Attempted Murder

Ok...first...if anyone knows what the hell happened to my template that my posts are moving down so low. If any of you can fix this, I'll sleep with you. Currently I am too exhausted to even think through this code.

Everybody give a shout out. Tunakids are in the house! The tunakids arrived on Monday, and immediately wanted to come up to the restaurant to see me while I was working. TunaGirl and the tunakids wanted to see the Gay tunapet in … the tuna bar (not to be confused with a lesbian bar)?

They made the compromise and decided to visit me for dinner the next day, while I was on break between jobs. Yes, it’s plural now. I picked up a second job at another bar because I wasn’t working nearly enough already. I’d like to say it was for the money, but it was easier to limit my hours at the first place.

The first place I was working has been scheduling me 60-75 hours a week. As a way of limiting how many doubles they could have me do, I picked up a second job much to the chagrin of my slave owning employer. Would you believe that when I told him I had a new job and my set hours, he actually told me we would have to discuss it. What’s to discuss? I have a second job, and these are my hours. Either you give me the time off or I quit. I wanted to kill the man.

Speaking of killing, I think I was nearly witness to a murder this morning. At 7am, the tunakids were running around the house, playing and being loud and generally being kids. In other words, nobody was going to sleep this morning. Tunagirl was keeping composure until a tuna tyke decided to knock on the door and say “Mommy! It’s time to get up!”

The sound that came from behind that door told me it was in my best interest to stay in bed with the covers over my head. Everyone knows that the gay tunapet is always the first to get kicked when a tuna gets pissed off. I’d like to say that she got out the wrong side of the bed, but I think that child this morning pushed her off the wrong side of the planet. Someone needs a nap today.

Getting My Needs Met

It's been a while since I got laid. Since the guy with the shower (although the shower was much better than the sex). Mostly I've not had the energy to do anything because I'm working over 60 hours a week, but also because I wasn't meeting any people really.

This past Friday, I met a man at my bar who asked me out. Besides the fact that he's really buff (I'd say about 4% body fat), he's been a bit much. Probably because he decided to profess his love for me after drinking 3 of my martinis (My drinks and I have a lot in common. Both are very stiff). I think I'm throwing him back into the ocean for someone else to catch him.

So Sunday, I waited on three guys, who I am going to call Blonde Cubed. I was slammed at the bar, so I couldn't really talk much with them, but as it started to slow down, they asked me what my schedule was. We ended the conversation with "maybe I'll see you out on the town somewhere". They came back to visit twice.

Last night, having the evening off, Karen and I went for a night on the town (read drink alcohol like it's water in the desert), only to run into Blonde Cubed. Apparently, two of the blonds were twin brothers. Twins! Do you know how many fantasies I could resolve in one weekend with these men? All I could think of this morning was, WHY DIDN'T WE BRING A CAMERA?!?!?

Once again...whenever you need a camera, you never have one around.

A bad joke

No...it's not my life.

What does Cher and Cape Cod have in common this summer?

Neither are fucking sunny.

edited

Today's original post is being edited as a peace keeping method for the Middle east. In other words, I'll explain later when I get off work tonight.

Wouldn't you fall for this face?

Hey Guys! Tuna Girl here again.

Patrick has been working an ungodly amount of hours at the bar so he asked me to guest blog again.

I think this will ensure that he never asks me to blog for him ever again.



Okay. I have a whole folder full of blackmail photos of Patrick. And I could spend all day just posting them to his blog. But none of them are explicit and I do have a point here.

When Patrick asked me to blog, he actually gave me a topic to discuss. He's been asking me and some other friends, "Why do these guys fall in love with me before they even know me?"

His friend from the restaurant told him that it is because he is the bartender. And I see her point. But this is clearly not a new thing for Patrick.

At present, he has more slips of paper with men's phone numbers sitting on our kitchen counter than I have sex toys. And that's saying a lot!

But some of these guys aren't just slipping them his number for a date, or a hook-up, or to get to know a new friend. Some of these guys are already planning their futures with him.

Take Buff Man from the other night, for example. You can read about him here on my blog.

He's spent the last few night's drinking and professing his love at Patrick's bar. Now, take my word for it, people. This man is hot! He can't have more than 2 or 3 percent body fat. He's tan. He's handsome. He's a bit older but he has that sexy gray sideburn thing going on.

He's also completely head over heals in love with our boy Patrick.

I stopped by the bar last night to decompress from a craptastic day, and Buff Man decided to try and get in good with the fag hag. He told me all about how he's never pursued a man before. He usually let's the hot ones come to him. He told me how Patrick is so handsome and has such a beautiful smile, that it doesn't matter that he doesn't have six-pack abs. *ahem* He told me how he was going to get him a new job and how he didn't want him to ever have to work so hard again. He told me how his friends will love Patrick so much.

