Pubes at the gym and why we should trim

I was using the urinal at the gym yesterday and was horrified to discover a plethora of pubic hair on the rim. There were curly ones, red ones, black ones, and one especially long one that made me throw up in my mouth a little. I wondered why more men don't manscape.

Manscaping means shaving, trimming, or waxing body hair. It's as simple as that. It only sounds complicated because us gays love our euphemisms. It's so popular that Britney Spears does it (I'm referring to the beaver shots that can be seen on The Superficial). There has been a lot of controversy involving the manscaping, and I've found a few interesting quotes from people. Here's one:

United9198 writes,
Nothing looks more primative than someone who fails to use good grooming. You don't have to "cue ball" the area, but for Pete's sake trim back to a decent level. The benefit is neatness. Possible side effects include chaffing. I would think the ladies appreciate a well trimmed hedge.

The gay men enjoy well-trimmed hedges also. Don't you hate not knowing if the guy you picked up at a party will look like Johnny Unitas or Yoko Ono down in his nether region? I once had sex with this guy in Houston who had the biggest growth of hair I'd ever seen. I felt like I needed a jungle machete just to get to his cock. Gross! Don't even get me started on the horrors of getting a hair stuck in between your teeth.

What you need to do is find out who manscapes and who doesn't. The best way to do that is to have a friend help you as you bring up the discussion at a party or at the bars. One person has to play innocent, pretending to not know what the term "manscaping" means. Then the other person acts as the expert and hypes it up with much acclaim and a little bit of arrogance. Once you've saturated the conversation with the talk of pubes, then it's safe to go around and ask each person in the group if he or she keeps their garden well-tended.

When you hear someone admit that he or she doesn't trim or wax, try to hide the initial reaction of shock and disgust. We don't want people to think that you're aristocratic. Just politely nod and look surprised as you grit your teeth and force a smile. Then make a mental note to never go down on him or her.

Grayed Expectations

The fastest way to increase your stress level is to expect things in life. I remember going to Disneyland with my family when I was a kid. Mother had an itinerary, complete with time checkpoints and a list of approved gift shop items for us to consider. When I wandered off for an hour to look at the stuff I wanted to look at, it threw off the entire plan and Mother was furious. All I wanted was to see Mickey Mouse because it wasn't on the itinerary. According to her, I ruined the family vacation.

I didn't understand how she could be so upset over a common contingency such as a wandering child until I visited my sister this Thanksgiving.

I had a wonderful idea of my Thanksgiving holiday. I'd cook a turkey, we'd have freshly-prepared food, we'd all sit at the table together as a family and I'd lead the Thanksgiving prayer with how thankful I was to be alive after my horrific experience overcoming my crystal meth addiction two years ago, I'd get to watch cartoons with my nieces, and we'd all fight the crowds at the shopping malls the next day.

Fate played its cruel joke on me this past week when nothing went the way I expected.

• Sister neglected to mention that she's got a friend living with her. The friend has a scummy child who gets into everything, preventing me from having quality uncle/niece time and spoiling the kids with lavish gifts.

• None of the food I wanted ever got made because food had already been prepared at a neighbor's apartment. Food was served on paper plates, the turkey was overcooked, and I had to sit on a dirty sofa while eating off of a Styrofoam plate that I had to blow the dust off of before putting food on. I felt like I was at a homeless shelter soup kitchen.

• I didn't get to lead the prayer because the level of awkwardness. The neighbors didn't seem like the type of people who were thankful for anything except Nascar and the invention of Frito Pie, so my sappy Thanksgiving prayer would have been wasted.

• We ended up having to take the scummy child with us to the mall the next day because his mother had to work. I wanted to be the uncle who would let them loose in a toy store, but I couldn't even do that because the fucking mall didn't have a toy store. What kind of mall doesn't have a toy store? I counted nineteen shoe stores and two Abercrombie stores. How sad is that?

• Perhaps the most harrowing experience was having to drink my wine out of a jelly glass at Thanksgiving dinner. As I sipped the sweet, sweet wine, my consciousness separated from my body in an attempt to salvage what little sanity I had left.

