The More the Merrier!

Question: What do you get when you cross a rooster and a telephone pole?

Answer: A fifty foot cock that wants to reach out and touch someone.

Not too long ago, I was out on the town with a few friends when one friend asked the entire group a horrific question. "Just how many sexual partners have you each had?" Those of us who were asked had the same look on our faces. All holding our breath to see who was going to speak first and say "I'm the biggest slut here!" Finally the first person spoke and said "oh jeeze...over a hundred."

***Gasps from the straight audience***
***Knowing looks from the majority of the gay audience***

Scary part is...I've got a friend who's had that many partners in a month.

As a comedian I've learned that stereotypes are a really common source of humor...mainly because they are based in some fact. Men are pigs, and we think with our dicks...especially when we are younger. In heterosexual relationships, women are the ones with the power. They decide when it's time to have sex, because if it was up to the men, sex would happen before names were exchanged. Don't agree? Go online and look at all the gay men who will fuck without even exchanging names.

Sex has become nearly a business transaction. You go to a website, enter your statistical information, what types of activities you do in bed, and when you want to do it. Come back in an hour and check your email. Lo and behold...lookin4Fun has emailed you back and says to give him a call on his cell. The call placed, you go to his place where you are planning to have sex. Now of course...the only picture you have of him is a picture of his dick. Really...do you need to see his face? You arrive at his house, make a little pleasant conversation and then go to the bedroom for sex. Afterwards...you drive back home. The only thing missing is money exchanging hands.

Was the sex good? Not always...but even bad sex is good sex right? But here's the deal, and what's got me thinking this weekend. 100 sexual partners with an average of 6 inches per partner...you've had the equivalent of 50 foot cock. That's a lot of quantity...but was it all quality? Now it sounds like I'm preaching here, and putting those down that have had numerous partners...but I'm not. I've got my own history and although I have not had a 50 foot cock (I've only had about 28 feet), I've regretted some of those inches.

How do you convince 18-26 year old guys who are both in their sexual peak that they should keep it in their pants more often? HIV infection is on the rise in this age group, and although condoms are effective in preventing HIV infection, condoms do have instances of failure. A low rate of failure...but still a rate of failure. Or do we bother at all? When HIV was first discovered, the cities tried shutting down the sex clubs as a way of spreading infection, and the gay community leaders fought back. "You can't take away our sexual freedom! We can fuck as much as we want!" They were right too. Take away one venue and a whole new place will come available. As long as men want to get off, there will be a place to do it.

Once again...men think with their dicks. So maybe the question becomes...how do we get them to think with their hearts as well?

So how big of a cock have you had?

The Biological Clock

A few years ago, when I was still with my Ex, we had a friend who was asked to attend a week long interview at a college out in California. She had been working very hard to get to the level of professor, and it was finally about to pay off. Unfortunately...she was a single mom, and had a young child that needed caring for. Now I would normally say that she approached us and we said yes (which is true), but she actually approached every woman that she knew, and even took an ad out in the childcare center before finally asking us to do it. She figured the two of us, neither of who had cared for other children, could do the task.

Now when I say young child, I should be more accurate...he was only 21 months old. He still was using a bottle, and was not yet house trained. I have raised dogs, and the Ex had raised cats...so we figured we could teach him to go on the paper. Our reason for agreeing baby-sit her son was that we were considering adopting a child of our own once the Ex had finished graduate school.

She dropped her son off at our home on Sunday afternoon, and the festivities began very quickly. When the boy only says Mama, me, want, and Babano, interpretation is what it's all about. And for your information...Babano does not mean sip of Uncle Patrick's cosmopolitan. Kids make really bad faces when tasting alcohol. I'm just saying.

Over the course of the week, we had to learn how to change a diaper (a fate that can be worse than death. No more split pea puree for that child!), pack a baby bag with bottles and formula, diapers, baby wipes, toys, pacifiers, and about 100 other things that a baby needs for a 15 minute trip to supermarket. No wonder certain stores have special parking spaces for people with babies. That crap gets heavy!

Now since we were living in Athens, Ohio, everyone knew us as the gay couple in town. So going out with a child, we were always asked whose baby we were watching. Some of the townsfolk were a little mean spirited when saying that we shouldn't be around small children as we would recruit them. After living in the town for three years, we could still list off the locals who liked us on two hands. In hic areas...they don't like out gay men that much. Lesbian women...another story. The "Flowing Blood Womyn's Land" was only 5 miles from our home, and although it was a man free space, the locals had accepted them. Of course...they had been on that land for nearly 20 years.

The Ex and I continued to take care of the boy, and on Friday, I had to drive 2 hours north to Columbus for a meeting. The Ex, had a full schedule of classes to teach, so I took the baby with me, figuring I'd take the rest of the day off. The strangest thing happened that day. Women everywhere I went were coming up to me to talk to me and the baby. Everyone assumed that I was the father. When asked where the baby's mother was, I answered that she and I didn't live together. I got 4 different telephone numbers in 1 hour at the playground. I've been the youngest guy in an older man's gay bar and not did that well!

What got me the most though had to be how I felt while everyone assumed I was this boy's father. That little boy turned on my biological clock for a little while, and I'm sure my uterus contracted a few times during that week. I'm not a parent, and as I face turning 35 at the end of next month, I don't see me becoming a father anytime soon. Since the Ex and I had broken up, I'd say that is likely a done deal. I won't rule out the possibilities of children in my future, but it's more likely I'm going to be the gay "Uncle" to my friends kids.

Do I mind that...no...yes...maybe a little...but not really. I look at it this way. I can give your kids as much split pea puree as he or she wants to eat. You get to change the diapers.

Going to Pot

Time to lighten things up a bit. Some random thoughts for a Thursday.

I've been wondering about something lately.

When we use the toilet, there is one thing we all want to avoid as much as possible. Splash back! Nothing is worse that getting splashed with the cold water of death. So leave it to the French to create a bidet...a plumbing unit that PURPOSELY sprays water on your ass. What the hell were they thinking?

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Bridal Shows:
How many of you have been to one of these freak events. Now I know that some women have been raised to have the fairy tale weddings (where hopefully the bride isn't marrying a fairy), but $20,000 for a freaking wedding? I'd rather take the 20k and take a year long trip around the world.

And what surprises me most about the bridal shows is that it's usually the mother of the bride that is the worst one. It's the whole "Stage Mother" all over again. Their daughters are going to have the wedding the mother always wanted!

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Ever notice how daytime television is nothing but advertisements to purchase cars with bad credit, personal injury law firm ads, and "colleges" that offer degrees in "medical billing technology" or Associate degrees in "Business Administration." What losers are home all day to see these ads...oh wait...I'm watching those ads.

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Bowling:
I know its called a sport, but where is the athleticism of it? I guess if I spend enough time around the smokers I'll eventually be gasping for air...which could make it an aerobic activity.

