Nobody Likes the Records That I Play

Well I am officially working in P-Town. I am working as a bartender at a restaurant and bar called "The Patio" (stop by and say high). Tips are decent, but my fingers are being worked to the bone. I was offered the job on Friday, and had to work Friday night till 1:30 am, Saturday 10:30 am to 2:00 am, and Sunday 10:30 am to 2:00 am, and today 10:30 to close. So I now am exhausted, but I'm enjoying it.

The bar has a first time bar manager, a straight 24 year old who has admitted to me that up until about a month ago he used to be a big homophobe. His experience supply a gay bar or a gay cliental has been next to none. When I started on Friday, he had 10 bottles of vodka for the weekend. I stupidly asked him where the rest of it was, to which he answered that there wasn't any.

Silly straight boy! He obviously has no clue how much the gay crowds drink. This weekend was lesbian weekend and even with that, we went through 10 bottles on Friday night. Over this entire weekend, we've gone through 36 bottles of vodka (that poor boy has been making lots of trips to the liquor store.). I've been pouring drinks in my sleep, and I can't get the Thumpa-Thumpa music out of my head. I'm currently walking around singing "Nobody likes the records that I play".

Once the schedule is stabilized, I'll likely be working mostly days with some evening shifts, allowing for me to work at another bar or restaurant for the night shift. We'll see. The bar manager originally thought he would only need 1 bartender per shift, and that's been a disaster. We're going to have to have 2 on for night shifts and possibly for day shifts as well.

Time to get dressed for work again.

One martini I've tasted on the menu.

Ginger Lime Martini
2 oz Citrus Vodka
1 Tbsp pureed ginger
Lime juice
Sugar syrup

Shake well, strain and serve with crystallized ginger.

Exactly Who Do I Blow?

Ok. I've been a little cautious about saying exactly where I am living on the Cape, mainly because this isn't my home and the home owners may not potential stalkers just showing up at the doorstep. Having said that, I am living in South Dennis, MA, about 40 miles to P-Town. I have to be nuts to work there because I'd have to pay for parking, and drive nearly 45 minutes each way (without traffic) or 90 minutes in high traffic. I applied for 6 jobs there yesterday. Two seemed really hot leads and the one place was supposed to call me yesterday evening.

They didn't. Fuckers. I hope they fail due to health code violations.

Today I have an interview for a bartending job at a restaurant and bar near the center of P-town. I get bad vibes from the owner, but I'm a beggar and can't be choosey.
I've also been applying for jobs in Dennis, Hyannis, and Yarmouth, but so far nobody really needs anyone. Apparently, 7 years of restaurant and bar experience doesn't count for much in this town. I'm beginning to get frustrated and feel like I should just go into the next place and say "Exactly who do I need to blow to get a job here?". Luckily I have more years experience servicing men than serving tables.

Time for my bath and daily change into interview clothes.

A picture is worth 1000 words

Here's some picture highlights of Tunagirl's visit. Click the link to see the whole picture.


Tuna Girl before going to Cedar Point.

Mel the hot Brazillian and me.


Tuna girl sobering up at a diner after drinking.


Cutting my going away cake.


Why I should never eat corn dogs.


One of these guys grabbed a Tuna Boob.


TunaGirl after 7 Cape Cods. Notice the hot guy on the far right I still lust over.


Why Shamus is so popular.


What happens if you steal my man!


Somehow I really enjoy drunk twister.

Looks Like I Made It!

The tales of a gay stand-up comic in his 30's from Cleveland, Ohio who is searching for his soul mate or soul...which ever comes first.

I looked at this tag line and realized that it needs to be changed, but I'm not sure what to change it to. I'll take your suggestions if you have any.

Yes, I've arrived in Cape Cod. All I need now is some cranberries and vodka and the instant gay slut will appear to make fun of. The Cape is beautiful, but very cold. Last night we had something called a "Nor'easter". Apparently, these are hideous storms that bring in serious winds and rain, and drop the temperature about 20 degrees. This house doesn't have heat or hot water yet (not turned on yet), so I had to pee a hole in the ice ring in the toilet. Thank God it's going to be warmer this weekend.

The past weekend has been the best example of bi-polarity I have ever had. Upon TunaGirl's arrival, I took her to the softball fields to meet some of my ex teammates. Just looking at the field made Tunagirl drool (or could it have been the men playing?). We then went to dinner at Mallorca, for some Portuguese cuisine. The restaurant gave us each a shot of an almond liquor at the end of our meal, which started her evening out right.