Last night I went to Minibar, a place that a lot of people think is pretentious. The truth is that 90% of the people who think it's so snobby have never even set foot in it. I normally have a plan of what needs to be accomplished in an evening of bar-hopping. I'd have to pick a cool drink, I'd have to wear the best outfit I had, and I'd need to get at least five phone numbers or go home with a guy in order for the evening to be a success.

I ended up having a wonderful evening, even after the drunk boy passed out and had to be dragged outside. I went there wearing the same outfit I wore earlier that day. I just picked a random drink and stuck with that the whole time, and I got to talk to a lot of fun and exciting people. Who'd have guessed?

I keep thinking of that scene from The Joy Luck Club when June had the moment with her mother about expecting things of her. The mother replies with: "Not expect anything! Never expect! Only hope!"

The context slightly differs in my situation, but Suyuan had something there with that line. People think that expectations and hopes are the same, but they are completely different. Think of how you feel when you expect something to happen, versus how you feel when you hope something happens.

The next time you expect something to happen, be sure to have your Valium ready when things don't go the way you wanted. I, on the other hand, will always hope for laughter and happiness in my day when I wake up in the morning.

Missed opportunities suck

If I had a time machine and could go back to a day in my childhood, I would definitely go back to the day that one of my third grade classmates invited me to spend the night at his house.

I was going through a stack of old pictures last night and I came across some old school photos. He was in a few of them and I'd forgotten all about him for a long time. I won't mention his name because that's not really important. Let's just call him "A.C." for simplicity.

A.C. was always a bit different than the other kids. He was kind of... odd. That's why we got along so well. He'd never stick to one particular group of kids the way the others did. We weren't BFFs, but we had our bonding moments. We were the only two kids in our class who enjoyed watching ALF. We were line partners whenever we had to line up to go to assemblies or back to class from recess. We also sometimes sat next to each other on the bus when we went on field trips. That's when we started to have interestingly titillating conversations.

He'd tell me about how his dad has dirty magazines and he looks at the pictures of people "doing it." I felt a little uncomfortable when he asked me if I ever rubbed my weiner when it got hard and I had to think for a minute. Why would you rub it? He also asked if I'd ever seen any dirty magazines, but I told him no. The conversation was starting to weird me out.

Then one day we were using the bathroom together at recess and things got more interesting. Remember those old piss troughs with the continuous flow of water going through them? A.C. invited me to play "swords" with him. After a rousing game which I eventually lost (according to him), he grabbed my cock and balls and said "let me see!"

Things between us were very awkward after that experience, for obvious reasons. A.C. eventually invited me to spend the night at his house so we could look at his dad's dirty magazines, but I lied and said that my mom wouldn't let me. I'd seen the child molesting episode of Diff'rent Strokes earlier that year on reruns and I was a little scared of letting anyone touch me because of the scary public service announcement type message they had at the end of it.

I'd see A.C. all through the years in various stages of our youth. The last time I saw him was in high school, wearing very tight-fitting European style clothes. He seemed a bit gay to me, and I regret not going to his house that time. With that time machine, I would have gone back and told my past self to go to that boy's house and look at all the dirty magazines I could! It could have been my very first boy on boy sexual experiment that would later lead to many adolescent poundings after school.

It would be exactly like Chuck & Buck, except neither of us are messed up in the head. I really regret not taking that opportunity to explore with another boy. It's a shame because he got VERY cute as the years went on. We could have been secret fuck buddies, but I guess I can't live in the land of shoulda-coulda-wouldas.

Ex Boyfriends Say the Darndest Things

I've gotten a few requests from people who want more funny topics. Seeing as how I only have five fans, that makes it necessary for me to comply with the majority.

Here are actual quotes from some of my ex boyfriends. And you all wonder why I'm not in a serious relationship!

"The only good thing to come out of the 70's is ME." Buck, after I told him that I loved 70's music.

"Don't touch me! Don't touch me when the Cubs lose!" - Steve, after I tried to kiss him one night in bed after the Cubs lost to the Diamondbacks back in 2004.