Lifting a 16lb ball? Ok...that can be a bit of heavy lifting. Otherwise? I don't see bowling becoming the next event in the extreme eco challenge.

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There is such a thing as too gay of an outfit:

But I wouldn't kick him out of bed.

Possessions

During one of my father's tirades into being a disciplinarian, he had decided to use a reverse psychology on me. He had decided that breaking my toys would be a deterrent for my misbehaving. Over the period of 4 weeks, he had broken several of my toys (things that didn't matter that much to me…but still upset you at the age of 4 years old.

It all changed the one day I had done something wrong. I'm not sure what it was (perhaps breathing?…with him…you never did know) but I know it involved bending the curtain rod. At that point, my father had lost his temper. Those were the moments I learned to run in fear, and doing so this time, I ran to the one place that had the strongest locking door, our bathroom.

After several minutes of my father trying to kick the door down, he finally quieted down and started speaking to me. At the time I was too afraid to open the door, and it was only after he had spoken calmly for 15 minutes, promised not to hurt me, and only that he had a surprise for me. The sweetness in his voice was what convinced me to open the door.

My father had my favorite toy, the Fisher Price toy garage outside the bathroom door. When I opened the door a crack to peek out, my father stepped on the thing, putting his foot through the entire plastic contraption. The toy was crushed, and something inside me as well. What happened afterwards wasn't pretty…but I was placed in foster care for a few months before having to go live with him again.

Today, while going through some closets, I found some old glasses that were given to me about 15 years ago. No sentimental value and I really don't like them. Still, I can't throw them away. I've got a ton of crap like this in my home…and I can't get rid of any of it. Crucifix…I've got three and I'm not Catholic! Antique sewing machine with corresponding cabinet…children's books…antique lamps…stuff I just don't want…and I can't put them on the curb. As for the things I do want…It's like the books are the one ring and I'm Golem. My precious! My Ex nearly got his butt kicked out of the house for writing in one of my books.

When I was discussing this with a friend the other day, we were discussing how if I was to be carjacked, I wouldn't give up the car. Taking that vehicle from me would be only from my cold dead hands. When my friend asked what if the robber was to shoot you, I calmly answered that it wouldn't matter.

I've grown up very protective of the things I own…but not as protective of myself. Trying to change that over the past year has been such an effort, even to the point on wondering why I should bother. That being said…anyone want a set of glasses?

Cattle Calls

On Sunday evening, a former coworker called me to ask if I could provide advice to her daughter, who wants to audition to be a dancer for the Rockettes. We talked and I agreed to speak to her about the whole audition process, and what to expect. I started out by asking her what she thought auditions were like. She referred to her only source on auditions, American Idol.

I hate American Idol, for its exploitation of the kids. My ex and I have had serious arguments regarding the inexperienced teenagers who are truly bad singers. He believes that they all know that they are bad, and are trying to perform worse just to get on camera. While I do believe that it is sometimes true, having people ham it up wouldn't make good television. Instead, encouraging a terrible singer to really belt it out, or make it into a production, makes for interesting television…one where after being humiliated on national television, they can show a story arc where the dejected kid cries into the camera that they will find stardom!

I've seen a lot working in the theater. Comedy clubs are a bit of a different arena, but in theater, the one animal that everyone always wants to avoid is the dreaded "Stage Mother". These women are crazy for one thing only…that their children become famous. While in Colorado, I was lucky enough (or unlucky enough) to be on the auditioning panel for a theater and dance scholarship. Some of the kids that auditioned just didn't have the talent necessary for this program, but more just didn't have the look.. How many fat ballerinas do you know of?

These kids have had their egos pumped by their parents for years. "You're going to be a famous dancer!" "You are going to be a leading lady." "You are the best singer in your high school class!" When is it the appropriate time to tell these kids that they may not ever achieve their dreams? My personal thought is to not tell them. Who am I to say that you shouldn't pursue your dreams? Yes…you are a fat ballet dancer. You look like one of the dancing hippos from "Fantasia". You may never get a part…or you just may be the best damn dancer to hit Broadway in the next 10 years.

The entertainment industry is a very harsh reality. I've have friends that I graduated college with who haven't been able to get cast, and the only parts they have ever received were bit parts in community theater. Another classmate is on "Days of our Lives, and two other classmates created "South Park".

Those of us who choose to pursue theater careers are a lot like bloggers…we do this because we love it. Not for the recognition or awards…not for the fame…we do it because it's all we can see ourselves doing. We love this and the minute we find that we'd prefer to do something else, it's time to quit.

Turns out that the cattle call audition for the Rockettes is a one in a 100,000 chance for this girl. Do I think she's talented enough? I don't know. It's not for me to say.

Misery Loves Company

I'm going to admit something that shouldn't be too surprising. I've taken LSD in the past. It's been over 10 years since I last took it, but I had a hippy mom who was great with a chemistry set...she made her own.

So admit it...how many of you have taken it?

If you know nothing about it, it's a fascinating drug in that comparing it to other recreational drugs out there...it's the one drug that I've taken where you don't want to experience the effects alone. The whole experience on the drug is enhanced by your thoughts and those around you. Now I am not advocating drug use. That political stance is so 1970's, and really...how good is that crap for you overall. I'm for banning cigarettes...so it's hypocritical for me to be pro drugs.

The reason why I've been thinking about LSD this morning is how using the drug relates so much to my current situation. When on LSD, you can go very far into your own personal thoughts, and suddenly you realize that you have been "thinking" scary or depressing thoughts for several hours without speaking (in reality it was probably only 15 minutes...but seeing that the drug's effects last 18 hours...time is irrelevant). You need that person around you to keep you from going to that scary place (the bad trip). You call out to the other person and suddenly your mood is lifted.

My home has become my LSD since I've been looking for a day job. At first, it was nice having the days off to do what I wanted. I made candles (to save on electricity), chili and soup, organized the kitchen cabinets, categorized the Christmas decorations, alphabetized the bookshelves (over 1000 books), and yes...kept looking for a job. But lately this house has started becoming more of a prison cell. With all human contact being through a telephone or through an email, I can understand how solitary confinement is a form of punishment in the prison system.

We can be our own worst enemies at times. Left to our own devices, we can make ourselves miserable, beating ourselves up over failed relationships, lost loves, unattainable dreams, bad childhoods, wrongs that have been done to us and whatever else bothers us.

As for me...I've got some resumes to send.

I'd Do a Lumberjack

Ok...Friday...the last of the Worst Sex Ever Series...and I've found that I'm running out of good ideas, but this last one has been in my head since the beginning. Now as I've said in the past, I like to collect embarrassing stories of those I know, and use them in shows. This was one a friend told me that just couldn't be used in a comedy club setting...but someday I will figure out a way.

So I will preface this by saying that this did NOT HAPPEN TO ME! The person this incident did happen to, asked that I never reveal who he is, and rather claim it as my own. Got to love shy gay guys.

