Boldly Moving into the New Year!

I've been a bartender off and on now for 18 years, which means that I'm very able to strike up conversations with strangers. It's part of the job requirement, followed by pouring a good drink and making sure people don't drive home drunk. Add to it that I'm Irish, and have the "gift of the gab" and it's easy to talk to any random person. Unless I'm on the other side of the bar. I hate going to bars by myself and will avoid doing so most of the time. Especially if they are crowded.

Yet I do go every once in a while, and almost every time I enter the same way. Walk into the bar, looking at all the faces as if I am looking for a particular friend. Realize that they are not there, so I the check the cell phone (like I'm checking the time or for messages) before ordering a drink. Then the game begins. Every time I feel stupidly alone, check the phone for a message and look towards the door (like that imaginary person is going to show up). This can be repeated every 10 minutes or so, but after 30 minutes, it has to stop. Otherwise you look like a fool still waiting for the person who stood you up.

I end up looking like that fool, thus I rarely go to bars by myself. Except for the other day. I was planning on meeting friends at a club at 7pm, but found myself in the vicinity at 5. I could have gone home, waited 30 minutes and then got back onto a subway to return, or tough it out and go wait in a bar. I chose the unhealthy option of waiting in a bar.

Now some gay bars will be packed by 5:15, as the after work crowd goes for the famed "happy hour" (an untruth as the specials last until 8pm). This particular bar wasn't the case, and by 5:30, the vast bar had possibly 30 people in it. I surveyed the crowd and realized that the man next to me was staring. Caught, he introduced himself.

"Sean" is an architect, and works in the city. Good looking, he stood at 5'9", and from the way his clothes fit, it was obvious he attends a gym regularly. We started talking about our backgrounds, movies we both liked, art, travel (he's been to Africa) and a number of other things. Our bar stools were moving closer as we continued our conversation, and that familiar sexual tension was beginning to build. Of course we were drinking, but not heavily. Rather we were both still nursing our first drinks of the night, although his drink was almost empty. I debated ordering another round when he made his move.

Placing his hand on my inner thigh, he laid a condom and a lube packet on the bar in front of me, and said:

"I'm going to go into the bathroom and wait in the very last stall for the next five minutes. If you were to take those two items and follow me in there, it would be worth your while."

I stared at the package, my mouth a little slack jawed, as he got up and walked into the bathroom.

What would you have done?

Happy Endings!

Love is a four letter word describing an emotion. A fabulous, wonderful, strenuous, difficult, mind-fuck of an emotion each of us would do anything to experience just once (where we actually get it right).

Most of us are told as children that someday we will meet the one that is going to be with us forever. It's something we learn to grow up believing and for some people, this is the truth. Yet a quick look into the majority of marriages in the 70's or later shows an abundance of divorce rates and single parent households. Prince charming may be out there, but likely wasn't the guy who knocked up your mom. He is more likely mom's second, or third,...or 17th husband (in my case).

However most of us (myself included) hold onto the hope of meeting a "Prince Charming". The person who makes your heart beat faster when they are near and makes you forget that anyone else is around. That romantic lead who calls to ask you about your day, cooks you a spectacular meal, and wants you to know him better than he knows himself. The one who shares your life with you.

But what if Prince Charming really is only a fairy tale? At what point or age does a person need to look at life realistically and say: "This is it. No fairy tale ending. I'm destined to be alone, and need to make the best of it". Yes, it's cynical, but the statistics show that the longer you're single, the more likely it is you will stay that way. Why? I'm not sure. Call it being damaged goods, or that all the good ones already taken, or whatever other cliche you can possibly think of to describe the situation. But if you're in your 30's and not dating...you're in a big club. Is it eventually time to give up hope?

Not that anything is wrong with being alone. Men who never marry become "lifelong bachelors" and "playboys", while women unfairly become "old maids" and "spinsters". I like my life, and I value my friends more than my actual family, but being the single guy at certain times is a bit daunting. One can only go on so many bad dates before teh question of dating at all is pondered.

Do I belive in happy endings? Yes, but I think they may need redefined to represent illegal massage parlours.

WTF?

Christmas has come and gone! You can all breathe a sigh of relief knowing that you have 364 more shopping days until the beast of a holiday is upon us once again.