"Madonna who?" - Bradley, while sitting on the sofa with me when a news report featured Madonna's latest noteworthy endeavor.

"Why can't you just DRIVE to Guam?" - Bradley, after I told him how expensive it is to fly to Guam. Psst... it's an island.

"Isn't there some law against that?" - Bradley (a lawyer).

"B-L-O-C-K-B-U-S-T-E-R!" - Sam, proving to me that you can make a cheer out of anything. This was done in the middle of Blockbuster Video on a Friday night and was accompanied with arm movements and various kicks.

Ha ha! Good times. I know how people feel about using the blog to slam ex boyfriends, but this is America. Making fun of the exes is just as American as apple pie or sending dirty IMs to congressional pages.

My Ten Year Reunion, or How I learned to stop worrying and love my tree trunk legs

I've been dreading my upcoming high school reunion because I didn't want to go back home without having done anything significant. The ten year reunion is next year, supposedly, and I swore to myself that I would accomplish something before I went. I didn't want to have to Romy and Michele it because I have the worst time remembering my fake stories.

My biggest fear was that everyone would be flaunting their wonderful lives in front of me, the single fag with a so-so job who frequents bars and has tons of meaningless gay sex while living in a studio apartment. I hadn't done ANYTHING since I graduated and I couldn't just go and be an ordinary person there. I'm Richie, for fuck's sake!

I toyed around with the notion of being on a reality show like "I Want to be a Soap Star" or "Who Wants to be a Superhero?", but I would just die if Joel McHale made fun of me on "The Soup." Being insulted by a really cute person is worse than hearing your boyfriend tell you that he's leaving you for someone cuter who never graduated from high school.

Last April, I decided to train for the Chicago Marathon. I wanted to do something that I knew no one else in my graduating class would do. It started out that way, but I didn't expect it to change my life the way it did. I just thought that I'd do it and cross it off my list of things to do like a person would do if he or she found out that he only had months to live.

I kept thinking to myself in the first few months that "YEAH! I'm gonna show them! I'm gonna do it!" Then the day of the race came and I was shocked to learn that a lot of the new friends I've made since moving to Chicago had come out to support me along the way. They braved the cold temperatures and waited hours for me just to catch a glimpse and a quick hug as I ran past.

The feeling of having a network of friends who were actually more like family made me forget about the initial reason for starting this whole crazy marathon madness. I then realized that I got a lot more out of this experience than I'd planned.

I wanted to go back home and show everyone that I was no longer the awkward little closet case who got made fun of because of the way he walked and talked. Now I know that I don't need to do shit to impress anyone back home because I've come out on top. Just think of how fabulous it'll be for me to be the only out and proud gay boy at the reunion who will have ran two marathons and got to use the urinal next to Kevin Smith during the premiere of Jersey Girl! I'm not so ordinary, now am I?

Gangsta Lovin'

This week I encountered another type of gay man that makes my jeans feel all tight. There's a gentleman at the Chase Bank on Bryn Mawr (the one with the bulletproof glass teller windows) who caught my eye with his thick muscular build and his buzz cut hair that was gelled forward. While other employees wore white undershirts, he wore a black one with his silver chain barely showing because he's such a rebel. He called me over by nodding his head back with a raised eyebrow and a smile, saying "how you doin?" and I was immediately disarmed by his thuggish charm. I got all giddy and I felt like I turned into a pile of goo.

The Thug who has his Shit Together (or TST) is another type of gay man that I absolutely love. He ranks up there with the Hot Gay Nerd (HGN) and the Dazed Circuit Boi (DCB). The TST exhibits a lot of thuggish aspects like the silver or gold chains, the thick booty, the car with the airplane wing spoiler, and the strict adherence to the "Thug Life" code of ethics. He lays there in bed talking dirty to you and squeezes your ass while you ride him. He wears basketball shoes with a tuxedo. In every picture you take of him, he has his head thrown back with his lips pursed and one eyebrow raised. You find the TST working at the most uncharacteristic of places such as banks or museums.

I knew that the Chase TST was gay because we spent a good amount of time flirting. I complimented his chain and he blushed. Then he told me that the picture on my ID was 'damn cute' because of my smile. Then I told him that I don't usually come to this particular location and he replied with: "dude, you need to start comin' to DIS one! I'm here every day."