And he told me how Patrick understands him and their future plans.

Patrick doesn't even know his last name.

They haven't even been out on a date.

And Buff Man topped off the night by asking Patrick if he wanted to have kids. And then informing him that they would have kids that were really theirs.

Oh no Buff Man! Stop! You're drowning here.

As the hour grew later and Buff Man and I were the only ones in the bar, Buff Man literally tried to drag me out of the place. He wanted to know exactly what I was waiting for.

Well, I was waiting to be Patrick's convenient and requested excuse not to go home with Drunk Buff Man.

"You're not going to get anything from him, you know," Buff Man told me. "He's not straight."

Well, thanks for the news bulletin there, Drunk Boy. I think I figured that out the last time I watched him make out with a man.

But, what is it that makes these men fall in love with Patrick before they even know about the scar on his ass? (Not that I've seen the ass scar, but I've heard the story.)

Buff Drunk Man informs me that it is because he has "something, I don't know, something that I can see, something that, um, I don't know..."

"His inner beauty just shines right through," I supplied for my slurring new bestest friend. "And he has a hot ass."

"Yes!" Buff Drunk Man agreed.

Maybe Buff Hopefully Sober Man will find out Patrick's last name before he proposes marriage.

I wonder if he'll bring a wedding ring on their date tonight.

Proposing a Toast

The other night, Karen and I each ordered 150 year old Grand Marnier. This is the woman who found a Screwdriver to be strong. Sensing that she needed a little coaxing to taste it, I offered a lame toast for her to drink to. She said I’d have to do better this time.

So if you would all please raise your glass (or coffee mugs):

To Karen, the woman who has given me the opportunity to change my life, when such opportunity no longer existed. You finally gave me a little hope and I am now indebted to you.

To her skills at being a parent. She’s taught her daughter compassion and understanding that I’ve never seen in a child that age. And I quote her daughter here. “Grandma, mommy is going to Cleveland to help Patrick Move because he is really sad. We love Patrick”

Her son, at such a young age, still always remembers to say please and thank you, even to the wait staff who serve him a meal.

To her skills at being a daughter. When her mother visited and was ready to drive poor Karen through the roof, she still kept her cool, but stood her ground on the important issues. Nobody pushes around Karen…nobody.

She’s a workhorse. While other people may decide to rest on their vacations, she had cleaned rooms, prepared walls for painting, and purged this house for our upcoming repainting of the living room and back bedrooms and bath.

To her sense of humor, that allows me to make fun of her during her “monthly visitor” and know that she takes it all in pure jest. This same humor allows me to put my arm around her while mattress shopping, only to have her tell the sales person she would need to check with her husband.

To her abilities of being a wife. I can only say, I hope when Tuna Hubby gets here, my ears don’t burn off. He’s going to be a very tired man.

And lastly, to her abilities of being a friend. For the first time in a very long time, I’ve not felt alone, and I owe a lot of that to her.

One More Reason

Two boys were sitting outside the house one hot summer day very bored when their father gave them $10 to go have some fun. The younger of the two had an idea how to spend the money and ran off to the grocery store, only to come back with a package of Maxi-Pads.
The older boy scolded the younger. “That was supposed to be our fun money. What are we supposed to do with these?”
The younger boy replied,” It says on the box. You can go running, horseback riding, swimming…”

Apparently that isn’t quite true. Yesterday, TunaGirl and I went to the beach for a little day in the sun (where I fell asleep from exhaustion). At one point, I suggested we go into the water for a little swim. She looked at me aghast and indicated that she wasn’t able to. She and the ocean right now have something in common as both are having a “Red Tide”.

“Why can’t you go swimming?” I asked.
“Because I’m wearing a pad.” She answered.
“So”.
“They’re absorbent”.
“So if you go into the water, the entire ocean is going to be absorbed into the pad, causing sea life everywhere to suffocate? The shoreline is going to resemble a tidal wave as you come sloshing out of what was the water?”

Reason number 27 I'm glad I’m not a woman.

Walking on Cellophane

Time is beginning to fly. I’ve been here nearly a month now, and the customers at the bar are providing me the most interesting fodder for both my writing and for my comedy. This lifestyle is a very romantic one. Work all hours (I’ve got over 130 hours clocked in over the last two weeks), make money, and hang out in a gay beach town where the men are some of the hottest and horniest I have ever seen, even exceeding my horny desires.

For the first time in about a year, I feel very stable. I also know I shouldn’t. I’m walking on cellophane right now. This is a temporary solution that will get me where I want to go, and every time one of the restaurant managers pisses me off, I have to keep telling myself that by fall I’ll be relocating to another area starting over with the money that I’ve earned. That’s the brass ring on this merry-go-round. Knowing that I start over again in the fall is what is making things still a bit scary. That’s when it becomes sink or swim time again.