We headed to Twist bar for a few cocktails (ok, more than a few) where the big fish drank like a fish. We had three cosmopolitans and two more shots before calling it a night.

The following day we took a 5 mile hike before going to Cedar Point amusement park. I have the pleasure of being present the second time Tuna has ever screamed (the first being while giving birth to her son). Who knew she was a screamer? The weather was a bit rainy and cold, but we still had an excellent time. I'm sure she will be posting pictures soon. We finished our night off by meeting a few friends for drinks at stripper night at the local bar. Figures the weekend I was leaving town is the weekend the bar manager offers me a job as a stripper.

Friday, after a breakfast and some errands, we began preparing the house for the moving sale. We went through the basement and cleared it out, moved my bed and futon to a friends house, and were off to dinner and drinks. Ladies and gentlemen, I got the fish drunk. I did good, and all of you would be proud.

Saturday, hung over, we got up and began final preparations for the sale. I sold or gave away 4 of my 6 bookcases (two are now trash), my other futon, all of my lamps, my dining room table, my DVD player, my cedar chest, my sewing machine, and way more stuff than I thought I would. Most expensive price was $25. Seeing all of it go was a little more emotional than I would have preferred it to be. That night, we went to a friend's housewarming party, where I was presented a cake in honor of my leaving.

Sunday was cleaning and packing day, and unfortunately it took way longer to do what we needed done, so we didn't arrive here until Monday afternoon.

I know that I'm not doing this weekend justice but it was such an emotional blur that I have difficulty writing all the details. I will carry some images or moments with me for the rest of my life though.

• A friend saluting me as I drove off from his driveway.
• Being presented a cake at someone else's party.
• Turning off the lights one last time at my place.
• Driving down Clifton and passing the city for the probably the last time as one of its residents

Now, greener pastures. Anybody know of anywhere that is hiring servers and bartenders?

Pack This!

It's time to get serious about this move. That means I've got to sign off for a few days. I'll officially be offline starting today, and be back online one I arrive at the Cape.

I must tell you about the recent job offer I received.

Tuna Found in the Great Lakes!

Today, Tuna Girl will be flying to Cleveland to visit me on her birthday! Only I could be lucky enough to get a gift on her birthday. Now I've been thinking for days now, what do I get the woman who has everything. (I mean everything. Great husband, fantastic kids, more hot gay men in her life than should be humanly possible.) The more I thought about it, the more I realized there are two things she has never experienced.

Skydiving and being drunk. I want to take her skydiving, but she has this insane fear of falling that seems to be getting in the way of this gift, so it looks like I'm going to have to get the woman drunk. Huh. You know, I don't ever think I have said the phrase "get the woman drunk" before. The funny part is she admittedly has never been intoxicated, and is usually the "caretaker" for the inebriated. The drinks she will usually drink are the foo-foo drinks like Amoretto Sours. I plan on having her sucking down the Cosmos. This is scary territory, and hopefully she won't try to take advantage of me (but the pictures will be worth 1000 words). So I figure, it would be more fun if others participated in this event.

So if you were to buy Tuna Girl a shot for her birthday, what would it be? Those listed in comments will be bought for the birthday woman this weekend.

I'm In Pain

When I first moved into my apartment, I had my choice to get an answering machine or get voice mail on the phone. I decided on the voice mail for one reason alone. If I had an answering machine, anytime I screened my calls, I would hear my voice say that I couldn't take someone's call. Listening to myself on tape is one of the most painful experiences I can live through.

Now as an actor and stand up comic, I've been videotaped before. I've had the luck of a professional comedy taping for television, and have had several shows I've done taped for archival purposes. I've never seen any of them, nor do I want to. I'm happy living in my own fantasy world, not really seeing what I look and sound like. This way I can have my own fantasy as to how I sound and look on stage.

Last night I found a box of videotapes in my basement. I went through them and plugged one into the VCR. What appeared on the 27 inch screen was my 26 year old self speaking back to me. It was a tape of a musical I had been hired to do before I had moved to Ohio. Oh the humanity! I never realized just how gay I was until I saw myself speak.

I need to watch more ESPN.

First I Was Afraid

Each time I start writing today, I get stumped. I keep thinking that I want to write something light and funny. Do I write about the customer from Friday night who asked me point blank about my blowjob techniques? Do I write about the hustler that hit on my friend and I on Saturday? How about writing about...