I do hope you all had a great holiday. I awoke very early Christmas Eve and went for a short 2 mile run before going to the Whole Foods market to get my Christmas Eve dinner before the crowds arrived. Last year, the line was nearly 100 people long by mid afternoon, and avoiding that crowd was my main priority.

The person who worked behind the food counter listened to my request for sweet potatoes and went above and beyond by not only pureeing them, but also my cranberry sauce and my filet mignon (so I could actually eat it). Yes, folks, I planned on eating well for Christmas Eve. My menu was planned, and I walked back home along Broadway stopping for some candles along the way. I dropped off my groceries and while putting away my purchases and realized that I had forgotten the milk. Coat back on, I headed to the market at around 2pm.

At this time, the grocery store resembles the stock exchange. People are rushing everywhere, lines are immense, and the final stress of the holidays is hitting. Which was exactly what happened. Over by the cut watermelon, two women got into an argument over a particular container (although more containers were right next to it). The argument very quickly escalated until one woman actually took a swing at the other.

Immediately the store was transported back to a school yard and a ring of people formed around the "cat fight" until security could escort the two out of the building. We all went back to our shopping.

What brings people to such stress over the holidays that they would actually get into a fight for food in a grocery store? Who thinks they got coal this year? And most importantly, who eats watermelon on Christmas? WTF?

Blue Christmas

I'll have a blue Christmas without you


I'll be so blue just thinking about you


Decorations of red on a green christmas tree


Won't be the same dear, if youre not here with me


I'll have a blue, blue, blue Christmas.



I'll have a blue Christmas without you


I'll be so blue just thinking about you


Decorations of red on a green christmas tree


Won't be the same dear, if youre not here with me


I'll have a blue, blue, blue Christmas.


And when those blue snowflakes start falling


Thats when those blue memories start calling


Youll be doin all right, with your christmas of white


But I'll have a blue, blue blue blue christmas

Pacific Rim

I'm an ass man...or at least I'm supposed to be as my sexual talents place me in the top bunk at a sleepover (call it control issues), but when I find a man attractive, it's rarely the ass I notice first, but rather his face. Eyes, nose, jawline, sideburns, teeth...they all do it for me. Rarely do I notice the ass first, except yesterday, while finishing my Christmas shopping.

First of all...Amazon sucks my ass. I ordered something for the Tunadaughter online and out of the blue I get an email saying her present won't arrive until February 27th. That's nearly my birthday! Fuck that...thus I cancelled the order. Now I knew where I needed to go, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it, so instead, I entered the Barnes and Noble bookseller. Wandering the children's section, I searched for an appropriate book.

Do you ever notice how childless people are treated in the children sections of the bookstores? It's like the sales people and other parents watch every single move you make, in the event you are a predator. It's like being in a group shower in the gym and watching all the guys looking to see who's not keeping their eyes to themselves. I wasn't finding anything, and was tired of having the sales people follow me around, thus I left for the bad place.

I went to the most unholy of all places. FAO Schwartz toy store...the week before Christmas! You might as well sent me to the fires of Murdor to destroy the "One Ring" (which they sell there for $400). Running everywhere, were whiney, snot nosed, screaming that they "can't live without" that children. I was in hell, and hating every moment of it. I purchased the game "Operation" and bolted out of the store, hopefully knocking over a demanding spoiled brat on my way out the door. Lots of kids deserve coal this year.

Relaxing as I deeply inhaled the car and exhaust fumes of the city, I realized I was standing in front of the Apple store, where I could easily get an I-tunes gift card. How hard could it be, right? Walk right in, grab a card and make the purchase. Yeah right. On a normal day that would be the case, but this is the week before Christmas and people are fighting for that new Ipod.

I walked into the glass enclosed cube, and made my way down the high tech looking glass stairway. I love the use of the modern materials and found a pit of hell in the basement. People were every where, and checkout lines had at least 60 people waiting. I grabbed the gift card and waited patiently to pay for my purchase. Cut to a year older, when I finally had my receipt in hand, I pushed and shoved my way base to the staircase. About two steps up, the guy in front of me tripped on the steps and just caught himself in time. For that brief moment, all people in the store had disappeared, and all that was still in existence was me, and the most perfect ass in front of me.