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In the spring of my freshman year in college, my boyfriend and I had been growing very close, and with that came the time to express ourselves in a physical loving way. We were ready to make love. I say make love, as I had no experience in having sex...unless you count the neighbor guy I messed around with during high school. My boyfriend was a little older, and said he knew what he was doing, and I trusted him completely.

I planned for our Friday night date to be the night we finally would do it. Now by it, I can say we had had oral sex, felt each other up...etc. The only think we hadn't done was anal, and he insisted he was a top. Being afraid, I turned to my friends for assistance on how to do what I was planning on doing.

"Awww...Look who's getting his cherry busted!" my one friend squealed.
"That got broke a long time ago" Another chirped in, like a cackling bird.
"You're a virgin?" said my third friend "I thought you wore those heavy boots to keep your feet on the floor!"
"Puleeze! If this is his first time...he won't be able to take it" snipped another.

Have I mentioned that I can hate my friends? I thought to myself "I will so be able to take it...even if it means biting my tongue to keep from screaming!" My closest friend just smiled while they all teased me. He pulled me aside later and gave me a few pointers. "Tell him to go slow, you are in charge. Breathe. Have some wine to relax you...and for God's sake...try not to eat anything that day." I took his word for it.

Friday night arrived, and I wanted to make the evening special. I made a nice meal for us (which nearly killed me as I hadn't eaten since Thursday morning...just in case), and even had some wine that I had my older friend buy us. I lit the room in candles and had romantic music playing. By the time my boyfriend had arrived, I was a nervous wreck, but ready for this step into adulthood.

He greeted me at the door with roses, and we embraced before having dinner. After sitting down to a wonderful meal (well I think it was wonderful...I didn't eat), the tension began. We both knew what was to going to happen after dinner...and sitting there, waiting for a meal to be over so we could do this was just agony. In my hindsight, I think I would just have said let's go to bed and order take-out. Thank God we only had one bottle of wine, as I would probably have drank an entire winery just to calm my nerves.

After dinner, We retired to the boudoir where we began the foreplay tango. Ok...after a bottle of wine...it was more like "take my clothes off I'm drunk" tango. Things progressed nicely, and it was time to do what I had planned on doing. Except...Sometimes objects are larger than they appear.

Much larger.

Immensely larger.

Grotesquely larger.

Ok...so it took a bit of work to get said object into the intended receptacle, and only with the assistance of nearly a bottle of lubricant. That would later be a downfall, because with that much lubricant...well...things can tend to fall out very easily.

My young boyfriend was kind to me though, and we tried several positions before we found one that allowed me to be comfortable. At one point, although I was enjoying the experience, I remember thinking that he was taking an awful long time. I glanced at the clock to see that he had been doing this for over 25 minutes and I was about to ask if he was close to finishing when from his outcry, I knew the question wasn't necessary.

There my lover and I were. Me...on my knees with my face resting on a pillow, while the love of my life exploded in passion behind me. He cried out that he loved me in the candle light, and the romance of the moment was enough to nearly make me cry. His passion spent...he removed himself from me, and I took a deep breath and relaxed myself. It was then that the most horrendous thing happened.

Sexually active women all know about this, and I'm sure that they tell each other that this can and will happen. Gay men never talk about it. When ever you have coital contact for a length of time, air will be introduced into the canal that an object was placed in. This air will come back out. I believe the appropriate word is a queef.

As my partner removed himself from my nether regions, I had the gay equivalent of a queef, and farted. The sound that came from my ass was very similar to a chainsaw starting up at a lumberjack festival. Unfortunately, since my partner had used nearly a bottle of lubricant, this fart sprayed the residual lubricant all over my lover's chest and abdomen. He looked like someone had thrown a bucket of water on him.

I kept my face in the pillow, horrified at what had just happened. "WHY DIDN'T ANYONE TELL ME THIS WOULD HAPPEN?" I thought. My lover burst into laughter over the whole incident, and tried to help me laugh at it too, but the incident was so mortifying that I had lost the mood to finish anything else that night. We ended up cuddling and he learned to never mention that incident to me ever again.

And that...was my friend's worst sex ever!

Worst Sex Ever: The Travesty

Two days left in the week and I'm beginning to be a bit embarrassed at how many bad sex stories I have, but I was limiting these to the worst five...so I'm committed now...or at least I should be.

Now as I speak to my heterosexual friends, I hear them tell me about how they are ashamed at how many sexual partners they have had. They become disappointed in themselves and I grow concerned enough to ask them how many. I have yet to hear an answer of over 15.

***blank stare***

I am a gay man. As I've said in this site before...I've had more sexual partners than my mother has been married...and she has been married a lot. She's been married more than 15 times...so do the freaking math. It's one thing to admit this here, but another story to admit this to a boyfriend, which is something I've done with all of my boyfriends. I firmly believe they should know what they are getting into...(uhh...maybe a bad choice of words here).

One of these boyfriends was a man I call Travesty. Things had progressed beyond the first few dates and it was time to take the relationship to the next level. Like an Olympic torch being lit, the passion between us grew to the point where it was impossible to keep our clothes on, so off went the shirts and my pants. However, as I reached for his belt, he stopped me. Now, I'll admit, I'll try anything once, but I do have my limits. If we are going to have sex, YOU NEED TO TAKE OFF THE PANTS! Or at least open them up.

Travesty instead stood up and took me into his hand (figure it out) and led me to his dark bedroom. We walked in the room, fell to the bed and resumed our passionate love making. The problem...I couldn't see anything. Seriously...it was way too dark. So as I tried to make out shapes in the darkness, I saw a small lamp next to his clock radio. Making my move, I turned it on, and looked into the cold dead eyes of a third person. Looking all around me, were the faces of at least 15 people!

I screamed. As I was screaming...I noticed that they were all manikins. Travesty was a store window dresser, who took his work home with him. Having lost all interest in sex, and only a slight be concerned for my life, we began our passionate love making again...while the mindless faces watched from the sidelines.

At this point, Travesty finally took off his pants, and I wanted to scream again. Now, I've said before that size doesn't matter. I lied. It matters a little. Travesty resembled a Vienna sausage. Seriously. Now straight men have no clue where they are on the size matter...a delusion they are happy with. With gay men...we know exactly where we are on the average scale. Travesty was well below average.

I was able to push past it though, and our first night was very satisfying for me, but he didn't seem as happy. In fact, over the next few weeks, it became apparent that he wanted something but was afraid to ask. So I cornered him, and found out what it was he wanted.

He wanted to top. I sat there surprised, but smiled and agreed to the task, and that night was the night our relationship would be doomed. As he grunted and groaned, and told me it was the best he ever had, I never had the heart to tell him that he wasn't large enough to top. In fact, he wasn't quite long enough to actually reach the area he was searching for. Do you think gay men don't fake it? I can attest that we do.

As I stared into the manikin faces that night, they all began to speak to me. "You should paint your ceiling beige. It will make the room brighter." "Did you pay the phone bill?" "Now might be a good time to rehearse that monologue you've been working on."