The problem is that I'm not feeling light and funny right now. I'm at that point in the pre-move where I'm reaching critical mass. If you ever moved, you know it. That point, where you are starting to say "Fuck it all. Throw it all in the trash! I quit!". I know it's going to get better, and things will be ok, but I'm getting rid of most of my possessions. This in itself is hard, but that most things will probably be thrown away is such a killer.

I keep repeating "I refuse to get stressed". It's not working.

To be able to keep a few more belongings, I'm renting a Minivan for the 10 1/2 hour trip out to the Cape. My problem is, I have no clue how much I can fit in a minivan, so I really don't have any clue how much I will be able to take with me.

So I needed an expert. Who's a better expert at minivans than a suburban mom? So Tuna Girl is coming out on her birthday and we are going to pack the van together. I get to see a military mom in full gear as she helps move me across the east coast. That means it's time to get a few more disposable cameras to take blackmail photos of her.

I can't wait.

The Lord Provides

*****


Ok...before I start today's post, I'm asking any readers out there for a little help. I have sinus infection. The Free Clinic here in Cleveland can't see me until June 10th. If anybody out there is close enough to their doctor that they can call and say "I have a sinus infection, can you call in a prescription for an antibiotic?" or you are a doctor yourself, let me know. I will pay any costs incurred for you filling and express mailing the pills to me.


*****

Yesterday, I spent the morning begging the Cleveland Free clinic for any doctor to give me a quick examination and then prescribe me a simple 10 day course of antibiotics. I even went as far as to blow my nose and show the dark yellowish snot to the receptionist in hopes she could find me a doctor. Not a chance. You would think I was asking for morphine the resistance I've been getting regarding this.

So by noon, I had gotten home frustrated and hating the world. I dragged the boxes I had purchased up my stairs and began putting the boxes together to pack my books when my doorbell rang. Opening the door, I see two young men in white shirts and ties, both wearing nametags. Now I will preface this by saying that both young men were attractive, but the one guy would have looked great naked in my bedroom. The conversation follows:

Visitor 1: Hello there. We're with the church of Latter Day...
Me: Oh...Mormons! Sorry...I'm a gay atheist, you aren't going to convert me.
Visitor 2: I used to know an atheist back home.
Me: Well, we do get around.
Visitor 1: Can I at least give you some literature?
Me: Sure. (takes pamphlet)
Visitor 2: Is there anything you need done today?
Me: (quickly thinking) Can you pack?

And with that, ladies and gentlemen, the Mormon men packed my books, music, VCR tapes, DVDs, and best of all...my porn collection. Now if only one of them was able to get me a prescription for an antibiotic.

Somebody Kill Me

God? If you are listening, could you please open a hole directly under my feet just large enough to let me fall in and get swallowed up? You've thrown enough at me already, can't you have a little mercy and just let me die already? I have never been more embarrassed in my life as I am now.

Yesterday, while packing my apartment up, my landlord knocked on my door and asked if he could show the apartment at that moment. Some people had seen the "for rent" sign and had inquired about the place. It was up to me, but I agreed, as these landlords have been really cool to me.

The people that came to see the place were a nice straight couple. The woman, probably about 5'9" walked in and remarked at how big the place was. She immediately stepped aside and let her husband walk in. He stood a grand 6'2" tall. Now before you start guessing that I slept with her husband, I didn't. That wouldn't embarrass me anyway.

No…Instead, this man walked into my home and walked into my living room and as he walked through my archway, he bumped his head on my artwork. This is the piece I have hanging from my ceiling.

Not a work safe image.

Now it was bad enough that he hit his head on the dildo hanging from my ceiling, but the damn thing decided to fall to the floor, landing on his sandal clad foot. Do you know how much force a 4 lb dildo has when it falls 7 feet to the floor? It has enough force to have a grown man scream "Ow! Fuck!". As he screamed his little outcry, his wife, my landlord, and this man looked to the floor to see Mr. Happy laying there, hard and ready for use as a doorstop.

Somebody shoot me now!

Be Daring

***Warning to all single men out there…when I am stressed, I get horny. I am really stressed right now.***

I worked a double at the restaurant yesterday, and between the lunch and dinner rushes, I thought of something. Exactly 15 years ago I was doing the exact same thing I am now. Getting ready to move to a new state (from New York to Colorado) and just hoping that once I get to my new residence, I'd be able to find a job quickly. Full circle, except this time I'm not moving to go to college, I'm moving to start over. I'm positive this is the right decision, and I'm moving forward. But I am so stressed about this move, from the packing, to the selling of items, to having to say goodbye.

