Gaycubus

Something has been happening to me for weeks and it's really beginning to disturb me. I haven't thought much about it until recently because now it's starting to happen every night. When I wake up in the morning, I find myself in a strange position with my pajama pants pulled down to my ankles and my shirt completely off. I'll either be face down or face down spread eagle if my pants are completely off. I've come to the conclusion that I'm being visited by an Incubus or Succubus.

In the middle ages, the legend of the Incubus/Succubus was used to explain away mysterious pregnancies or rapes. The Incubus was a male demon who had sex with women and the Succubus was the female counterpart who had sex with men. Since I'm gay, what is visiting ME at night? Is it an Incubus who has a thing for guys with Asian Ghetto booties? Is it a Succubus who likes to strap one on? The very thought of some demon having their way with my helpless, supple body makes me fearful... yet slightly aroused.

There's also the possibility that someone has a key to my apartment and is coming at night to have sex with me. It could be my landlord. Every time I go to drop my rent check off, he looks at me with those hungry eyes like he's Columbus and I'm America and he wants to "discover" me. Oh lord, why do people have to wait until I'm asleep to have sex with me? If that isn't a kick in the teeth, I don't know what is.

Stupid Gym Folk, vol. 3: On your left!

Whenever I can't find a free machine to do my cardio, I always go up to the running track on the second floor of the gym. There's no waiting in line, you get to look at the cuties lifting weights, and you can go at your own pace without being rushed by suburbanites. Occasionally, stupid gym folk make their way up to the track and make things miserable for everyone. I saw some two nights ago.

When passing someone close to you coming from behind, it is customary to let the person know that you're passing them and what side you're coming from. Some short little asian cunt yelled "on your left!" to me and I assumed that she'd be ON MY LEFT. But no, she passed me on the right side and said "your other left" as she raced away. Feeling my livelihood threatened, I yelled back at her "LEARN YOUR DIRECTIONS, BITCH!" and everyone laughed. She came back and started arguing with me about disrespecting women, but I would hear none of it. I wasn't disrespecting women... I was berating a stupid person.

Apparently, the education system in East Asia isn't as kickass as we are all lead to believe if people there can't tell the difference between left and right.

Haunted by Ol' Blue Eyes

I've been feeling pretty shitty lately, hung up on how different my life is now than what I imagined it would be. I was beginning to sink back into that depression that I suffered from last year and I found myself 'going through the motions.'

Then I had a dream. It was one of those profound dreams where you only remember small bits, but they're really important bits and the main character of the dream will kick your ass if you don't remember them. I dreamed that I was standing against a fence, staring out into the distance and feeling sorry for myself. Then I smelled cigarette smoke and I turned to find a man with a cigarette looking at me. At first I thought he wanted a piece of my pie, but then I realized that it was none other than Frank Sinatra.

This surprised me because I'm not a huge Frank Sinatra fan. I don't know any of his songs and I can't even place him in the timeline. When was he around? I don't know. We started talking and he asked me why I was so down. I don't remember telling him exactly what was bothering me, but I think he knew because ghosts know everything. He gave me a bit of advice - the kind of advice that older men who smoke give. He said "Who cares? Just do it." or "Just fuckin do it." or "Who gives a damn?" He said something like that. I don't remember exactly.

After receiving his sage advice, my friend Jack came to talk to us. He's one of the biggest Frank Sinatra fans around and I was thinking of a way to explain to him how Frank came to me. But Frank introduced himself and Jack asked him what he was going to do now. Frank said "I'm gonna go have a drink with my buddy boy here" and he shook my shoulder the way old men who smoke do. I told Frank that I couldn't drink because alcohol has a lot of complex carbohydrates and I was trying to lose my back fat and potbelly. Then Frank laughed and said "Crazy kid! I have no idea what you just said! Let's go."

I woke up feeling better than I did all week and decided to put Frank's advice to work. I didn't spend a whole lot of time picking my outfit for the day because "frankly" I didn't care. Sure my gym outfit didn't coordinate with my gloves, but who cares? Thanks, Frank!

My Latchkey Education

I learned a hell of a lot watching Sesame Street and game shows when I was a kid. A lot of people laugh when I tell them that, but it's actually very logical if you take a moment to think about it.

We all watched Sesame Street as kids. Don't deny it. It taught kids some very important things without playing down to them. Captain Vegetable got us started on healthy eating... then Cookie Monster came along and fucked everything up with the cookie binging. Grover paved the way for future neurotics and Oscar the Grouch made being a meanie the coolest thing ever. I still get chills when I think of Ernie and Bert in the Egyptian pyramid! I really hope that the episodes make it to DVD because I'd like my children to get the same 'latchkey education' as I did.