I know I've said this before...but SIZE DOESN'T MATTER...much.

Uncommon Compliments

When between jobs (I hate using the phrase unemployed), it's very important to keep yourself entertained. Last week that involved porn and it's residue in mass quantities. But this week...I grew tired of watching porn, especially while thinking of some of the worst sex I've ever had. It's a little depressing to see several men in different positions, all shaking in ecstasy as you sit alone on a couch with a cup of hot tea because it's too cold to go outside.

So between porn videos, and sending out cover letters and resumes, I've been playing the Nintendo 64 gaming system. For those of you who are dinosaurs like myself, this system is so 1997, but it does provide entertainment when you don't feel like going outside. I recommend Banjo Tooie game.

So I sit on my butt during the day, which as some people over the past year or so have told me is my better asset. And this is where the Worst Sex Ever Scenario falls today.

Not too long after I had ended a relationship, I had fallen into that unsure place, where you underestimate your own self worth. Self esteem had taken a dive, I wasn't going out, and spent most of my time alone. Nearly a month into this self pity, my friends planned an intervention and insisted I meet them at our usual hangout for a night of a few drinks. As my friends put it "It's time to get back up and ride the horse." A nice way to say I needed laid.

I went to the local club, and my friends had not arrived yet. I later found out that they were hoping my standing there alone would improve my chances at meeting someone, therefore they showed up a little late. Bitches!

Feeling very much out of place, I stood near the pool table and ran into an old acquaintance, who happened to ask about my Ex. That's the joy of breaking up, having the awkwardness involved in telling everyone else about it. Gratefully he moved away, and that was when "HE" came over to me.

Now I need to premise this by saying I'm picky...very picky. In the last year, I've been on at least 40 first dates, and most never make it past this stage. That being said, someone I would not find attractive sauntered up to stand next to me. What am I saying...none of you would have found him attractive either. He looks me up and down, smiles and says "I just want you to know...looks don't matter to me."

And with that statement...any form of self esteem I had left had left my body, walked out of the bar, and was back under the covers, calling my ex to get back together. I, on the other hand, was doomed to get rid of this troll of a man. Fastest way...chug the beer to get another one. Luckily my friends arrived and I was saved from any further degradation.

My friends began the intervention of bringing back my self esteem to tolerable levels when the next line was thrown my way. "I'm only in town for one night, as I'm going back to DC tomorrow. You are just really hot, and I wanted to know if you wanted to go back to my place. I'm staying with a friend, but he's ok with it." Me? Hot? "Let's go," I answered.

Don't judge me...or I'll sic TunaGirl on you!

We get back to his place, and upon arriving I realize that when he said he was staying with a friend, he meant that the 3 of us were planned for that nights activities. Now call me old fashioned, but sometimes the more is not the merrier. However, being that my self respect and self esteem had already left the building, I decided to go along with it. The specifics of the evening are not as much important, except for one specific thing that was said about me.

***Beginning to blush badly***

When 3 people are having sex...one person can somewhat be left out at times, but can have an interesting view. While I was on top of one person, the other person had a distinct view of my derriere. The person with the view said "Oh, Mike (not his real name), he has the nicest asshole."

Had my mouth not been full I probably would have burst out laughing. Instead I was at a loss for words. Do you say "Thank you?" or "I take after my mother", or just give the guy a better view? I can say though that I had to push past that statement and just focus on the fact that it was a compliment. One I will never forget...even if I wanted to.

So the next time you get cut off in traffic, or someone curses at you and you call him an Asshole...remember that some assholes are nice.

Senior Psychopath

My first candidate for Worst Sex Ever (WSE) would have to be Senior Psychopath. Obviously not his real name, I felt it was better to call him Senior Psychopath instead of his real name of Michael Lyndon to protect his anonymity. Wouldn't you agree? (Oh shut up…you didn't sleep with him…he deserves this title).

I met Senior Psychopath (SP) while I was still in college. All theater majors are required to work on the technical staff of the theater each semester, and that current semester I was working as a stage manager for a one act play. SP was a stage manager for the second one act play that followed mine, so we both had to work together quite often scheduling rehearsal spaces, lighting hangings, production meetings…etc.

It was during this time that I learned that SP didn't have anywhere to go for Thanksgiving. He still lived in the dorms and because the dormitory cafeterias closed on the holiday, it was likely going to be a microwave burrito dinner for the poor guy. It was for this reason, and this reason only, that I invited him to my house for a Thanksgiving dinner. I will officially say I never planned to have sex with him. Even when I was buying the 2 bottles of white wine I would serve with dinner, I never planed on having sex with him. I still didn't plan to have sex with him as I was showering, shaving, and putting on cologne during the hour before he arrived. I wasn't even planning on having sex with him as I changed my bed sheets. Seriously.

When he arrived, I served a nice meal of a bottle of wine, and some random foods including a stir fry consisting of sautéed onions, broccoli, and this cooked stuffed cabbage. The wine flowed, the tongues loosened and poor SP nearly turned me completely off with his comment that he "loved the taste of hot sperm." (What? As opposed to cold sperm?) Now…I'm sorry…but this phrase is a complete turn-off. But after a bottle of wine, I can choose to not hear those things. Add a second bottle and I don't even care.

Second bottle polished off, we sit on the couch where one touch leads to a tongue and suddenly the hands are a groping. This in itself is not a bad thing, but unfortunately for SP…I have a family curse. A curse that sautéed onions, broccoli, and cooked cabbage can bring out. The kind of curse that can be silent…but deadly. The kind of curse that says while providing oral sex, poor SP looked up at me with eyes watering from the noxious flatulent fumes that have plagued many in my family.

Shut up! I curse you all!

So things happened between us and we had the morning after awkwardness. I asked if he wanted coffee, he asked if he could move in…I freaked and made coffee. And this was when the psychopathic tendencies came out in SP. We got back to the campus on Monday, and had our first production meeting with the Technical Director and Dept Chair of the theater department. In this meeting, I was on one side of the table, and SP was at the other, with our head professor between us.

SP looked at the technical director and said," Bob…will you tell Patrick that I need an extra 1 minute of music for set arrangement? I'd tell him…but he hates me since we made love."

Bob…while looking at me with an evil smile, said. "Patrick…will you give him an extra minute. He would have told you, but you supposedly hate him since you copulated."

While red in the face, I looked at him and said "He can have his minute, as it's all he really needs anyway. And I do hate him now."

The theater department is a wild rumor mill…one that can be truly evil at times. In my class, my professor told us to never dip the wick in company oil (don't sleep with a classmate). In December, immediately after my final was over in his class, our department chair gave me a small box as a Christmas gift. Inside the box was a little card that once again said to "Never have sex with a classmate" and with the card was a bottle of Gas-X..

The Doyle family curse lives on.

