Parade of Flesh - and I'm the Grand Marshal

With yesterday's somewhat beleaguer blog entry depressing everyone, I thought I'd write about something more uplifting today. It's no secret that I love porn. A lot of people are curious as to how I developed this fascination with skin flicks. Here's the story:

My addiction to porn was started by none other than... my mother! Trust me, the story really isn't gross. She was INDIRECTLY responsible for it. Late one night, I had a nightmare after my sisters forced me to watch Unsolved Mysteries with them. The combination of Robert Stack's chilling voice and the sight of composite drawings of wanted fugitives made it hard for me to get a good night's sleep. I knocked on my mom's bedroom door and told her that I had a nightmare and she yelled "JUST GO WATCH TV UNTIL YOU FALL ASLEEP!"

I was flipping through the channels and I landed on Cinemax and the nifty "feature presentation" thing that they play before a movie. I was like "hell yeah, how lucky am I to catch a movie right when it starts?" The movie was a softcore porn musical version of Cinderella, where Cinderella's fairy godfather (who is obviously gay) uses a magic wand that looked like a bicycle horn with a condom at the end of it to give her a snapping pussy. With her new-found sexual powers, she goes to an orgy at the castle and the prince is instantly energized by such a "unique" feeling while having sex with Cinderella. Fast forward, blah blah blah, the prince has to have sex with everyone in order to find Cinderella, the end!

It was campy, it was erotic, and it was surprisingly well-written. I was HOOKED! You could almost hear the trumpet fanfare as I was welcomed into the world of pornography. There was a funny scene where the women are trying to convince the prince's men that they are the ones with the snapping twat. "Mine snaps and crackles," says one woman. "And mine... pops!" said another.

In the eighteen years since my inception into Porno lovers non-anonymous, I've amassed an impressive collection of video tapes, dvds, and magazines. I am the Imelda Marcos of porn. I don't know why people think it's so unhealthy. I've also heard people say that it degrades men and women. But I think that Patsy Stone said it best when Saffy said that it was degrading to women: "What do you mean, SHE'S the one with the whip!"

Don't mess with meth, Seth! Meth equals death, Beth!

The topic of yesterday's Oprah was "17 year old meth addict." It caught my eye during my workout yesterday when I saw meth pipes being smoked when I glanced at the television monitors. I was like... WHAT!?!?

One of the guests was a gay man who tried to explain to Oprah what "barebacking" is. She had this look on her face like she didn't know what it meant. Then when he told her, she was like "Oh, that's what I thought it was." Cut to the audience and the old women shaking their heads in disgust because the gay man was talking about unprotected sex. Oh yeah, let's forget about the soccer mom who drove her kids out to the desert and left them there. I fucking hate Oprah audience members.

Hearing Oprah say the word "barebacking" was a little weird. She couldn't stop using it in a sentence.

One of the guests said that she was sober for 41 days. That's NOTHING. I could totally tell that she was lying to herself and everyone around her. I saw the craving in her eyes, and so did the doctor in the audience who told her that there's a difference between being in recovery and not using drugs. That statement pretty much undid MY nine months of "recovery." It's been about nine months since I stopped using crystal meth and I realized that I will never be fully rid of the need to do it again. The want will always be there. The need for that rush of sexual energy will always be haunting me. The breakdown of all my inhibitions will be waiting for me after I inject myself with the meth, and I am scared of that.

I never spent 122 days in rehab. I never sought counseling. I never had a sponsor. Does that mean I haven't fully recovered? Am I just lying to myself like the woman on the show? Is there a RIGHT way and a WRONG way to beat the crystal meth addiction? It kind of sucks how I'll always have to deal with the urge, but all I can do is look to the future and resist it whenever it comes up. Grr.

Let's all go to the lobby!

