oh wait...that was just me???....uh...never mind then).

But I am the king of torturous dates...the kind that never end. My date with Brain (ok...his name was Mike, but I called him Brain for a reason) was just like that. It started out innocent enough, dinner at local restaurant called Old Chicago Pizza Parlor, and would have ended peacefully until we had the second beer.

Now I'm Irish. 100% Irish, and being Irish, I can knock the drinks back, and still not have much of a reaction, except that the humorist in me comes out. I start cracking jokes at anything. Brain...was not Irish, and his reaction to the second beer showed me that was the case. He began he diatribe:

"Here is where the third greatest influence in my undergraduate life comes in--Noam Chomsky. Chomsky was a young man, in his thirties at the time, who was in the process of revolutionizing linguistics, and for good measure psychology too. It was de rigueur to be seen reading his Syntactic Structures and Aspects of the Theory of Syntax, both quite technical works. The main significance of Chomsky for me at this time...was his opposition to behaviorism. In the late sixties behaviorism was still the dominate ideology in psychology; it says that psychology was concerned with investigating behavior, not the mind itself, which was declared hopelessly "private" and hence not open to scientific study. The basic model of behavior was held to be the conditioned reflex, which had been extensively investigated in rats and pigeons...

It was 6:00 when we met for the date, and he started this rant not long after 6:30. The first time I looked at my watch, I saw it was 7:30 and he hadn't slowed down on the speech. In fact, he was only getting warmed up. I hadn't said a word in almost an hour and he wasn't stopping (except to sip his beer and wet his sure to be dry mouth). I honestly stopped listening and started playing games in my head. Did you know that the color of his glasses frames were so close to his eyebrow color that when you squinted it made him look like he had a unibrow? As my happy place music began playing I realized I hadn't said anything in a while, so I nodded as if I knew what he was talking about. I turned my listening back on to check where he was:

...held to learn what they do by acting randomly and then having certain "behaviors" rewarded ("reinforced") and other behaviors punished ("inhibited"), thus selecting the former and eliminating the latter. Behaviorist theory was roundly demolished by Chomsky, particularly for the case of learning of the language. Chomsky convincingly argued that children could not learn language this way, indeed that they did not learn language at all; rather they come to a specific human...

And promptly turned it back off. The waitress, who I had now deemed the bringer of fun (only she could break the monotony) had just brought my fourth beer as I realized that I once again had not idea what he had been saying. I've attended a college lecture in Chemistry that brought more excitement to my life than this guy's conversation. My mind continued to wander as I thought to myself...what would he be like in bed. His conversations laid it all out for me. Images of me laying on my back, staring at the ceiling debating about what color beige I should paint it determined that we would not be having sex of any kind.

****yawn****
...did I just actually yawn to his face? I looked at him, once again risking my ears to the speech, to see if I had offended this schmuck.

...implicit grasp of grammatical rules of human language. These rules are universal throughout...

I signaled the waitress for another drink (number 6) and slyly took a look at my watch. 10:30. This man has been speaking for 4 hours non-stop. Does he even know my name? "Lord," I thought, "I've been an atheist all my life. But if you can get me out of this, I'll actually go to church. Please...send me a Jehovah’s Witness, or a Hare Krishna to talk to...anyone...." Clearly...god was amused at my predicament and was enjoying the show.

Normally alcohol makes some people more interesting...not in this case. I grew more exhausted as I began to covertly look around the restaurant at the other patrons, hoping I could see a friendly face to save me. I saw a guy looking at me, and as Brain was drawing out a diagram on the placemat, I mouthed the words "HELP ME!!!" The guy at the other table laughed, but did nothing. "Bitch," I thought, "at this point, I would have made you one happy homo. I would have been the best you ever had". I made a mental note to dump a drink on that guy the next time I saw him.