Someone Needs it Bad

Last year in December, I wrote an entry about my first time having sex with a woman (a piece I still get emailed about often) and the ramifications of doing said act. Today...I've been thinking about joining my fellow bloggers and writing about a specific topic for Valentines day. The topic?

The Worst Sex Ever!

Problem is...I unfortunatly have had a lot of bad sex...but even bad sex is good sex...right? So I realized I needed to categorize it into different types of sex.

• Exhausted/ Drunken sex - the kind of sex where you realize 1/4 of the way into the act that you would probably rather sleep than actually go through the act itself.



• Embarassing sex - when bad things happen to horny people.



• Boring sex - The kind of sex had with the same person, the same positions, the same time, and even in the same place that you've had for the last 6 years. The kind of sex where you believe you are on the repeat feature of a music CD.



• Sexual Aftershocks - You had sex 3 weeks ago and you are still living with the ramifications



• Obligation Sex- You had sex only because you felt like you had to...not because you wanted to, and afterwards...all you wanted was a good shower.



• And worst of all...Unsatisfactory Sex - The kind of sex where only one person finishes and the other is left frustrated

Sadly...I have experience with all of these, and I now sit here trying to figure what was my worst sex ever? Worst...thinking about all of these experiences makes me begin to wonder did I ever have good sex in the first place? ***thinks back***

Oh wait...yes...I did. ***Begins Chesire grin***

So what constitutes good sex...and better yet...what should I write about in regards to bad sex? I think I'm going to have to narrow it down...and maybe do a little field research.

Oh...A Black Girl.

About 5 years ago, I went to go visit my grandmother for the holidays. Earlier that month, she had tripped on a sidewalk and fell and broke her shoulder (ironically on the sidewalk of an Orthopedic Surgeon). Rushed by ambulance, she we put back together in Humpty Dumpty fashion and sent home to recover.

Every year, she loved to bake holiday cookies, but with her shoulder broken, it was an impossible task. I felt so bad for her, I decided to get some cookies from the local supermarket. I went to the bakery department and looked over the selection of some 30 odd types of cookies, and told the sales lady that I'd like 2 of every cookie.

"You want a dozen"
"No...I just want two of every cookie"
"You want two dozen"
"No. Just take two cookies from every tray you have. What ever the total number is can be divided by 12, and you can charge me the difference."
"You want three dozen?"
"uhhh...yes" I finally stated just frustrated over the whole experience.

When I got back to my grandmother's place, I surprised her with the cookies and told her the story about how frustrating it was. She listened with some amusment and when I finished, she asked the following question.

"Oh...a black girl?" she asked.

I was stunned that my grandmother, who admittedly is racist could say such a thing. That she was right only pissed me off more. Nowhere did I say that the saleswoman was speaking in Ebonics, and nothing in the story said it had to be a black woman, but my grandmother assumed based on the intelligence of the person I was dicussing.

Last night, I was watching ER and this whole exchange came back to my mind. In the episode, the one doctor (I don't know her name) is kidnapped by two gang members, who are demanding she heal their third gang member who has been shot. The gang members were black, and in the script it was never necessary to have the members as black. So why do this? Why not have a white gang. MC Trever is wacked by MC Brett while visiting his ho, Jenny.

Why is it, the minute we hear of gang violence, most of us automatically assume it has to be a bunch of minorities. When the two kids wents nuts and killed all those Columbine students, they were just a bunch of picked on wonderbread kids. We white kids can be just as violent, so what is making the population assume in the first place?

Word.

Pass Me a Hanky!

When I woke up yesterday, it was freezing. The rain was coming down here, and freezing to the ground. By noon, it was looking like doom and gloom, and I thought about just going back to bed instead of doing any more work for the day. As I was about to get bed, the sun broke out and the most amazing thing happened. It got warm. Seriously warm, as in 64 degrees. I changed into my shorts, and took a run to the lake (which after several weeks not running made me feel as if I was about to die). Spring hit Cleveland, Ohio and what else happens when spring comes into my life? My thoughts turn to sexual kink! I decided I wanted to try fisting. Being the fister...not the fistee.

Of course, finding a willing partner is not always an easy thing, so I decided the best way to find someone who likes getting fisted was to hang out in the park and place the proper hanky in my back left pocket.


For those of you who don't know, their is something called the hanky code. Wear a certain color hanky in your back left pocket and it symbolizes what you want to do, wear the same color in your back right pocket and it stands for what you want done to you. So I checked into what color I needed.

COMMON HANKY CODES

Heavy S&M Top            Black               Heavy S&M Bottom
Bondage Top              Grey                Bondage Bottom
Fister                   Red                 Fistee
Golden Shower Top        Yellow              Golden Shower Bottom
Scat Top                 Brown               Scat Bottom

LESS COMMON

Piercer                  Purple              Piercee
Anal Sex, Top            Dark Blue           Anal Sex, Bottom
Wants Oral Sex           Light Blue          Expert at Oral Sex
Dildo User, Top          Light Pink          Dildo User, Bottom
Likes Drag               Lavender            In Drag
Uniform Top              Olive Drab          Uniform Bottom

UNCOMMON

Sixty-niner              Robin's Egg Blue    Sixty-niner 
Genital Torturer         Teal Blue           Genital Torturee 
Breast Torturer          Dark Pink           Breast Torturee 
2-Handed Fister          Dark Red            2-Handed Fistee 
Likes Menstruating Women Maroon              Is Menstruating Woman
Likes Navel Worship      Mauve               Navel Worshipper
Likes Armpit Worship     Magenta             Armpit Worshipper
Has 8" or More           Mustard             Size Queen 
2 Looking for 1          Gold                1 Looking for 2 
Anything Goes            Orange              Not Now, Thanks 
Two Tons O'Fun           Apricot             Chubby Chaser 
Foot Fetish Top          Coral               Shrimper 
A Cowboy                 Rust                His Horse 
Spanker                  Fuschia             Spankee 
Dines off Tricks         Lime Green          Dinner Plate 
Rimmer                   Beige               Rimmee 
Uncut Possessor          Brown Lace          Likes Uncut 
Cut Possessor            Brown Satin         Likes Cut 
Latex Fetish Top         Charcoal            Latex Fetish Bottom 
Owns a Suit              Gray Flannel        Likes Men in Suits 
Masturbate Me            White               Will Masturbate Both
Shaver                   Red/White Stripes   Shavee 
Likes Black Bottom       Black/White Stripe  Likes Black Top
Likes Latino Bottom      Brown/White Stripe  Likes Latino Top 
Likes Oriental Bottom    Yellow/White Stripe Likes Oriental Top 
Likes White Bottom       White Lace          Likes White Top 
Wears Boxer Shorts       Paisley             Likes Boxer Shorts 
Star F*cker              Silver Lame         Star  
Wants Muscleman Bottom   Gold Lame           Wants Muscleman Top
Has Tattoos              Leopard             Likes Tattoos 
Smokes Cigars            Tan                 Likes Cigars 
Rubber/Mud, Top          Wine                Rubber/Mud, Bottom
Bartender                Cocktail Napkin     Bar Groupie 
Tearoom Top              Doily               Tearoom Bottom 
Cuddler                  Teddy Bear          Cuddlee 
Gives Oil Massages       Handywipe           Wears It Well
Rides a Motorcycle       Chamois             Likes Bikers 
Outdoor Sex, Top         Mosquito Netting    Outdoor Sex, Bottom 
Lover's Out, My Place OK Toothbrush          Your Place ONLY

Realizing that I could have well over 20 hankies hanging out of my back pockets (making me look like a freaking partridge) to describe all my likes, I decided I needed to go looking elsewhere. My next stop...the grocery store!