The other night, I felt a little down, and for really shallow reasons. Looking around the bar, I saw several guys I still had wanted to "have coffee" with before I left town. Some of these guys are men I've never had the courage to approach before (out of my league, unapproachable, no common connections, he doesn't know I exist). I thought for a little bit about this. Whenever I travel, I have no shame. I take the attitude that I will probably never see him again, so I can be as daring as I want, and approach people I normally never would approach. In two weeks, I will likely never see these people again, so I could be as daring as I want...

I wonder how many of these hot guys I can snag in that time...

Spit or Swallow?

I'm so mad I could just spit! Ok, I wouldn't really spit, but not because I'm mad enough. I waited on two homos last night, who ordered an appetizer, two entrees, a salad, and 5 manhattans . Total bill was $81. They left me a tip of $8. Fuckers didn't even leave me 10%, and since I had no other tables at the time, I know they received the proper attention. Bad thing for them that I never forget someone who dicks me over. I will run into those queens in a club some night and will spill a drink on them.

But why don' t I just spit if I'm angry enough? Because I don't know how. My father used to snort like a freaking pig until he had enough snot to hock up a lugi so big it would fill his mouth up. He would then let that thing fly 15 feet, having it land in a slimy mess on the sidewalk. My father would turn to me and give me the expectant look of "top that!" I on the other hand would have been gagging since his first snort (I've gagged twice just typing this) and would be very close to puking upon seeing him launching the slimy missile.

Other men who do this fowl habit have told me that they just "had to". Tell me this. How many 65 year old women do you know will hock up a lugi on the sidewalk? How many women (beyond puberty) do you know would do such a thing?

Now I've had excess saliva while exercising, and I've found it is easier to spit that out than try to swallow it, but when I do so I become the nelly queen. I have to stop whatever I was doing, gather all of the liquid in my mouth and *Petewie * expel it towards the grassy area where I am running. Problem is, I never get it all out. Instead, I have these ropes of saliva that hang from my mouth, get caught in the wind and go flailing about. If I was with someone, they are likely to get splashed as a bystander.

So thus, I can't spit, and I can only swallow. Will this make me popular?

The Abominable Homosexual

I had a brunch date yesterday (I know...another date), with a different type of person. He's newly out and very Catholic, somewhat old fashioned when it comes to dating, which means he's having difficulty finding his place in the gay world . In fact when we met, he asked what I like to do on a first date. Shamus, overhearing the question, had to get up and leave before he burst from laughter. What do I like to do on a first date?…Uh…I'm not answering that.

Thus on our date, the topic of relationships came up over brunch. Now this man has been raised by a very conservative Catholic family. His parents were virgins until married and are still married today. His only examples of relationships in his life have been relationships that are blessed by the church. Something he's finding won't happen with gay relationships.

Where he is finding problems is that promiscuity is pretty rampant in the gay community, even with those who are in relationships. So the two of us began discussing why we think this is the case. I'm doing him an incredible disservice to describe his points, but what he described sounded like "The Abominable Homosexual" (which would make a great blog title). He described gay men who don't subscribe to rules and just do what they want and lose their morality. (Now this may not have been his point, but it was what I was getting from him).

So for the last 24 hours, I've been thinking about this (because it's so much easier than packing my things for moving). Why do so many gay men I know have "open" relationships, or just "play" on the side? In my own relationships (one lasting 6+ years), I insisted that we always use condoms. I could forgive a transgression out of our relationship, but wouldn't be as forgiving if I became infected because of his transgressions.

My theory: Sexual minorities are pushed from the church and are forbidden the confines of marriage and with it, the definitions of what both institutions place on the relationship. Think about it...if married man cheats and his wife finds out, she divorces using a good lawyer and gets a nice alimony check. There are penalties for fucking around when you are straight. Gay people don't really have that. Not happy in the relationship? Move into a new apartment on your own.

But it's more that that. I refuse to believe that married couples aren't bringing home others for the occasional three-way. It's just in the straight world it seems more taboo, and never really discussed outside of the parties involved. With gay men (I can't speak for lesbians), it seems very nonchalant and somewhat the norm. "Oh…you're having a 3-way? With who? Oh…have fun!"

But I still wonder...why do so many gay men "play" on the side?

Strike Out

I got the following letter in the mail.

Dear Mr. Doyle,

Thank you for taking the time to interview with us for our Financial Aid Officer opportunity.