Our waitress nudged me and put a cup of coffee in front of me. Apparently, she noticed that my eyes were closing and that I was beginning to fall asleep while Brain continued to rant. She put the check down and said she was closing her station out, so could we please pay. As she turned, she winked at me. Woman...if I wasn't gay...I'd marry you for that one. I looked at my watch to see that it was nearly 1:00 am. What the hell was he talking about?

He began to ask if I wanted to continue his conversation back at his place. I balked and said I had to get some sleep, and as we walked back to our respective homes...I tossed his number. My decision was made... I'm just going to masturbate more. At least I don't bore myself.

A picture Worth 1000 Words.

I'm right now working on a painting for Aaron over at 1000 words so I'm going to have to do a simple post today. Figured a few pictures to share.


Happy Birthay Scott!

Private joke for a friend in NY


My church on Sunday. The gay bar.
Can you spot the only woman in the picture?


What does sangria wine get me? *sigh* A woman on my lap.

A Fallacy

I would probably be remiss if I only picked on women (and the dreaded camel toe) this week, and never about men. So ladies and gentlemen, I'm here to dispel a myth for you.

Size does matter!

Granted, it only matters to the person who owns it, but it matters. Now I'll admit something here, I've never measured myself. I know...we are a rare breed. I've just never thought it was that important. So last summer, someone I "made love" with(read= boinked like bunnies) told me that he was 7 inches, I was a little surprised. If he's 7 inches...I must be what...9 or 10? I'll choose 10. I'm packing 10" in my pants.

I walked around with an engorged head (go ahead...you want to say it) for a week. "Hey boss. Do I have your report? No...but I'm 10 inches", "Yeah...I'd like a Big Mac meal please...and I'm 10 inches". By the end of the week, I could barely sit in my chair, knowing that my monster sized dick was taking up 1/3 of the seat. I was so big, you could probably have heard it dragging on the floor had I not cleverly folded it in half in my pants. I'm surprised men didn't just flock to me, knowing what I had. I need to start wearing tighter pants...or just let it hang out in public restrooms.

Then I looked at a piece of paper. An 8.5" by 11" standard piece of paper. When did 8 and 1/2 inches get to be so long. Something didn't jive here. So the next time I was with this guy, I pulled out a ruler and said I wanted to measure it. He balked. He said he was tired (he wasn't a minute ago). I had him by the balls (literally) and I wasn't giving up that easy. I grabbed the ruler and measured.
"I thought you said you were 7 inches?"
"Uhhh"
"Where did you measure from? Your asshole?"

It wasn't until later that summer that I learned the term "AOL Inches", where a guy will post his size online and add a few extra inches. Now please...as many dicks as I've seen (I'm not giving out numbers), if I believed the average size from AOL, everybody is 10 inches. Good thing these guys aren't carpenters.

What's more important than the size of the unit is the person attached to it. Treat me with respect and kindness, because that's more important. If I can't like you as a person, or even respect you, then physically we just aren't going to be compatible.

Remember the nursery rhyme my mom taught me:
It's not the length.
It's not the size.
It's how many times you can make it rise

Grab a Hold of my Bean Stalk

Before I start this post, I'm asking you all to stop over at CJ's and pop her a message to feel better soon. She's gone through some major surgery because of her cancer, and luckily she still has some of her stomach left (although not much). This woman is one of the most special women I have never met in person, but constantly keeps her chin up, regardless as to how bad her illness gets. She could use all the well wishes she can get.

CJ at Honey Side Up!

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One of my favorite bedtime stories is Jack and the Bean Stalk. Well, that's not true anymore. My favorite bedtime story is the story of Antonio Banderas, Brad Pitt, and Tom Cruise hot oil wrestling on my bed, but my favorite childhood story is Jack and the Bean Stalk. What I always got out of that story was how Jack was always willing to give up the cow for the magic beans.