After Sesame Street, I watched The Price is Right. According to my grandmother, my first words were "on down." We watched TPIR so much that the sound of Rod Roddy's voice allowed my own voice to form words. I couldn't say 'come' then, but I certainly can now! ::wink:: The Price is Right featured products you'd find in a grocery store such as Rice a Roni and Sue Bee honey. There was one game in particular called "Then and Now," where you had to guess if the price of a product was the price from now or 5-10 years ago. It was only four years old and I scoffed at how much the price of Ben Gay had gone up in ten years. Now that's America!

So the next time you sit your children in front of a television, take a moment to consider how much they'd learn from Big Bird and Bob Barker. In a future blog, I'll explain how watching soap operas at an early age will help you become more witty on the playground.

Stupid Gym Folk, vol. 2: Yogi Bogeys

This time it happened during my Sunday yoga class. It starts promptly at 11:30 and space is extremely limited. I am always the first one in and I end up being squished by stupid women who have no concept of "personal space." At 11:28, a woman came in and stood in the back of the room with a tiny rubber mat that wasn't a yoga mat at all and she just kept scanning the room expecting a space to magically appear for her. I was feeling especially bitchy because my space was invaded by stupid people, so I yelled at her from across the room: "There's no more room." Then the instructor came in and told her the same thing. She dropped the rubber mat and stormed out and I led the class in a mass laugh at her. But the stupidness doesn't stop there...

A couple of minutes later, two more women came in and saw that there was no room. They decided to participate outside of the studio in the small space where people stretch. The problem with that was that they wouldn't be able to hear the instructor and their mats were overlapping onto the running track. About fifteen minutes into the class, one of the women came into the studio and had the nerve to ask the instructor if he could face the outside so they could see him better. In a moment of pure anger, I and another woman blurted out at the same time: "NO."

People running on the track kept having to maneuver around the womens' mats and finally someone told them to get the fuck off. They argued for about five minutes and then someone from the front desk came and told them to go away. We all got a good laugh out of it and I hope those stupid women saw us so they'd be too embarrassed to come back.

I think people are missing the whole point of the yoga. How can anyone find their center when there's a lot of running, weight slamming, talking, and loud music going on? It takes an awful lot of concentration to ignore the gym environment when you're not inside a quiet room. I think it's counterproductive and the women should be beaten with a rubber hose.

Stupid Gym Folk, vol. 1: Spinning Out of Control

Januarys at the gym have inspired me to devote sections of my blog to the dumbasses who make my gym experiences unbearable. This is the first installment of "Stupid Gym Folk."

I take a spinning class every Monday and Wednesday and I really enjoy it. It can be very intense if done correctly and water is definitely recommended. It's also very popular and a signup sheet is now required to control the number of people who attend. Unfortunately, there's always a gym loser who ruins it every so often. This time it was a woman who had never taken the class before.
Last week, a woman walked into the class seven minutes after it began and found that there was only one bike left and it didn't have pedal straps for street shoes. The woman made such a big deal that the instructor felt bad and gave up her own bike so the late woman could be in the class. Here are two WHAT THE FUCK situations happening simultaneously. First of all, how are you gonna waltz into a class seven minutes late and disrupt it by asking the instructor if she could help with the bike. Second, why the fuck did the instructor not kick her ass out of the room instead of waste eleven minutes taking her bike off the pedestal so the woman could use it? She didn't sign up for the fucking class so she should have been out of there.

I saw the extra pair of pedal straps behind the stereo and I pointed it out to them. I don't know if I should have done that because they took another five minutes putting the instructor's bike back up on the pedestal and adjusting the straps onto the extra bike. Halfway through the class, the woman gets up and leaves so she can get some paper towels. She even had the nerve to ask people around her if they had extra water. After the class, the woman went up to the signup sheet and put her name down. I explained to her that the sheet is there to reserve space in the class and that signing it AFTER the class is a complete waste of time. She didn't get it.

I only got about thirty five actual minutes of class time out of the sixty that I expected, thanks to a stupid cunt who was completely unprepared for this type of class.

Lights, Camera... Tchotchke?