I was speechless. Khaki covered and perfectly sculpted, you could have bounced a quarter off of the supple cheeks that had enough lift that to pass the pencil test. I realized that the new Trojan war will start over this perfect "Helen" and that I had now been blessed by his beauty. I would never be the same. My eyes traced the back of his buttock and down his muscular legs to the calf I so wanted to trace with my tongue. This guy had to be a runner with calves like that.

I secretly dreamed of holding that calf in the air and kissing the inside of his knee as I brought this man to a whole new level of pleasure. I was intent on making sure his needs were met, and this was all within the few seconds of seeing him. I knew I wanted to see more, and looked forward to seeing him at the top of the stairs, but for now I continued to enjoy the view in front of me.

That was when I tripped on the circular stairs. Who the fuck designs circular stairs made of GLASS? YOU CAN BARELY SEE THEM! As I fell forward, I tried to grab the railing, but my hand was holding the present for Tunadaughter. Instead I still fell forward, until my face landed squarely into the object I had been worshipping only a moment before.

Yes, my face landed right into his ass.

The world changes when you have a face full of Ambercrombi and Fitch khaki pants. Things get peaceful...the just before the tsunami hits, or the earthquake happens. Everything grew quiet. The scent of fabric softener (thankfully) penetrated my nostrils and I tried to get my footing back. A person walking down the stairs helped me stand back up and reality came crashing back. The guy in front of me had also been knocked over by my kissing his ass, so I helped him up as well.

All I could think was "So sorry. I wasn't planning on rimming you yet", but instead I just offered an "I'm sorry" as the perfect sculpted ass walked the rest of the way up the stairs.

Good-night, good-night! parting is such sweet sorrow
That I shall say good-night till it be morrow.

Visuals

The first post I had composed today was way too morose, and I realized it's likely the holiday blues that have kicked in. Instead I decided to try again and write about the Gay Erotic Expo that I attended on Sunday (the Lord's day).

What can I say? I know.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! I saw a lot of pee pee!

Now where's my Purell?

They Are Big Today

Recently, I had met someone, who had found himself single once again. Flirtations were exchanged, things were progressing pleasantly, and I suddenly found my hand being held. He was a "nice guy" (do they exist?). But as the night progressed, it was fairly obvious that he was still hung up on his Ex. Thus he started to balk. The ending of the conversation went like this:

Him: I'm sorry. I feel like I was leading you on.
Me: Sweetie, if I really wanted you...I'd have had you about three hours ago.


Look out folks...I'm having a "balls the size of Volkswagons" kind of day.

Exposing My Head

Sunday, I signed up at one of the local comedy clubs to do a "Panic Attack". Basically, you show up at the club at 9:00 in the morning and are given a topic (of which all the comedians are given the same topic). Twelve hours later, the comedian is expected to do a 10 minute set based on that topic. Fairly easy and straight forward, except the "fun" is watching the comedians fail and thus the topics aren't easy. I can think of a million topics that would be fun to work from.

"Christmas Beverages" is not one of them.

I went back to my apartment, with my topic pressing upon my mind, and stared at a blank computer screen, but I couldn't come up with anything. I then called Tuna. She suggested Elf Cum. Trying to tie elf cum, egg nog, and chest pains together, I placed the whole idea on the back "elf burner", and went off to work out. Working out, sometimes helps me think. However, after three hours of trying to think of things, the only idea that kept creeping back in my head was the 12 Pains of Christmas.

The second thing at Christmas that is such a pain to me.
Hangovers.

So I had to pursue it. I started out by going to the bar down the street and ordering a beer. Why do so many of us get hungover during the holiday season? Because it's a holiday, and that means dealing with our families. Nothing makes me want to drink more than seeing my grandmother. Put my mother in the mix and I'm going to need a Xannax (perhaps a fist full of Xannax). I had another beer.

Most people however don't have families like I have, although married couples do have in-laws, and let's face it...In-law and Vodka have the same number of letters for a reason. And to me...nothing says "Christmas beverage" better than a drink the Russians perfected. Really. Everything tastes better with vodka. Cranberry Juice, orange juice, gingerale...ice. I ordered another beer.