The best place to pick up guys who like a large size is to hang out in the produce section of the grocery store. They always are picking up and fondling all of the cucumbers and zucchini squashes. Find the guy who is coveting an acorn squash and you've found the guy who likes getting fisted. Unfortunately, after hanging out in the store for an hour, I realized that they were already out of acorn squash. Seems like I wasn't the only one interested in some afternoon fun.

Dejected, I decided to make the chicken soup recipe. I grabbed a whole chicken, took it home and began to prepare the meal. While removing the giblets, I realized I had my whole hand and most of my forearm up this chicken's ass, as I was grabbing the goods on the inside. Kind of disgusted, I thought to myself..."guys get off on this?". Maybe kink isn't what I need right now. Thank God the cold weather is coming back soon.

Chicken Noodle Soup for the Soul

So what I want to write is just way too dark after yesterday's post, and part of me wonders if what I would write is just too personal. Sometimes sharing too much is a guaranteed way to push people away...so I may just hold onto what I was planning on writing until later.

That being said, I hate when something bothers me, as it can just eat at me. Those things often just need to be let go, even though a part of me only knows how to hold on to it. I remember a few years ago when the Chicken Soup for the Soul books came out. I never really understood their purpose, but I do find chicken soup healing.

---

Gourmet Chicken Noodle Soup

(an original recipe Karen...you can use this)

2 chicken breasts
1/2 onion diced
1/4 cup butter
1/2 cup flour
1 stalk celery diced
1/2 pint heavy cream
salt
pepper
At least 1 cup of uncooked noodles (preferably wide egg noodles)
1/2 cup dry white wine (optional)

Stock
4 cups water
10 peppercorns
2 bay leaves
1/2 tablespoon salt
1/2 tablespoon thyme

Place ingredients for stock into large pot. Boil the chicken in the stock for 30 minutes. Remove chicken, strain and reserve the liquid and skim off the fat. Dice the chicken and set aside. Sautee the onion and celery in the butter, add the flour and stir constantly while bubbling for two minutes. Add the chicken and the stock and simmer for 10 to 15 minutes, until the soup is as thick as you want it. Add noodles and if desired, the optional wine and continue to simmer. When the noodles are almost done, add the cream, but don't boil after cream is added. Add salt and pepper to taste. Serve immediately.

Why Do These Guys Keep Sucking My Cock?

I don't understand these gay guys. I spent the day yesterday at the gym, and while standing in the showers post workout, this guy kept staring at me. Now I'm not one to be stared at in the shower…in fact…it pisses me off. So I turned to face this guy, grab my thing and shake it at him, as if to say "will you just quit staring." He then drops to his knees and starts sucking my cock! What's that all about? Once he was finished, I had said "Look buddy…I'm not gay!" Not that anything is wrong with that...I just like chicks.

But it happens all the time! Just last week at the public park where this guy kept flashing his headlights at me, trying to get my attention. I walked over to his car, thinking he might be having car troubles and instead he offers to give me a ride home. It is winter, so I decided to take him up on the offer. Suddenly while sitting in his car, he starts sucking my cock!

This happens everywhere. The men's restroom, at the roadside rest stop, even at the local ship yards late at night, all of these gay guys keep sucking my cock, and I'm getting sick of it. I'm sure my girlfriend is as well. I rarely see her since I started working out at the gym more, taking all the aerobics classes.

I've tried telling these gay guys I'm not interested, and it doesn't seem to work. The last time it happened (in the store dressing room), I pushed his head all the way down so he was nearly choking on it. I figured that would finally show him that I didn't want this. Instead, he just grunted in approval.

I'm running out of ideas of how to stop these guys. Just because your gay doesn't mean I am, so stop sucking my cock. I think the next time, I'm just going to pin one of these guys down to the ground with my meaty forearms and put my cock right up their butt. That should show him not to suck my cock!

Unnatural Disasters

Ok...I admit I slacked off today at posting any earlier, but you see, I decided I needed to do some disaster relief work here in Ohio. Over the last two weeks, we've had a ton of snow, followed by a large amount of ice rain. Over the past few days, the temperature rapidly increased and all the snow and ice melted, and now certain areas of Ohio are under water. All of the storefronts in Marietta Ohio are completely submerged. It's only right if I help with the cleanup.

So I decided it was time to tackle my living room. You see, an invisible tsunami traveled into my front door and left a mess in my home that vaguely resembles a mess an unemployed IT contractor would leave. Seriously. This wave dirtied all of my clothes, knocked my Christmas decorations to the floor, made everything in the house dusty, and even left my dishes dirty! Son of a bitch!

So I have been spending the day, cleaning up after this senseless mess, knowing that I will at least feel organized enough tomorrow. I'm currently scaling Mount Laundry (I've set base camp at Towels, but I think I see the snow capped whites already. Tonight, I'm going to crawl on my hands and knees and scrub my floors (unless someone gives me another reason to crawl on my hands and knees). If it was warm...I'd consider doing my windows...but they are mostly frozen shut.

On a side note...being in between jobs really suits me. While all of you have to get up in the morning, dress for work, then work until sometimes well after 5pm, I get to sleep late, have Bailey's and coffee for breakfast, and spend my days watching porn. Now if I could find a job that would pay me to do that...oh wait...that job exists. Stand-up comic.

Shock!

Over the last twenty four hours, the strangest thing has been happening.

Yesterday, a friend called me and asked if I wanted to come over to dinner. He said he'd be serving hot sausage. I agreed and after grabbing a quick shower, went to his house. He actually had dinner prepared...

When his boyfriend came home an hour later, he said hello, and remarked that he was really tense. He excused himself to go upstairs to take a shower, and then he went to bed...

This morning, the postman rang the bell. He was overweight and about 45 years old! He handed me the mail and DIDN'T say "Do you take deliveries in the rear?" In fact, he didn't even have a package for me!

Completely distraught, I walked to the Starbucks where the one hot guy works. He said hello when I ordered, and asked if I wanted room for cream. I smiled seductively and said, "I'd love some cream". He then handed me the cup of coffee...

I think it's time to put away the porn. Besides...I'm chafing.