I really like my acronym gay boys. I wish I could have them ready to come out like they were Pokemon cards. I'd be at a circuit party and I'd need to know which dance moves to use when I'm up on a box, so I'd call the DCB: "DAZED CIRCUIT BOI, I CHOOSE YOU!!!" Then when I get ruffed up by some punk who wants me to go down on him, I'll call my TST to save me: "GO, THUG WHO HAS HIS SHIT TOGETHER! DEFEND ME!"

The one disadvantage of being attracted to a TST is that he'd expect complete monogamy. Since everyone knows that I'm not into having boyfriends, the TST isn't in the cards for me. To the TST, I'd be considered a ho' and thugs just hate it when a ho' comes into his life and only wants him for his body.

Even More Gullible's Travels

I was in San Francisco this past weekend and I passed by a store in the Castro that was selling swimsuits for $12. I was in desperate need of sexy swimwear because I was slowly beginning to accept the fact that I wasn't going to get rid of my gut anytime soon and that I should just go like gung ho in the pool. Also, who would be stupid enough to pass up a sale?

I have problems buying underwear and swimsuits because of my badonkadonk and my tree trunk legs. It's not bragging, trust me. Just imagine two giant redwoods stuck to the peach from James and the Giant Peach and that's what my lower body looks like. Anyway, a gentleman came up to me and asked if I needed help and I said yes. I explained my dilemma and he pulled some selections for me to try on.

Then he followed me to the changing area, where he peeked his head in and offered his critique... along with some borderline inappropriate comments about my junk in the trunk. I was also told that the store would be closing soon, so I didn't have a lot of time to dilly-dally.

Just then, a guy came up to the changing area and said: "Kevin, what are you doing? Leave the customers alone!" I was horrified to learn that the overly helpful gentleman was in fact NOT an employee of the store.

I thought a lot about why I didn't pick up on it sooner. I'm usually pretty perceptive when it comes to separating normal people from the oglers, but somehow this poser was able to get past the sensors. Was I too trusting? Was I just gullible? Nope. I secretly enjoyed every minute of it. The truth is that every now and then, some people just like to have their goodies drooled over.

No matter what anyone says, I believe that it's a perfectly acceptable form of self-esteem reinfocement. The people who are quick to tell you that it's unhealthy and immoral are the same people who sleep in twin beds with their significant others and only have sex once a month. I don't see what the problem is!

When you think about it, the poser had to have had major cajones to even attempt such a thing as pretend to be an employee just to get a look at a guy's half naked body. Any schmoe can whistle and make obscene gestures at someone who they think is drop dead gorgeous, but it takes a gutsy son of a bitch to do what Kevin did. That's why it made me feel good.

I can't help but wonder how many other people have fallen victim to cheesy schemes like that. It kind of makes you wonder why store employees don't wear anything to identify themselves like uniforms or name tags. In the mean time, watch out for those clothing store predators!

No glove, no love... sort of

While on the train with my friend Patrick last week, the question came up about who is supposed to supply the condom(s) for a booty call. It was one of those casual conversations between two fun gay friends, sans the cups of General Foods Inernational Coffee. I loved it because the straight people got up and moved to another part of the car.

Patrick failed to explain to me why he thinks that the bottom should be responsible for supplying the condom. I think that it's the top's responsibility, for one simple reason: he knows what size condom to use.

I can't tell you how many times the top didn't have a condom and all I had were the regular sized ones and he'd get all mad because he needs magnums and it's a big issue all of a sudden. Experiences like that taught me to come prepared. Soon after, I'd show up to a guy's house with a nice little selection of sizes and colors and he'd happily choose the biggest one because he didn't want to be seen reaching for the 'extra fit' (small). Not that size matters.

In retrospect, it seems silly to quibble over who should have the condoms. The real issue is having condoms there in the first place. I have a strong opinion about men who 'conveniently' forget to have condoms when they initiate the booty call - they're just trying to ride bareback. Boo-urns! We don't like that.