It's a little like life now. Is it just me, or has anyone else noticed that all the fat people are experts on weightloss? I'm sitting at my desk this morning, listening to one of the women in the office go on a diatribe for 40 minutes about how the only way to lose weight is to go on the low carb diet. This morning she had four eggs fried in butter with a side of bacon. Lunch today will consist of a chicken breast. She is 5'2" and weighs over 300 pounds and she's an easy target...literally. She has currently been on this diet for 8 months, and I have yet to see any difference from the first day I met her, yet she insists that she's lost over 100 pounds. Now I normally keep my mouth shut in situations like this, as I just don't think I'm the expert either.

And it's not just her. Back when I lived in Athens, Ohio, I was acquaintances with a woman my ex and I called "the Toe". The reason why we called her this was fairly obvious:


Obviously the creater creator of the picture does not know how to spell camel

Now I know it seems like we were mean making fun of her, but she knew we referred to her in this manner, actually didn't mind (personally I wouldn't have had it), and had some choice inappropriate names for us as well (fudgepackers). Toe was one of the sweetest women, except when it came to weightloss. Suddenly this woman became the ONLY AUTHORITY regardless of the fact that she herself was well into obese calculations. I never understood it, but she claimed to know the secret of weightloss, although in four years she never seemed to have lost any weight.

Now I would be remiss if I didn't mention my own situation, and where I was 2 years ago. When I had first came back from Africa, my doctors told me that I had become extremely underweight (I weighed 128 lbs) and needed to put on weight immediately. Being told to gain weight and being in remission, my life became the all you can eat buffet. Now I generally eat only healthy food, and pride myself on that. I've never had most sodas and for the most part, don't really like processed foods. But to put on weight faster, I ate everything, and ended up gaining way, way, way too much weight. Enough that it took me a year to lose it. And still...I'm not the expert. I don't think anyone is.

It just seems to me, that most people would rather sell the cow for some magic diet pills which will make them lose the weight, instead of making any changes in their life. Change is good. Change is Necessary. What changes can you make today? I challenge everyone...do something different today. Even if it's just ordering something unfamiliar on a menu, or changing your furniture around. Shake up your life a bit.

Piss Off

Of all the rooms in my home, I love my bedroom the most. I have a large bay window that my bed fits perfectly in, and because the windows face East, and the winds come from the West, I can keep my windows open during any kind of weather. Now for those of you who would care...I sleep naked. For those of you who are attractive, my address is....well..just contact me if you want that.

Last night, either I had the worlds largest wet dream, or Frances finally made it to Cleveland, and reversed the winds, blowing rain through my open windows while I slept. Do you know what cold wet sheets feel like against naked skin? Would you like to?

So as I was gulping down my first Starbucks coffee pissed at the world, I remembered a survey I read about a year ago. The survey asked 100 women if they could be a male for 24 hours what would they do. Now if I could be a woman for 24 hours, I wouldn't take my hand out of my pants as I could have as many orgasms as I want. But of the women they surveyed, 85% said they would like to urinate standing up! Someone has got to be kidding...men have the majority of power, make more money, are swirling masses of testosterone and these women want to be able to write their names in the snow? All right...

The Art of Male Urination
Ohh...google is going to have a field day on this.

1. Ladies, the first rule of using the men's restroom is:
   NO TALKING IN THE RESTROOM! - Seriously, you don't talk in the men's bathroom...ever. If you need to ask something, wait until you are outside


2. URINAL SELECTION MEANS EVERYTHING- This is important. In the event that the restroom has more than 2 urinals, you must always maintain a one urinal space from any other patron.



3. The removal
   • You can unzip, and pull through
   • The pull down of the front of your pants and pull over the waist band.
   DROPPING YOUR PANTS TO YOUR KNEES IS UNACCEPTABLE


4. The Three options each with their own pros and cons
   • Two Hands -allows for maximum hiding factor, and maximum aim. However, not holding your pants, you can have difficulty with potential fall down.
   • One Hand -less aiming ability, but you can insure pants keep up. Additionally people can see from a side view.
   • No Hands - allows for back stretching and multi-tasking, but you are unable to aim, and can be easily viewed.


5. ANGLE IS VERY IMPORTANT- I can't stress this enough. The angle of the stream should be between 15 and 30 degrees. Anything outside of that realm runs the risk of splashback.