This of course could be nothing more than the lack of sleep talking here, as I’ve only had about 3 hours of sleep a night for the last 2 weeks. I’m off today. I think I’ll go to the beach and take a nap. Unless that hot customer I served last night is at the beach as well.

It Says it All

A Scary Place

Last night, I was witness to one of the most frightening sights known to mankind. If you are under the age of 18, I ask that you please not read any further. Those of you who dare to read on, you do so at your own risk.

Yesterday night I saw gay karaoke.

I know, what was I thinking? It had to be the cosmopolitans we had been drinking. Karen picked me up at The Patio restaurant at the end of my shift and we planned on going to dinner. We would have gone right there but one of my customers asked me out for a drink beforehand, and me not being one to pass up a date, I agreed. Make sure to ask Karen about her going on a date with me.

Now if you ask her, I was forcibly pouring the white chocolate martini down her throat when she arrived. Audibly shuddering from the alcohol content of baileys Irish Cream, Godiva White Chocolate Liquor, amaretto, and Kahula, the woman began to giggle like a school girl, and I let the man know that she would be coming along on our date. I think what I said was "meet me in the bathroom".

Karen and I left the date and we went to a different restaurant for dinner. This is where she spoke to both her husband and her parents on the phone while intoxicated. She's learning a lot with me, as she didn't slur a word. Sensing that it would be best after dinner to take a little time to sober up before going home, we went to the video bar next door. Actually, our hot waiter told me he was going to be there, so it was in my best interest to stop by and wait for him to get off. Huh. Bad choice of words there. How about..."wait until he arrived".

Now I seriously tried to get Karen to sing on stage, but no amount of alcohol would have gotten her to do so. In fact, I couldn't even get her to think about it. I did promise her that by the end of the summer, I'll have her drunk enough to sing "Like a Virgin" while rolling around on the bar floor.

She said "Only if you do it first". Since I haven't been like a virgin for a very long time, I figured it may be more appropriate to think of a different song that I could sing. What song is appropriate for a horned up boy next door type?

Of course, that I am even considering singing at a gay karaoke bar says that I might have had more to drink than I thought last night.

Is It Wrong???

As I have mentioned before, I have no hot water at this point (although as I type this, the gas man is installing the gas meter). Therefore, I have not had a real shower since May 21st. I have had sponge baths from coffee maker water, but not a real shower, which I miss terribly. So I took matters in my own hands. Is it wrong that I hooked up with a total stranger strictly for the use of his shower afterwards?

Friday night, I couldn't take it anymore and since I was off from work (something my frat boy boss thinks I prefer over making Friday night money. Don't get me started), I took some of my customer's advice and went to a gay bar in the Hyannis area of the Cape. I was there for a total of 30 minutes before he came up to me. I let him make the first move (A good girl makes them come to her), and we exchanged the preliminaries. He's an art teacher, I'm a bartender. After having the initial beers and conversation he asked if I wanted to come back and see his sketches. Sketches? Does it involve hot water, a loofa and some quality soap?

I followed him back to his place and all the while thought to myself, "Just how fast can I have sex with this guy so that I can grab a shower afterwards?" We arrived at his condo, and I followed him into his place. How can I describe this? His kitchen walls were wallpapered with pictures cut from porno magazines. Not any wall space was left uncovered. I almost called the deal off until I asked if I could use his bathroom (strictly to case the shower facilities out). His bathroom fixtures were the "bold look of Kohler", and I figured I can look past the 300+ porn magazines sitting on the bench in front of the toilet.

I exited the bathroom and suddenly he looked attractive to me. About as attractive as a bubble bath after a long hard day at work. I approached him, took him into my arms, and began to kiss him as I thought to myself, "Calgon! Take me away" I honestly think I could hear the shower body gel calling my name as things became more intimate. That was when he started to jump for joy.

I'm serious.

He literally jumped up and down on his feet for joy. Obviously this guy spends way too much time at home alone masturbating and not enough time getting laid, so that when it actually happens he jumps up and down in excitement. Normally I would have found this to be such a turn off. Actually, what am I saying. It was a turn off. All I could do was focus on the shower that would follow after the event. Sex in this case was going to be my foreplay, and for the first time, I didn't want much foreplay. I just wanted the fucking shower!

Things progressed and I learned to call this guy a new name. Hoover. I call him that because he planted his mouth on my left nipple and sucked so hard, I think he was trying to rip it off with his suction power. I guided his head away from my still today very tender area and decided it was time to be a time saver. "Let's get in the shower," I suggested.

You know, for getting a shower, I feel kind of dirty.

Raising the Bar

I can't believe it's been nearly two weeks since I first got here. Having not blogged so much, I've feel like I've been neglecting a part of myself, and I have so much to write about.