Three Kings Beat a Full House

My grandmother has seen me perform in plays and a film I did in college, but has never gone to see my standup routine. See...I love pissing my grandmother off. All I have to do is ask stupid questions regarding religion, and suddenly I may be a heathen, but I'm a heathen who has an old lady steaming mad. We talked on the phone last night and she wanted to know if my Christmas decorations were down yet. I told her I took them down on Monday. She was aghast, as you aren't supposed to take down the decorations until the Festival of Three Kings

For those of you who weren't raised with a facist Roman Catholic Background, you might not know that January 6th is the Festival of the Three Kings. For you hell bound non believers (save me a window seat huh?), today was the day that the three kings came to visit Mary in the barn with the three gifts of Frankincense, Gold, and the primo shit...Myrrh (which Mary would toke up in a bong. Myrrh Browniees didn't exist until the first ovens were created).

This of course got me thinking about the whole story. Big star in the sky, points the way to where the baby was born. Todays equivelant would be a searchlight with the bat signal. Now the baby was born 12 days prior to the three kings arrival. Why are they STILL in the barn? Did Joseph decide it was just better to hang out in the hay loft, did he lose the hotel reservation by forgetting to print out the Expedia email? Did everyone refuse to give them a room because Mary insisted God was the father of the baby? Or were they just afraid that since the star was out, they couldn't move because everyone would go to the wrong address for the baby shower?

Of course, times were easier then. They didn't have smog issues, I'm sure stars were very bright, and light pollution was non-existant. Las Vegas is to blame...no wonder we call it Sin City! So if Christ was born today, how would the three kings find him? I believe the owners of this van have figured it out.


Taken at Cedar Point Amusement Park's Parking lot in September 2004

Grow Up Already!

Today's post is dedicated to Brent, Karen, and Pua. You've got a huge battle ahead of you.


Monday, while at the mall, I made a few observations. First of all, it's been nearly 3 years since I bought any clothing, so when the hell did vertical stripes come back? That and it looks like green is the new black. Add that to the list of things I want when I get the next job: New Clothes.

In case you didn't already know. Gay men shop at Banana Republic (duh...the name?) and lebians shop at J Crew. I didn't know Cleveland had so many disel dykes.

What most interested me were the kids who are in that pre-teen state. Not teenagers, but over age 9, these kids are the new marketing target called "Tweens". Heading into the mall, these kids (specifically the girls) wonder the hallways in miniskirts that make me notice. A note to parents...If your daughter wears clothing provocative enough that I notice her ass...you need to change her clothes. Seriously...one girl was wearing a skirt so short I could see her underwear.

Walking into the kids jewelry store, I watched stunned as how these girls talked. "Oh my Gawd...Jenny...I just found the greatest purse", as munchkin #1 pointed at the Hello Kitty purse. The rest of their conversation was about how "hot and sexy" the purse made this pubic hair challenged child look. I left when the store owner started giving me the potential child abductor stare.

Continuing on my quest, I headed to the Disney store, wondering where these kids fully got these ideas of sex appeal and desire. Now I'm not innocent, and I haven't been for a very long time, so maybe sometimes I look at the world with too much of rose colored glasses. Walking into the store, I see the video playing in the background. One of the bands playing a video is featuring 4 college kids, who might as well be simulating sex the way they are dancing. In fact, the one blonde man singing could very likely be bottoming for me while singing the chorus.

I glanced at and remarked to the sales clerk, a fellow gay man (duh...the Disney Store?) that the blond singer is a little hottie. The sales clerk looks at me and cracks a smile.
"He's twelve." He says.

I'm sitting here aghast. With makeup and clothing, Disney made that child attractive and appealing enough that I would want to fuck him! What the hell is wrong here? I'm not saying it's me (although I did stop at the Catholic church on the way home to wash my eyes). I hate people that blame television for the moral decay of society, but it's pretty obvious where the push to be "sexy" is coming from. The only fundamentalist in my neighborhood (I do live in the gay ghetto) tells me that she only lets her daughter watch the Disney Channel and Nickelodian (which I know is spelled incorrectly). Does she realize that Disney has the two girls in that same video wearing thong underwear?

When I spoke with her, I found out she does. I summarize when she says that she decided to let her watch the station as she needed time to do things in the home. I get it. The TV is her baby sitter when she needs to do something around the house. She exposes her child to something she finds harmeful beause she wants to clean. Today, I gave the woman my old art set. "Tell your kid to draw instead of watching TV."

I watch 1 television show a week (one I was called back to play in). I find the rest of what is on TV pure crap. When I was in that "Tween" stage, I wasn't allowed to watch TV at all. Disney is at the mercy of its advertisers. If they aren't getting the ratings, the advertisers leave for other networks. Until viewers stop watching, nothing is going to change.

Adult television is just as bad. Last night's Entertainment Tonight's Red Carpet Makeover Secrets was nothing more than a 1 hour informercial for Crest White Strips, Miss. Clairol hair dye, and some makeup products. Let's break a person's self image a bit by showing you how you aren't good enough.

I'm in the entertainment industry and I have to say it. Turn the TV off. Talk with your family. Read a book. Play a board game (but not Risk...that's to violent), and you'll be surprised at how much more productive you can be and how intellectually stimulated your kids will be. And before you put on the television, ask yourself this: Do I want my daughter to be the next Britney Spears?

The following link I'm placing in here will only be up for a few days. This file is huge, and been uploading on my dialup connection for over an hour. I find it hilarious, but with some sad connotations.

Truth

Reference Material

A little house cleaning to start. Last night, when checking my statistics, I came across an alarming number of searches regarding the same topic. Specifically 43 searches involving all a variant of the same topic (another blogger) and sexual activity or ways to reach said blogger. If this isn't you...you can just ignore the following block quote.

To the person who has found my site Searching to "fuck Famous Rob Byrnes":
I'm not sure if you know this, but I do have statistical counters on this website. Those counters tell me not only each IP address that access my site and the amount of time spent, but also tells me the search queries that brought you.

I'm going to say this once and only once, so listen very clearly, you creepy stalking son of a bitch. I have only "fucked" two bloggers in my life. It's not a big secret, and if you asked them nicely, they would admit it, but both are gentleman enough to not discuss the details. Privacy is important to me.

I admit I have been known to loose my inhibitions when drinking and do things that might be regretted at a later time, but I have never, nor will I ever "fuck Famous Author Rob Byrnes". I know his boyfriend, and that homo would scratch your eyes out. Additionally, I would not be STUPID enough to post his home residence address on my site. I won't even post mine! So spending over 7 hours searching each and every post to find out his residential address or if I fucked him is really a waste of your time.

I'll summarize my archives for you: Comic falls for asshole, asshole hurts and humiliates comic, who becomes so depressed he takes happy pills for nearly a year. Comic goes off pills, and learns to live life again, and develops friendships that he treasures more than anything else. Throw in a little sexual activity and some dates, a crush hear or there, and a lot of embarrassing stories that I use in my standup shows. Voila! You are now caught up. Now go away...you bore me.