That's about all I can think of. Gentlemen? Have I forgotten anything? Ladies? Anything else I can tell you?

To Protect and Serve

For those of you who I drunk dialed Friday (and by looking at my outgoing call records...their were more than I remember...). I'll work on posting something about that later. But the list of Friday's drunk dialed or text messaged as I have it is:
Hot Toddy
Tunagirl
Sardonic Bomb
MAK
Shad1
Gatsby's Ghost
Famous Author Rob Byrnes
Ryanstask

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The police in this country get a pretty bad reputation, and although sometimes it may be justifiable, mostly it has to do with circumstances. When a policeman or policewoman shows up at the doorstep, is it EVER a good thing? How many times upon getting pulled over do you say "Yes! I just got pulled over!" No...we curse under our breath, prepare a quick story about an emergency that likely the officer has heard before, and grumble as we get our ticket.

Of all public servants, this it the one profession we want to avoid. If we're injured, someone will be out in the street flagging the EMT right to the entrance way, guiding them to the injured faster. And firemen...well besides my setting my bedroom aflame in hopes of being "rescued", everyone shows signs of relief when they appear.

Last year, after I was beaten up by the "freak of nature" outside of the bar closest to my home, the bar owner made a few changes. He took my getting beaten up even more seriously than I did, and decided to hire an officer to sit in the bar at night. She checks ID's at the door (although the bitch has never checked mine. Card me damnit...I'm not that old) and generally insures that peace is kept.

Now John, the bar owner, had a very hard time finding a police officer who was willing to work this duty. The pay is extra money, and double the hourly pay rate the officer makes, but unfortunately, we gay men are a scary breed. Most of the straight male officers didn't feel comfortable sitting in a gay bar, and because of that, the only officer willing to do the job was Terri.

Terri is 5'1", and uses a stool to climb onto the bar stool she sits at near the door. When John first introduced me to her, I stood staring unbelieving, at the short frail looking woman who wanted to know as much as I could tell her about the guy who hit me. She insisted I file a report and got me connected to a domestic violence program that covered my x-ray bills (it's weird to write about this now...it's only a year ago but seems like 20).

Sunday night, a fight started to break out at the bar. A customer smashed a beer bottle into the head of one of the bartenders, and before you could blink an eye, this 5'1" woman had taken a 6'3" man down to the ground by using mace, and before he could move, had cuffed him. This is the most action this woman has ever had at this bar, and for the first time I can say, I actually feel a little safer knowing a little power puff girl like Teresa is patrolling the streets.

Of course...if I get pulled over...I'm still gonna curse under my breath.

These Heels Are Killing Me

This being my first time both starting a sports team and recruiting players, I've been a bit apprehensive in starting a team up. The only person I've known that started a team in the past, complained that it was a nightmare of drama between players. I don't want that at all.

However, the only way I was going to play volleyball was to start a team. I put the word out and suddenly I've got a list of 23 people that want on my team. I unfortunately was forced into a mode of having to cut people. I haven't had to do this since I last directed a show. I'm supposed to be the guy that pleases everyone...not the guy who tells someone that they aren't welcome. Thankfully, they all took it well, and were enough to start a second team, so I'll be playing them.

Having finally narrowed the list down to 11 people, all with different levels of skills, I secured a bar sponsor that paid our team fees, picked the team name of Spiked Heels (that's to you that voted), and recruited one team mate to do our shirt design. Shamus did an incredible job:

With Team Graphic in hand, shirts finally ordered, we had our first team practice on Sunday, and I'm sitting here a little slack jawed. This team is much stronger than I first imagined. I've got two players over 6' tall (Shamus is 6'7") who are incredible blockers, five players who can jump taller than the net, 6 strong setters, and three overhand servers. I'm stunned how well we played together, seing that we haven't played before.