I saw Rent last Wednesday with a friend of mine and it was fan bloody tastic! I had to fight the urge to mouth the words during the movie. The theatre employees at River East STILL don't know how to ring up free passes. I go there like once a month and they're like: "You caint use deez on special engagements" and I'm like "Um, yes I can." Then I show them how to do it and they call for a manager and the manager tells them exactly what I just told them and when the manager goes away I look at the employee with a raised eyebrow. At that point, I snap my fingers, roll my head, and flip my imaginary long hair as I walk away with my tickets. It happens so often that I can just turn it on and off like a switch. One minute I'm Rock Hudson in Pillow Talk and the next minute I'm Halle Berry in B.A.P.S..

My girl Joy was there managing the theatre so I felt comfortable. I waved hello to her, but she was not in a good mood. They were huddled around the escalator with security and I thought someone fell. It turns out that a woman got her coat stuck on the bottom of the escalator. What a dumbass. That theatre is so state-of-the-art in the sense that all the areas are climate-controlled to a normal person's satisfaction. You don't need a coat there. We looked at the woman and her imitation leather coat that matched her fucking ugly Himilayan sheepskin sherpa boots that every woman is wearing now that Oprah named it one of her favorite things and we laughed as we ascended to the third floor of the theatre.

When two gay boys go to the movies, no one is safe. We comment on people waiting in the concession line, we cruise the 17 year old boys who sweep the hallways, we laugh hysterically at any preview with Tara Reid, and we throw our jujyfruits at anyone who talks during the movie.

Music makes the people cum together... yeah!

Lindsay Lohan sang "Edge of Seventeen" last night on the American Music Awards. How wrong is that? She had on some ugly ass 60's throwback go-go dancer wannabe Nancy Sinatra outfit that made her look like a bag lady on Abbey Road. Ugh. Who told her that she could sing a Stevie song? Eeew.

Gwen Stefani was the best though. She won an award for favorite female artist and she was like: "What did I win?" HA HA!

The closest I came to being a singer was participating in the school choir in junior high. I was a soprano that year and the movie "Sister Act" had just come out on home video, so you can imagine how corny our selections were. I was at that tender age where young boys burst into manhood, so my vocal cords were all over the place. I went from a soprano to tenor in the course of a month and everyone just decided that I was too unpredictable to be kept on the team.

Shunned by the musical community, I retreated to the solace of the Academic Challenge Bowl and all the cute gay nerds involved in that arena. I got to be on tv that year and the choir placed last in the county competition. Yay! I also gave one of my very first hand jobs to one of the cute nerd boys on my team. We timed it so both of us climaxed at the same time. Ah, to be young and inexperienced...

Pushing the envelope... or thrusting it, at least

I saw my friend, Ray, out on the street this morning after my horriffic hour on the public transport. Rather than hugging him, I twisted his nipples and made the 'squeaky' sound. We both got a big kick out of it and no one else on the street gave us a second glance. Either it was too cold outside for anyone to throw rocks at us, or people have quieted down when it comes to public displays of homosexual acts like the titty twister or nut-caress.

The limits of 'acceptable behavior' have progressed significantly in the past ten years. I remember when it was a big deal to say the word "bitch" on television. Now you hear it all the time. I've even heard the word 'pussy' on South Park on channel 26. At this rate, television in the year 2015 will have a swear word for every normal word spoken: "How the fuck are you fuckin doing, you cocksucking pig-fucking friend of mine?"

In the year 2015, gay people won't hug each other on the street. They will get a nipple suck or a dry hump. That's the way we're headed, people! There's no going back!

Say who's on the what, now?

Every time I go to the Subway on Clark and Wellington, the workers there are always speaking Punjabi and I'm sick of it! They talk and giggle and they know NOTHING about customer service. I only go there because my boss loves the fuckin sandwiches there. Blargh!

It's extremely rude to speak in another language when other people don't know what the hell you're saying. I just get the creepy feeling that those women are gossiping about how big they think my penis is. They know I have big hands and big feet for a person of my height, so I think that they are fantasizing about mister winkie! I need one of those universal translators like in Star Trek. Then I'll know what they're really talking about. I will also be able to communicate with them by saying "Didn't your mama ever tell you that it was rude to talk about penises when you're making someone's sandwich?"

Transit Woes

We need to take back the public transportation system here in Chicago. The riffraff has scared the normal people into a sad, sad state and I think it's time for us to fight back.