Although your qualifications were impressive, we have chosen a candidate who more closely matches the requirements for the position. We will, however, keep your information on file and contat you should any other opportunities arise.

We appreciate your interest and wish you the best of luck in your future endeavors.

Sincerely,
The Illinois Institute of Art - Chicago

I'm a little bummed. I know that they called my personal references, which means they were interested, but this also means they likely called the last school I worked at. Let's just say that I left the last school on not the best of terms, and I have a feeling that it's going to haunt me now. Shit.

Ah well...here's to moving to The Cape.

The Rules of Servicing

After working another night in the "Restorante di Homo", I've come to realize that the majority of people do not know how to deal with wait staff, and need a little educating. Therefore, to provide a public service to all of you, I've composed a list of rules that should be followed when eating at restaurants.

• If you ask my opinion on what you should order, I will be honest with you. I will tell you what items seem to be very popular with my customers. I, however, am broke and have not eaten anything on this menu as I can't afford it.
  
  
• Please do not complain about the cost of the items on the menu to me. I don't set the prices, nor do I complain about the cost of gasoline to you. If cost is that much of an issue to you, I suggest you cart your cheap ass down to Wendy's where they have an extra value meal.
  
  
• Pet peeve...if you want your check, just say so. Do not hold one hand out and mime writing with your other hand. I fucking hate mimes.
  
  
• If you feel my balls, dick, or ass while I am at your table, you had better damn well put an additional $15 on the table on top of the regular tip. If you tip a stripper for touching the goods, you're tipping me as well mother fucker.
  
  
• Tell me if you are in a rush. That way I can likely talk you out of ordering the well done fillet, and direct you to a time saving chicken breast.
  
  
• Try and tell me all of your table needs at once. I have a memory, and a pen and paper. Bringing one item at a time, and returning to the kitchen for each additional item only will piss me off.
  
  
• You are not my only table. Even if it appears so, I may have other tables in other dining rooms. Do not monopolize my time by having me discuss your travels, sexual desires, my age and relationship status, weather I am a top, bottom, or versatile, or what I think of the current political climate of Israel and the Gaza strip.
  
  
• It's my job to flirt with you. Lines like "What kind of fluids can I pump into you this evening.", "How can I service you?", and "I've never been with a man before." are just lines. Don't take me too seriously, and don't expect me to go home with you. I'm broke enough that I would tell my father he's a great guy if it would get me some extra cash.
  
  
• Whatever you have heard, I have not, nor will I ever, serve a "sneezer" or spit in your food. I'm a professional, and if I don't like you as a customer, I'll just serve you and get past it all, forgetting you 10 minutes after you have left the building.
  
  
• Lastly, I am living off of these tips. When you dine out with a coupon, make sure to tip on the original amount and not the discounted amount.

Duh!

Does this shirt make me look gay?

Pack Rats

Today is the day everything becomes real. I turned in my notice of intent to move to the landlord, making this decision very real and frightening. Somehow, over the past 17 years of living on my own, I have accumulated so much crap, most of which I never noticed until I started going through it.

These are the books I'm putting up for sale.


Jesus...I never thought of myself as a pack rat. My place never looked like it was full but as I am purging for a moving sale, I'm a little surprised at how much I really have.

Is this just me? When you look at your place, do you really have way more than you think?

The Award Goes to...

I'm not going to lie to you…I'm not proud of the moment, but I've been reduced to no other choice, and I deserve a medal for my deeds. I worked a Friday night shift as a waiter at a local gay restaurant. Now not all of the customers are gay, and in fact I actually waited on one straight couple, but the staff of this place is nothing but pure unadulterated homosexual! From the manager to the dishwasher, I've seen more queens in this place than you would see at the Royal Wedding!

But when you have a bunch of gay customers drinking wine and cocktails with dinner, they can tend to get wandering hands. At one table, as I was placing down plates full of mussels, the customer unzipped my pants and proceeded to pull out "Patrick Junior" for the table to examine. Imagine my predicament, Patrick Junior feeling a little shy at the moment, my hands filled with plates of food, and my having a strong desire to pour that food on a customer's head. Sadly, I needed the tip money, so I swallowed my pride. Instead, I pretended I was working for an foreign embassy, and being groped was the traditional greeting. Still I wanted a medal for the work.

Thankfully, the Volleyball league gave me my medal in the form of a trophy. Of course...this trophy is for the fall season, when we actually won games. We had our playoffs yesterday and our final score had us only winning 2 matches the entire spring season. I might need to change the team name to the Bad News Bears.