Now here I am, on Monday...VERY SORE after a grueling practice. Do you know how bad jump squats hurt the butt. I can barely sit down today and the muscles near my shoulder blades are on fire...a good thing. I've not been working out as hard as I used to, and this is a reminder for me to start working out a bit more. Personally...Maybe I'm getting too old to be exercising. Right?

Image is Everything!

I was going to write a piece about connections, intimacy, and lonliness (both virtual and tangeble, but I also realized how much I've wanted to write about the convention this week, and more so, public image.

I'm a very lucky person. My education and experiences have given me a small bit of knowledge over a large variety of topics. I may not have an indepth knowledge of every topic, but I'll likely have enough information to be dangerous. I'm blessed with a photographic memory, which allows me to remember some of the minute details, and apply them later (example: I can tell you the player numbers of those players who bat left on the softball league, from the summer 2003 season).

However, I've always been strong in public relations (I was able to make people "happy" to be audited by the financial aid office), which is probably one of the reasons I went into performing. Performers have to know their audience. I've been watching the campaigns of both political candidates like a hawk, and I've honestly been shocked that either of them have made it as far as they have. In fact, if either of them were coming to me for public relations consulting, I'd drop them as clients.

Some of the Candidate's Mistakes:
George Bush Oy! Where to begin with this guy...

• Having his daughters introduce him.- Oh...the humanity. You've asked your daughters, who've been busted for alcohol offences (something you are trying to distance yourself from) to give you an introduction, and they give what they hope to be a humorous intro. Unprofessional, not in standing of a leader, and over the top.


• Admitting that you don't believe that we will ever win the "War on Terror" ON CAMERA- Oh...my...God. This is a public relations nightmare. You declared a "War on Terror" which for the most part has only been fought in Afghanistan, and after 3 years, you say it can't be won? Do you even think before you speak?

John Kery Does this guy have a stick up his ass?

• The Seesaw Effect- Public opinion has you as not having an opinion on anything. Cut the crap and pick a side, specifically something in the middle of the political opinion and stick to it. Tax cuts for businesses that do not use foreign consultants, reducing loan programs and increasing grant programs for college students, reducing expenditures for the govt and reducing the national debt (a very conservative appeal). Hold your position and don't back down. People respect a person with convictions, even if they disagree with them.


• Not Offering a Challenge - It is a well known fact that the Bush campaign staff will not let those who aren't Bush supporters into his meet and greet sessions. Publically challenge the president to debate those who disagree with him, and tackle it yourself. It's time you appeared as a leader.

I could go on and on. One of the things I respected about both Reagan and Clinton...both knew how image played in politics. Reagan was an actor, and knew from the beginning that politics is strictly a popularity contest. Identify with the public and they will follow you like sheep. Look at his election results. His goal was to reduce spending and in the 8 years of presidency...spending increased and with it, the deficit.

Clinton was probably one of the smartest men in regards to image. The house impeached him and he still remained in office. He admitted to smoking pot in college (and seriously, did anyone care?), he had extra-marital affairs, and yet he was still well liked buy a large portion of the population. He related to the public. Who doesn't smile (even if they don't want to) when the guy pulls out his saxaphone to play a number? What president had ever done that before.

Kerry and Bush should both sit back, listen to the general 6:00 news and listen to what the people are saying, and start relating to them...or the polls are going to be awfully empty this November.

Forgive me Father for I have sinned

A Buddy Holly at the Warhol Museum

Dear boss, below you will find my status report, which will make it appear as if I have not done anything, but this is not the case.

Monday: After typing up an amusing blog entry on men, sex, Holly (see above), Volleyball, and Vodka bottles, I had to spend another 2 hours just staring at the beautiful crystal clear vodka bottle, all the while calling out the name Eduardo. Additionally, I was unable to get work done as picture distracted many others, who felt the need to send me e-mails about his beautiful bottle (of which I will be popping the cork later). It would have been rude to not answer those emails.

Tuesday: Early that morning, while experiencing dreamlike lovemaking with Eduardo, I was rudely interrupted by a friend who rubbed it in that he just gotten laid. As I returned to sleep, my dreams turned to me holding scoops of ice cream down the pants of men who's faces I can't remember. (a typical Sunday selling raffle tickets for me.