Heat:
I don't know if I mentioned this, but I have no heat or hot water yet. The work crews are working on installing a natural gas line to the house, but during that nasty northeaster, I had to use a space heater to keep warm. The other day, I was just finishing my sponge bath (made from water from the coffee maker and microwave) when I walked into the kitchen naked to get my work clothes for the day. I rounded the corner to see three workmen standing there. Now if my life was a real porn, those guys would have said "Dude, it is hot!" and their clothes would have started coming off. Instead these guys just stared. Apparently, in the Southern Cape, A/C guys aren't gay (although are hot enough to do porn).

Sadism:
I have to go to the fucking dentist. Yesterday while brushing my teeth, my tooth with the bad cavity actually broke. I knew it was bound to happen, but I was hoping to have earned enough money to pay for it. Instead my ex is going to charge it on his card and I will reimburse him, thus being indebted to him just a little bit longer than I already am. To prepare for this dental trip, I've already taken two bootlegged Valium this morning.

A Real Mother
Somehow, I have gotten TunaGirl's voice stuck in my head and I can't get it out. Anytime I do something that she wouldn't approve of, I hear her voice actually in my head screaming. I made it 35 years without a mothers voice stuck in my brain, and three visits in person with her and I turn into freaking Norman Bates!
Case in point: While walking down the one road of P-Town, I had to go the bathroom very badly. The nearest restroom was 15 more blocks away, and if I kept pressing on my bladder every once in a while, I thought I might make it. Instead, a man in his 40's stopped me to ask me if I was having a good vacation. While constantly shifting my weight, I stated I was working in town, and tried to politely end the conversation. He wanted to talk more, so he suggested a cup of tea at his place just down the block. I looked him up and down, figured I could take him if he was a psychopath and said sure (knowing a bathroom would be near.) The whole walk to his place I heard Tuna screaming from Louisiana. After using his bathroom, I heard her scream again as I accepted his tea.
All I'm going to say is, bathroom necessities trump safety in my book.

Wealthy Homos
Apparently, Provincetown has quite a bit of wealthy homosexuals, and many have come to have drinks in the bar. This has become very interesting to me.

A recent conversation:

Guy who makes my loins flutter: I'm an emergency medical doctor. I work in Seattle during the year, but I own a house in Provincetown. I spend my summers here. What about you?

Patrick (Remembering that a small house in Provincetown costs 500k): I'm single. I've moved around a lot before living in Cleveland for 4 years. I'm single. I'm living in South Dennis for the summer. I'm single. I'm more of a top, but you can persuade me. I'm single and I hear that Seattle is beautiful in the fall. (flutters eyelashes)

Here's hoping the rest of the summer is going to be as much fun as this week has been.

Everything I need to know in life...

...I learned from Patrick.

Tuna Girl here.

Since Patrick has been working his fingers to the bone to make money (or maybe I should say working his bone for tips) these last few days, he hasn't had time to blog. So this morning, during his daily drive to Provincetown, he asked me to fill in for a day.

I think it was about a year ago that I wrote in my blog that I suspected Patrick may be as sexed up as I am. And that is saying a hell of a lot.

In the intervening year, as I've gotten to really know him and develop an amazing friendship, he has proven me absolutely right.

But knowing Patrick has taught me other things too. Invaluable things that can really shape a life.

For example, he has taught me how to dress. Because when you're best friend says, "Sweetie, you dress like a lesbian", well, there is just no ignoring that.

And in teaching me how to dress, he has taught me the power of my boobs. I'd rather just ignore that they existed. But somehow he convinces me to do things. And I spent many a night out in the Cleveland bars with my cleavage all sparkly and proud. Of course my boobs got molested and doused, but I also got a lot of free drinks.

Speaking of which, Patrick also taught me how to drink. He started me off in NYC in December with training wheels (aka Amaretto Sours). And he moved me up to intermediate over my birthday week when he forced me to drink shots and Cosmopolitans.

And while out in the bars, he taught me how to be graciously molested. I have to tell you, I've never seen one man get grabbed so much as Patrick did when we went out. I'd say that it's his booty that draws the boys like honey, but I suspect that it may be what he's packing in front too. (Though I only suspect. I haven't actually seen. Well, not really anyway. Only once, by accident. And I covered my eyes!)

And speaking of my friend's dick, does anyone remember Mr. Happy. I don't know how to make a work safe link, so you're just going to have to imagine the huge dick that he has hanging from the ceiling. (By the way, my first comment when I saw Mr. Happy in person: "It's not that big! I could take it.") Well, he used Mr. Happy and a squirt of lube to teach me his secret, ummm, handshake. Hot damn, but my husband is going to be glad I have a gay friend.

And last, but far from least, when it comes to getting things done Bitchy Queen trumps Happy Housewife every time. You're just going to have to trust me on this one.

Oh, and by the way, now that I have his blog username and password, well....payback is a bitch, Baby!