This morning, a crazy man got on board and started yelling at people. He was big, ugly, and smelled of garlic. The first person to get up and panic was a pasty white woman with raccoon eye makeup. No offense to pasty white women, but what the fuck did she think was going to happen? She wasn't THAT cute! Anyway, the crazy man pulled the emergency lever and the train stopped. He then made his way to the first car and beat down the door to the control room.

Fifteen minutes later, the conductor and the crazy man came to our car. Everyone stared, but no one said anything. Finally, when the crazy guy passed me, I said "Thanks a lot, asshole! Now I'm late for work!" He yelled at me, but I just ignored him and changed the song on my mp3 player. The whole time this is happening, Raccoon eyes is looking and staring and relieved that her chastity is intact. HA HA! Chastity.

We need to stand up and fight all of the crazies who threaten our morning commute! After we deal with that, we'll tackle the "blind" guy who makes his way up and down the train, asking for donations. He's not blind, folks! I saw him at Osco buying cigarettes. Ugh I hate when people give him money.

How do you measure a year?

In daylights? In sunsets? In midnights? In cups of coffee?

When I heard that Rent was being made into a movie, I almost gave birth to an accountant. I haven't been this excited since the time I found out that my favorite ABC Soap stars were coming to Chicago. The entire cast is so beautiful, I would spread my legs for all of them... especially Adam Pascal! Yummy.

Things I'm Thankful For Today

1. The introduction of the new Puma Graffiti Cat underwear line

2. The Golden Girls Marathon on Lifetime

3. Beavis and Butthead on DVD

4. Shorter shorts for Rugby players

5. New guacamole flavored pringles

6. My health

7. Indoor plumbing

8. Dove haircare products

9. The fact that I wore clean underwear today

10. SILICONE BASED LUBE!

When it's cold, it's hot!

It may be really bad for me to mention something like this, but have you ever noticed that all the beautiful people come out during the Autumn and Winter? Conversely, the fugly people come out during Spring/Summer. Let's examine this:

Summer is baseball season. A majority of baseball fans are really into beer and food while not really into deodorant and exercise. I'm just saying! How many Cubs fans can run a mile without being promised a hot dog at the end of the run?

In the winter, gay boys and straight women love to dress up in hats/gloves/scarves. Oh yeah, that's another thing I don't get. Ever see a person wearing a scarf outside of their coat and tied in a pretty little knot? What the fuck is that supposed to do? Aren't scarves supposed to keep your neck warm? Fuck fashion. I'd rather be warm and clashing than cold and put-together. I do see the hottest boys when it's snowing outside. Mmm. Hot toddies, hotter bodies.

Ripe young man

There's a woman who lives in North Carolina and her name is Tanya. She's a customer service rep with one of the many furniture manufacturers in the area and she just offered me a job. Tanya is a true flower of the Carolinas - always polite, tactful, and frank. I don't know what she sees in me.

Tanya is the latest woman to fall under the seductive charms of 'yours truly.' Over the years, I've met many women who think they can convert me from homosexuality to.... ugh, heterosexuality. And it's usually an older woman who comes after me.

I think they've been watching "Desperate Housewives" so much that they think they can get any ethnic looking boys to tend their gardens. And that goes many different ways.

Muy Caliente!

The time I spent in Texas allowed me to discover the wonderful world of spicy food. I even used to avoid anything with black pepper in it because that was too hot for me! Now I smother everything in buffalo wing sauce, tabasco sauce, and any kind of hot sauce I can get my hands on. The problem is that my poor Filipino/Portuguese stomach can't handle all the "muy caliente" that I shove in there. I'll lay in bed at night in sheer agony, sweating and wishing I hadn't eaten so many buffalo wings.

I've heard of people training themselves to become immune to certain poisons by ingesting a small amount over a long period of time. I wonder if that works with spicy food? I will test this theory by grazing on jalapeno pringles every day for a month. Then I can try curry! Scurry for the curry!

In this ever-changing world, the gay boy has to adapt in order to survive. That means being able to eat all kinds of foods and swallow all kinds of phallic shaped objects without gagging. W00T!