Wednesday: Seriously, I had to first tell every single person I knew about the meltdown between the landlords and the tenant. You of course were one of them. That took nearly 1/2 a day. Add to that, The Famous Author Rob Byrnes, The Executive, Gatsby's Ghost, A Country Boy in New York City, Crash and Byrne, and Hot Toddy and I were having a very serious debate about the sexual attractiveness of this man:

This man claims to be A Straight Christian
Any wonder why his ministry is called "Through The Cracks Ministry"

Now seriously...can you see how difficult it was to concentrate on anything else when this picture is in your head? As a comedian...even I have to choose when a joke is just over the top. (This guy?...top?...Bwaa...haaa...haaa)

Additionally, I discussed with the Famous Author, and Mr. Moo himself from Cows in the Barn that I am considering moving back to NYC. In fact, I've been looking at what exactly I would need to do to move back (including what I would sell, what I would take, and really...how the hell would I get a job in the area). Scary to think I'm considering this, but really...it's more like home to me. Hmmm...future planning...sounds a bit scary...perhaps I'll bury my head in the sand again.

So for these reasons...I really have nothing done. Sorry.

Solitude

"Do what you love and the money will follow." Throughout my life, I've never been sure of what it is that I really like. I'm still not sure what I want to do when I grow up. But since I was 10, I've had a passion for one thing and I plan to keep on doing it as much as possible.

Self Portrait
Seriously though, last night for the first time in a long time, I can say I felt good. Nay...Actually positive about the future. Nothing in particular has changed, I still work as a contractor in hopes of paying my bills, and still do the standup shows (yes ladies and gents...I've got 4 fall bookings now confirmed), but something in me snapped yesterday and I just felt positive for the first time.

My mood was so good last night that I wasn't even bothered by the hell I was forced to witness. How many of you have witnessed an argument that didn't involve you? You know the uncomfortable feeling, knowing that you shouldn't be listening to what is being said, but at the same time, stuck in car wreck mode, where you can't help but focus on what is going on.

Last night my next door neighbor (she is moving away) had her walk-thru with my landlords. It started out pleasant enough, but then the fool woman decided to argue with Stalin and Mussolini. My landlords are by the book. When I applied to rent, I had a 14 page application, including them requesting personal references (which they called), and prior landlord references. At the time, my ex would visit twice a month, so they required that he be on the lease as well. These men don't play around. My lease contract is 8 pages long, in single space size 8 font. They are straight forward, but it's always their way.

Strike 1
This girl moved into the house in June and signed a year lease. Her roommate bailed on her a month later, so she decided to move closer to school. My landlords will now have a much more difficult time renting the place as most people move in the summer.

Strike 2
The girl snuck a cat into the house. When she was caught, she said she had to take it because it was sick. My landlords do not allow pets of any kind (God forbid I ever get a fish). I myself would like an animal, but would rather not go through the hassle of looking for a new place to live.

Strike 3
The girl wanted the landlords to finish what cleaning she had left to do (storm windows, baseboards, and mini-blinds), but not charge her security deposit. She claimed that she would not have time to finish this as she is now in college classes, and not able to finish by the Aug 31 date. The landlords offered to let her come into the place on Saturday, finish the cleaning, and not charge her any pro-rated rent. She balked.

Three strikes and she's out!
It went bad. It's bad enough that I left my front porch and walked across the street to appear as if I wasn't listening (although at this point other neighbors were out on their porches wondering what the commotion was all about). Their voices grew in volume until the woman opened herself up for the attack. She said "your, acting like I'm a bitch."
My landlord answered with "You are a bitch!" and stormed out of the house, and into his own. The tenant ran out of the house a few minutes later and was in her car crying the way to her new place.

My neighbor looked at me, took a long drag off of her cigarette and said "Her first mistake: Never piss off a bitchy queen". So true...so true.