Now I admit I get some weird referrals to my site, with my current list highlights including:

• sausage pizza movies
  
• massage gay hell's kitchen
  
• urinate standing pictures
  
• gaysex
  
• "shit herself"
  
• jizz in your hair
  
• Serbian Christmas cards

I hope those of you who were searching for those things found something to entertain you. If you were searching for Jizz in you hair, I would think a mirror would work better than my website.

But I realize it's time to provide a public service, as poor TunaGirl gets the searches that top them all.

How to Tell if Your Husband is Gay:

1. If he spends more time in the bathroom doing his hair than you do.
   
2. If after watching a chick flick, you ask for sex, and he just wants to cuddle.
   
3. He asks you to put on a T-shirt and fuck him with a strap-on.
   
4. He tells you not to shave your legs.
   
5. You find his membership card to the Flex Baths.
   
6. During sex, you slip a finger in his ass (possible), but you can fit your whole fist (he's gay).
   
7. He knows any of the following names: Derek Cameron, Logan Reed, Matt Rush, Chi Chi La Rue.
   
8. And lastly...if I slept with him...he's gayer than a 3 dollar bill.

Shower Me With Your Love

"I've learned to rely on the kindness of strangers"~Angels in America.

I'd be reprehensible if I didn't start out this posting on a humble, note. I'm usually a great observer of people and think that I have humanity pegged. Then poof…something happens and I get completely thrown for a loop. In the past 4 weeks, I've been sent into a tailspin twice, and besides coming out stunned, I've found myself grinning like a Cheshire cat.

The Thursday before Christmas, I was sent a package of edible treats from Susan. I have never met Susan in my life, and each time I send her a thank-you email, it bounces back to me, so I'm not even sure if she ever received my thank-you. I had resolved myself to not having any Christmas presents to open this year, and her package ended up being one of the best surprises. My waistline will be getting bigger as I finish them, but who says fat people can't be happy?

Last night, I received an email from Amazon. Jeffrey (one I have never met before) bought me a gift certificate to purchase what I want as a cheer up over the job ending. My jaw is on still on the floor, as we've never met. I'm just so stunned…nay…flabbergasted, but I really can't thank either of you enough for how much your kindness touched me.

So this morning…my life as once again unemployed begins. My list of things I want to do today.

• Go for Run
  
• Take tree and decorations down
  
• Get haircut
  
• File unemployment claim
  
• Return work laptop
  
• Fill out job applications in restaurants on West side of town
  
• Hit up old coworkers to see if they are free for lunch this week (networking)
  
• Go to post office
  
• Go to UPS store.

Unfortunately, I called Tuna last night. I called her at 8:00, and we talked…about everything. Crushes, orgasms, Jack Daniels, funny postings, husbands and ex boyfriends, sex drives, sexual fetishes, porn, crazy neighbors, birth control, and I even think we talked about cooking for a few minutes. When I finally looked at the clock, it was 5 minutes to 3am. AM!!! As in Ass Mine, bite it…how the heck am I going to get up in the morning?

Of course, I am fully blaming her for putting the dreams I had last night into my head that involved a certain other blogger and what can only best be described as a sexual "fountain". Modesty (Hey…I'm sometimes modest) prohibits me from disclosing who this handsome gentleman is. Damn you woman…I woke up very late with a smile on my face...um...a tent in the shorts, and a desire to go back to sleep to finish off the rest of the dream (I wasn't done yet). Haircut, post office, UPS store, and christmas tree can be done tomorrow! Let me finish the rest of the list, and pound the pavement a bit, so I can get back to bed early and finish what I started last night!

Bitchy, Slutty, and Horny...you pick.

Bill sent me this bit and I found it hilarious. I thought you may like it as well.
secure.wmv

Saturday night I met up with some friends at the Grid (A dance bar in Cleveland). The Saturday after New Year's Eve? The only men out were the guys who didn't have someone to kiss on Friday night. The bar was nearly empty, but within a few hours, three of us from the softball league found each other and started up a conversation. Three gay men standing, drinking, and commenting on the other men that were at the bar, you can imagine how the conversation went.

Person 1: "That guy's really cute"
Person 2: "Scott? He's a really nice guy, but he's into really rough sex. If he bit me one more time I was gonna kick his ass out my place"
Person 3: "You slept with him?"
Person 1: "I wouldn't kick him out of bed."
Person 2: "Uh...yeah"
Person 3: "We need to get a big S to put on your chest, to show your status of 'SLUT'!"
Person 1: "Ohhh...She told you!"
Person 2: "Shut up...you [to person 1] need a big 'H' for 'Horny'! and you [to person 3] need an extra large 'B' for 'Bitchy'!"


And the rest of the night we referred to each other as Bitchy, Horny, and Slutty. I'll leave it to all of you as to which of those names I fell under.

Anyone got a spare buck?

The Final Work Email:

Dear friends and Colleagues at _________ Bank.

As most of you know, today is my last day here as a contractor at the bank. I find myself looking back on the last 17 months with a sense of pride and accomplishment. From loading the thousands of users onto the PC-Tutorial and ROLE training systems, to maintaining the administration network in ROLE, rolling out the Connections system to the DSE and MEs, and having the opportunity to work with the merger teams of Alligent, Provident, and Wayne bank, I’ve had the privilege to work directly with an incredibly large number of you. Information Protection Services, the Global Support Center, hundreds of branch managers in the field, Branch Operations, Retail Help desk, and those in various training departments. I'm sure you already know this, but it was each of you that made my getting up for work an easy and welcome task.

I'm sure that all of you will continue in your success here at ________ Bank and I sincerely hope that our paths will cross again in the future.

Thank you for giving me the opportunity to work with each of you.
Patrick Doyle

A close friend of mine, who is somewhat an advice guru, said that God only sends at you each day what you can take. Yesterday, being my last day at work, I was doing really well...until the end of the day. About 1/2 hour before my shift ended, I was packing up the last of my personal belongings, when I started getting really sad. I actually enjoyed this job...especially the people I worked with. I was beginning to crack, and my eyes were just starting to water up, when a voice of an angel called on my cell phone. Just calling to wish me a Happy New Year, but he has no clue that he helped me keep it together as I walked out of the building for my final time. Maybe God just knows to throw a little help your way once in a while.

So shit! I'm back to pounding the pavement...again. I'm looking for work, but what is odd about this situation is how calm I am feeling. I'm not usually one to see the light at the end of the tunnel, but somehow, I just feel like things are about to turn around. I'm not sure how, but things are about to change. As for the current situation...it's time to make a little lemonade out of lemons.

Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road
Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go
So make the best of this test, and don't ask why
It's not a question, but a lesson learned in time
It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right.
I hope you had the time of your life.

5...4...3...2..1...

Happy Birthday CJ!!!!

May the next 80 more be a happy as the one I am wishing you have today!

XOXOXO

Go grab yourself a hunk...

of cake!