Snoop

I just found out today that my stupid manager Craig has been reading my e-mail. It was a huge drama that played out when one of my coworkers got mad at me because Craig read one of my personal e-mails in which she bashes him and now he's mad at her. Craig says that I left the e-mail open for everyone to read, so it's fair game. Now there's all this tension in the office and it's like a soap opera.

First of all, I am not stupid enough to leave personal e-mails on the screen so other people can read them. Second, I don't check my e-mail on the communal computer upstairs. Third, WHY THE FUCK IS HE READING SOMEONE ELSE'S E-MAIL!?!?

According to Craig, I left it on the upstairs computer. That is a total lie because I don't use the upstairs computer to check e-mail. He read the e-mail on my own computer while I was at lunch on Tuesday. I had a feeling something funny was going on because I set my screen saver to come on after 5 minutes of inactivity. When I came back from lunch, the screen saver wasn't up. He'd been reading my e-mail for god knows how long. What the fuck!?! You know, if I read one of HIS e-mails that was on the screen I wouldn't hear the end of it!

Let's tie him to a tree and beat him with a rubber hose dipped in dog shit.

Street Corner of Death

I was almost hit by a car as I was crossing the street on Clark and Halsted. There were quite a few of us crossing, and the bitch on her cell phone decides to be a Hollywood stunt driver for five seconds by trying to pass between groups of people so she can turn the corner. What the fuck? When she almost hit me, I stopped. Then she stopped. Then she went and did that "oopsie" face. So I picked up a tiny rock and I threw it at her car as she drove away.

I don't think I reacted badly. I did the standard Chicago flip-off/'slow down, ya fuckin whore' pedestrian combo. The two queens behind me were like "Don't you think that the rock was a bit much?" No, bitch. It wasn't.

What in God's name is so important that people can't wait five seconds for the pedestrians WHO HAVE THE RIGHT OF WAY to cross a bloody street?

My Kind of Town

I've noticed that a lot of shows are based in Chicago like "According to Jim," "Freddy," and "George Lopez." None of the shows really capture the true feeling of Chicago. They think that they can just plop a Cubs or White Sox reference in the scene and people will just totally believe that it's Chicago. WRONG!

If they wanted an accurate portrayal of Chicago, then there would be cool things like making fun of tourists or people walking out of bath houses at 1 in the afternoon. The pedestrians would yell obscenities to the cars that almost ran them over, and the homeless people would be all up in everyone's bizzness.

Tina Fey and Amy Poehler were awesome on last week's Weekend Update when they had that Sox player as their guest correspondent. They claimed to be totally Chicago and he's like: Where are you from? And Amy said "Evanston... represent!" Ha ha.

White chicks rock.

Evil Richie, come out to play! Evil Richie, make him pay!

Mad Yogi

I went to my yoga class on Sunday and I was the first person there. In the savage world of classroom yoga, you must claim your territory quickly or you will find it hard to get a good spot. So I'm there fifteen minutes before class, I'm in my spot, my chi is flowing through my chakras, and all is well...

The class fills up rather quickly, and there are a limited number of mats. For those of you who aren't familiar with yoga, the yoga mat is pretty much the place where you center your energy. It is a part of you and should not be moved once you've established yourself. Doing so will disrupt your flow. So we're ten minutes into the class and this whore woman comes in and plops her mat two inches in front of mine. She kept kicking me in the face when we were transitioning from 'right leg dog split' to 'plank.' WHAT A BITCH. Then she had the nerve to suggest that I move my mat. She obviously didn't understand anything about yoga.

Every time I went into a 'chaturanga' pose, her ass would be in my face because she does all the moves slower than everyone else. I'd come up from that pose with a huge scowl on my face and the instructor would bust out laughing. Ugh and she did all the poses WRONG. It's a fucking advanced class and she's a beginner. The class is "Advanced Ashtanga Yoga" and the instructor tells everyone that it's an advanced class.

Next week I will bring some yellow caution tape so I can have my personal space. And I don't think I'm being childish about it because I shouldn't have to feel like a sardine all the time, being crowded by newbies who don't know what the hell they're doing.