I came across one of the funniest sites I've ever seen this weekend while I was searching for more porn. It was so funny that it made me laugh out loud, which I almost never do when I'm alone because it makes me sound crazy like a woman who listens to voices in her head and laughs because she thinks it's wittier than anything she'll ever come up with on her own. The site is called "Lurid Digs" and it pokes fun at gay amateur photos, criticizing the horrible surroundings... hence the name "Lurid Digs." (www.luriddigs.com)

There are two photo sections, with commentaries on the first section that are reminiscent of a Joan Rivers red carpet special on E!. The second section is entitled 'sofas from hell' and it showcases the ugliest sofas in the amateur gay porn world. ::shudder:: I've shown this site to five people so far, and they've all laughed hysterically at the clever comments about the ugly furniture these people own.

For those of you who have seen my site, you know that I've posted some naughty pictures. I never once thought to check my surroundings for anything that would make people laugh. For my upcoming amateur photo shoot, I think I'll put away all of my Wonder Woman memorabilia and the microsuede duvet. Something tells me that I'll end up on Lurid Digs one day if I'm not careful.

Foreign Tongues: Penetrating... the language barrier

Earlier in the week, I got cruised by a very snacky Latin boy. I see him all the time when I'm on my way to work, and this time he got up the courage to cross the street and chat me up. Any man who is brave enough to risk being hit by a car is okay in my book! Then he started talking to me in Spanish and I had no idea what he was saying. He, like so many other people, assumed that I spoke Spanish.

When two gay boys are hot for each other, they won't let a small thing like a language barrier keep them from having it off. After several attempts to get our messages across to one another, we tried charades. That didn't work, and I was getting a little upset, so I just did the "I'm late for work" gesture by pointing to my imaginary wrist watch and he understood.

How far would you go to sleep with an extremely hot young man who doesn't speak a lick of English? You can either take the time to learn the language or get a translator to follow you around. It would be just like that episode of Friends where Phoebe was dating Sergei the diplomat, but hotter. Your translator has to be someone you trust, because he's likely to steal your non-English speaking dude away from you without your knowledge. Imagine being in a three way with your dude and your treacherous translator. You say "that feels so good!" and the translator tells the dude "is it in yet? I can't feel a thing!"

There needs to be a course or seminar for guys like me who want to have sex with men in other countries, but don't want to bother with the hassle of learning a bunch of different languages. The instructor would teach essential phrases in various languages and the sexual gestures that go with them. Here are a few choice phrases that every guy should have prepared in other languages:

1. Are you a top or bottom?
2. Are you a cop?
3. I am trained as a ninja, so don't even think of trying to rob me.
4. Do you spit or swallow?
5. Follow me to my hotel.
6. Does your friend want to join us?
7. Of course there are no hidden cameras in my hotel room!
8. I've never done this before! (accompanied with a naive batting of the eyelashes)
9. You can spank harder than that, can't you?
10. Ok, get out now.

At the conclusion of the course, we'd all get packets that include helpful maps of various cities with flag marks that show places to find the cutest guys. The maps will have blue marks for bars, yellow marks for bath houses, and green marks for forest preserves and other wooded areas. A list of worldwide ages of consent will be included as an added bonus for all of the chicken hawks who want to scam on the young boys of Burkina Faso, but can never remember when they become legal (psst... it's age 13).

Note: I would advise against the young foreign boys because they'd follow you around forever. Go with someone who's at least old enough to buy more than one ticket to an R rated movie in the USA. There's a little saying I made up that goes: If he's got laugh lines, the sex will be fine. If he's got dimples, it'll never be simple.

Mean Girls Who Puke... or Confessions of a Teenage Coke Fiend

Lindsay Lohan told Vanity Fair magazine that she used drugs and was bulimic. DUH! REALLY!?!? Apparently, she also thinks that everyone has lost their powers of deductive reasoning and spends their time in the happy land of Obliviousness. We know drug use and eating disorders when we see them, Lohan! And put on some underwear, will ya?

She appeared on Saturday Night Live looking like the bride of Skeletor and I had to use all of my will power to keep from vomiting. Ah! I guess it's contagious... THANKS, LOHAN! Perhaps I'm being too hard on her. Ha ha. Hard on. Anyway, I used to have a drug problem and I know how difficult it can be to get back on the right track. Fortunately, I've prepared a list of things for Lindsay to remember whenever she thinks of using drugs:

1. The more money you spend on drugs, the less money you have to spend on shoes. Let's face it - people need shoes. We can't just go around walking barefoot. There's broken glass, rocks, and dirty coins laying on the ground. You need shoes!

2. Continued drug use results in rapid weight loss and increased chances of being blown away during a tropical storm or hurricane. A lot of popular vacation spots are hotspots for natural disasters and wouldn't it be embarrassing to be the only celebrity in the world who was light enough to be blown away by a category 4?

3. You're five times more likely to have sex with someone to whom you'd normally never give the time of day. No amount of therapy would ever help if you ever woke up next to Carrot Top.