Yet I felt this tangent was leading away from my original topic (or the fact that I had now had 3 beers and was feeling a buzz), so I decided to go browse the stores looking for Christmas beverage ideas. First hit was Williams Sonoma, where they are selling Egg Nog pancakes. I also remembered seeing egg nog flavored coffee and egg nog lattes. This was a genius idea! I love Egg Nog! It's better than sex (or at least it tastes better) and if it wasn't for the 10 million calories per cup, I'd switch it for milk. Just the thought of hot chocolate egg nog or steamed egg nog makes me more than just a little warm inside. Nay...almost aroused. I realized that most recipes that call for milk could be substituted for egg nog, like an egg nog flavored cheesecake, or egg nog flavored cookies. And who wouldn't like a little egg nog on their cornflakes? Or egg nog mashed potatoes?

With my mouth watering, while walking in the store, I realized that well...I had nothing, and only had about 6 hours to go. So I winged it.

Thankfully, I wasn't the worst on stage that night.

I need a drink. Anybody got some Egg Nog?

Sigh

I had a totally different post ready in my head (about a comedy show I did last night), which I was going to post today...but alas, my mindset has completely changed. Over a freaking naval orange.

The last time I ate solid food was September 15th. Today is December 11th and I tried to eat an orange. Although I swallowed the orange, it is not reaching my stomach and I've been puking small chunks of orange back up for over an hour now.

I miss eating.

Rumor Control

With all the photos were taken at an event last night, my publicist thinks I should do a little rumor control. Any information you may have heard regarding me making out with a 19 year old last night are completely fabricated, and as of yet, I have not been added to his Myspace page, nor have I met his 3 roommates that share the 2 bedroom apartment in the East Village. And although you may hear rumors that the roommates and I had a pancake breakfast together in the morning after the prior mentioned 19 year old woke them all up with his moaning, it would be just that...a rumor.

I hope I've cleared up any misconceptions you may have. Thank you.

Grimace and Bear It

***Say Cheese***

After reading a bit of this website, you may find it strange that I am a very private person, and that my invasion of privacy is something I take very seriously. Yes this website does release personal information about me, but all material posted on this site has been run by my "Press Agent" (which really is my own brain, but sounds so much cooler). I choose how much of my privacy I am willing to give up.

***Smile for the camera***

In college, I had a professor once give a lecture while a camera crew was filming. He was planning on using the film for a commercial regarding the college, yet what infuriated me the most was that he never asked his class if they would mind being videotaped. I did, and anytime the camera was focused in my direction, I had my middle finger promptly pointing skyward (hopefully ensuring I would be edited out).

***Strike a pose***

My current day job puts me in a similar situation. During the year, we hold events that we want to document with photographs. These photographs could be used in future promotional materials, or annual reports, or a number of other things. Therefore, we hire a photographer who will wander the event taking candid and posed shots, and I always know where the photographer is. I hate having my picture taken without my express consent, and I'm a master at avoiding the photographer.

***Nice shot...Don't move***

Friends can take my photo, and I have no problem with it, as I know they aren't selling them or making any money from them. However, when I "make it" (and I will), they'd be crazy not to sell those photos of me wearing just the pink tutu and coconut bra.

But for whatever reason, events like today really tick me off. I feel cornered and somewhat threatened by my having to submit to photos I'd rather not have taken of me. But for the sake of remaining employed, I grimace and bear it. For now.


How about you? Do you like having your picture taken?

Sticks and Stones

A few years ago, I thought I had heard the worst insult to ever come my way.

A guy (who I really had no interest in) came up to me and leaned against the pool table as he looked me up and down. He then cleared his throat, looked me in the eye and said "I just want you to know that looks don't matter to me".

***blank stare***

Sadly, he thought he was being genuine. Rarely am I speechless, but that moment was one where I couldn't even think of a snarky comment.

It doesn't get much worse, or so I thought. Earlier this month, I was at the Gay Community Center for FARB's book reading. While during the reception, I was speaking to a group of people. The one guy looked at me and said:
"Wow. Now that I took my glasses off, you're much cuter."

***Blank Stare***

Apparently I'm a Monet. Better looking when blurry.

Once again, I was left a little speechless, but this past Monday, I was asked by the management of the restaurant how I was doing health wise. Her exact words were: "How are you feeling? You look like you've gained a little weight."

Huh. So now I look fat and blurry. If you excuse me...I'm going to find a plastic surgeon that has discount rates for multiple surgeries.

I Told You So!

Family is a real bitch sometime (or at least mine can be), but regardless...we're stuck with them. We turn to them when we need something (like a reduction in our self esteem or a reason for therapy). Not you? Have you met my grandmother?

My Ex is the only person I've ever dated who has met the grandmother. He secretly calls her "Cuntora, the Bad Witch". They hated each other at the first meeting, but the Ex is diplomatic enough to keep the peace. After 4 years...she actually started to send him Christmas cards and birthday cards (always signed Patrick's Grandmother).

Eventually she even made him a plate of her famous Christmas cookies (although never as popular as mom's pot brownies). She grew to accept the guy.

Yet I have a confession here. All of my family knows that the Ex and I went our separate ways years ago...except my grandmother. Of course, now I ask myself why? We originally thought "Why upset her?" But in reality I don't think it's the real reason.

Admitting failure is such a pain in the ass, and failed relationships are the worst. It's hard enough admitting it to each other that it's over, but having to tell your friends and family feels nearly shameful. And it's natural for people to inadvertently gloat, although my grandmother has never inadvertently did anything. All this time, I've just not wanted to deal with hearing "I knew it would never last."

That, and I like getting his plate of Christmas cookies.

Funny?

The funny thing about guest blogging?

People still ask me to do it.

Luckily she's all the way on the West coast. I've got time to hide.

God? I Need a Man!

Everyday when I get home, I have the same routine. Walk into the apartment, put the bag down, take off the shoes and hang up my coat. Then change my clothes so that I can get the smell of "work" off of me, turn on the radio and take a deep breath to relax from the day.

Yesterday, I had an adjustment to my regular routine. I was about to turn on the radio, when I heard the squeaking sound of the mouse living under my radiator. The next thing I remember was that I was standing on the opposite side of the apartment. Yeah...I don't like this new roommate. I looked at the radiator, and goose bumps formed on my arms.

Something looked different though, and I realized...the mouse was once again stuck to the glue trap. I walked over to my bottle of scotch (which I keep for medicinal purposes only) and poured myself a hefty glass, which I quickly swallowed in two gulps. I then sat on the floor across the apartment from the radiator and attempted to get my courage up.

I'm one to pride myself on being fairly independent. I'm a firm believer in that I have to take care of myself. I don't need a man to take care of me. In prior relationships, it's been the deal killer when men want to take on that role. An offer of help is fine, but don't try to take care of me. That philosophy, was thrown out. "God! I need a man!" I thought. It's the man's job to kill the bugs and remove the dead rodents!

Three hours later, I was able to move closer to the radiator and with a flashlight, able to see the furry rodent (who was no longer moving) on the glue trap. All I had to do was find something small to stick under the radiator and pull the trap out. Put the trap in the trash and take the trash out.

You might as well ask me to solve a Rubick's Cube puzzle, but like it or not, I was going to have to do it. Mainly because I had called nearly every person I knew that lived close and nobody was answering. I looked at my computer and considered placing an advertisement on Craigslist.

Want to get off?
GWM, 36, talented top, hot bubble butt bottom, and insatiable in the sack, looking for someone who's got the courage needed. I've got a dead mouse in a trap in my place. You come here and get rid of it, and in return, you can have me anyway you want and need. 5 minutes of work, and 12 hours of pleasure. It's a good pay-"off", and you will be paid handsomely.

I won't post the picture I thought of using, but in the end I couldn't bring myself to place the ad.

Instead I took another swig of the scotch (this time from the bottle). I took a pen from the drawer, and pulled the trap out into the open. All the while I was chanting "oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god...". God didn't answer my prayers. The mouse did.

It twitched.

I screamed and ran to the front door.

The fucker wasn't dead yet! I went over to the trash bag and put the bag over my entire arm, placed the bag over the dying mouse and trap, and picked up both with the bag. I used a 15 gallon trash bag for a 2 inch long mouse. I don't think the bag was big enough.

I tied several knots in the bag and ran to the front door, pulling with all my strength to open it quickly. Not very good since I didn't unlock it yet, but my mind was in panic mode and I quickly unlocked and ran the bag down the flight of stairs, out the front hallway and put mouse, trap, and garbage bag in the trash bin.

I then realized I had broken out into a cold sweat. I ran back into the house and showered for about 30 minutes, before having more scotch to calm my nerves.