4. Whitney Houston uses drugs. Sure she's got a bunch of Grammys, but look who she's married to. Blargh!

Adventures in the Skin Trade

I couldn't sleep last night and I came across an infomercial for Proactiv. That shit does not work! People only think it works because of all the computer graphics and celebrity endorsements. Then they get suckered into buying a three month supply like I did, and end up with a red face and a slimmer wallet. And I also find it hard to believe that the before and after photos are real. They keep flashing that damn Britney Spears acne photo to scare people into thinking that their skin is going to turn out all yokelish and pale if they don't use the product.

If you have problems with your skin overdrying or breaking out, then you need to get Dove unscented. I think it's made with magical baby raptor saliva or something because it is the only thing that has kept my skin clear and soft. I sound like a commercial, but it's fucking true. Try using it for a week and see how your skin feels after that. People are more than welcome to come feel my face to get an idea of how fabulous Dove really is. I just ask that people wash their hands before coming at me and yes I will be equipped with my handy dandy black light that detects semen and urine traces!

Resolve this! ::grabs crotch::

My New Year's resolution for 2005 was to have more fun. If that isn't a bullshit resolution that every loser in the world hasn't pledged, then I don't know what is. It's such a broad, ambiguous thing that is difficult to define. That's why I've set small term goals this year. Here they are:

1. Learn how to swim - I was walking across the Chicago River and I realized that I would be majorly screwed if I accidentally fell in... first by the numerous toxins and human waste (Thank you very much, Dave Matthews Band!) and then by the fact that I wouldn't be able to swim.

2. Do the splits - Flexibility in the hip joints instantly boosts you to new heights when practicing yoga. It's also great for bottoms who want to impress their tops.

3. Play "Rock Lobster" by the B52s on the guitar - I dare you to listen to this song without doing a crazy dance or nodding along with the beat.

4. Get better window treatments for my apartment - I swear people can see me naked through the slits in my blinds. I could probably put clothes on when I'm at home, but I find clothes very constricting.

5. Buy a Tivo - I have a VCR that's older than my love for onions. I just hate missing my soaps and I've missed a lot of great shows this season, including a lot of episodes of Saturday Night Live. If Tina Fey could reach through the television, she would slap me for missing it.

6. Take a weekend trip once every three months - Though I hate to fly, travel prices are actually pretty low these days. It allows me to be a ho in another city without the hassle of building a reputation. Ah, promiscuity!

7. Visit Dollywood - It's homespun fun! I hear that there are boobs everywhere, whatever that means! Either there are likenesses of Dolly's massive breasts, or incompetent people. I'd have fun no matter what was there because Dolly is fantastic!

I figure that I'll have fun as a result of these things no matter what. They're different, they're quirky, and if I will look like a complete dunderhead if I fuck up on any one of them.

Linebacker Barbie

As I sat in bed on Saturday, watching the New Year's Eve festivities, I was amazed at how many were in the streets of New York. Mariah Carey performed, and Ryan Seacrest filled in for Dick Clark... who I think was kissing what looked to be a very made up Ivana Trump. I could have just had one too many NyQuil cocktails. Everyone seemed to be having a good time, and they were dancing and laughing and kissing each other in the streets.

Then they switched over to the Central Time Zone New Year's Eve countdown.... SNOOOOOOZE! It was hosted by Janet Davies and Mark Giangreco, two of the least energetic people on Chicago television. They kept saying the words "fun" and "rockin," because maybe they heard somewhere that things will actually turn out that way if you say it enough times. It didn't stop there. They had various people reporting from various "Chicago Hot Spots." Everyone they interviewed was drunk and from the suburbs. They even showed a restaurant that was "absolutely jumping!" which meant everyone was seated at their tables eating under the poorly illuminated chandeliers.

The big moment came when Mark Giangreco, a sports anchor for channel 7, asked if anyone saw Mariah Carey at Times Square. He referred to her as "Linebacker Barbie." How the fuck are you going to make fun of someone like that if you're not a sassy gay man or Mariah's arch nemesis? This comment came completely out of left field (I thought I'd insert a sports reference for the jerk) and came as a shock to Janet Davies, who looked like Mike Meyers after hearing Kanye West's comment on live television. Just how many number one singles has Mark Giangreco released in his life? It seems like he needs to compensate for his small genitals by making huge shocking comments about people he's never met. Mariah Carey can make his ears explode just by singing a particular note. Have you ever heard her sing "Emotions?" That bitch can wail! Don't mess with someone who appeared on VH1's Divas Live.