Candid Camaraderie

Do you remember being in elementary school during a science lesson about magnets? The teacher would break out two huge red magnets, each with an N on one end and an S on the other. The whole class would ooh and aah when the teacher showed how the two like ends of the magnets repelled each other, demonstrating the law of magnets... and gay Asian boys.

It's very rare that you see two gay Asians together as friends in public. You're more likely to encounter a lone Asian in a group full of white men, or a bunch of couples with Asians who have boyfriends. But there are few cases where two single gay Asians are part of a group, and you can bet your bottom dollar that there's going to be a lot of tension there.

They'll make rude comments to each other, call each other mean names, imply that the other was a bigger whore than himself, and even go as far as to cock block the other when one of them is getting ready to snag a man at a bar. There's a sort of tacit, cut throat competition that exists between single gay Asians. You can't ask an Asian about it because he'll deny it

A young woman in in my circle of friends who recently witnessed my light hearted yet venomous interaction with one of my Asian friends couldn't handle all of the pressure. It wasn't even that bad. I was just calling my friend a big slutbag and he accused me of only being able to take his sloppy seconds. That was only true because you can't walk five steps in the city of Chicago without finding a white man that he's had sex with.

The girl in our group apparently got fed up with all the cattiness and scooted away unnoticed. I guess she was afraid that we'd get into a chopstick fight or something because she left us without saying goodbye. For the record, it's very rude to leave the group without telling anyone. Not as rude as blowing your best friend's dad in high school, but still up there in that upper tier of rudeness.

What she didn't understand was that even though my friend and I were constantly at each other's threats, we were still friends. It's how we bond. We're a lot like those little magnets from elementary school. No matter how much you think they'll repel each other when you put the like ends together, they'll eventually flip around and stick together.

Scavenger Hunt Results

For those of you who participated in the Oblogitory Gay Pride Parade Scavenger Hunt, thank you! Ahem.. I seem to be the only one who did it, but that's okay. Here's what I came up with:


* A politician who hasn't done anything to help the gays, but showed up to the parade in a pathetic attempt to show everyone that he has no problem being near the queers... as long as they don't try to sleep with him.



At least he didn't have shirtless go-go boys dancing on either side of him. I'd expect that type of behavior from Judy Baar Topinka, not Roberto Maldonado.







* Really, REALLY bad drag.
Surprisingly, I didn't see any REALLY bad drag. Everyone who made the attempt was properly shaved, well-tucked, fabulously dressed, and didn't look like they applied their makeup with a paintbrush.

* The big but short lesbian who goes around selling overpriced novelty parade gear such as pride flags, pride pins, hat umbrellas, and glow sticks. You know who I'm talking about.
I did see her on Saturday night outside of Sidetrack, trying to sell flashing brooches and glow-in-the-dark necklaces. She moves awfully fast for a short woman with a pull cart full of crap because when I tried to snap a picture of her, it turned out as a big glowing blur. I'm sure we'll see her at Market Days.

* The Altoids float!





Ah, the Altoids float. Nothing gets my motor going more than seeing a bunch of dirty boys trying to get themselves clean in an oversized Altoids tin filled with soap suds.






* An anti-gay sign that tells us that we're going to hell or that the rapture is coming. You get extra points if it's got a bible verse on it.





I was lucky enough to catch this before the parade started. The one holding the "Fear God" sign was cute in a nerdy sort of way. It's the glasses and the man-purse that totally give it away.



* A person with a drink in his or her hand who doesn't look 21.
I must have gotten this one confused with Market Days. Not a lot of people were outside with open containers of alcohol, so kudos to all of the bars for enforcing the rule that is often broken in New Orleans and anywhere Peter O'Toole is walking.

* A person you'd like to fuck.



I saw this float with all of the frat boys on it and I just couldn't decide which one I wanted. I'd like the one on the left to top me. He just looks like he's getting ready to hit me with a pledge paddle, doesn't he?

I'll use the one on the right whenever I feel the urge to top. Notice the form in his squat. His heels only come up off the floor slightly, and that's important for balance when you're getting pounded.


* A person not on a float, but who just happened to have brought his flags to twirl around. Double points if they're rainbow flags.





Yes, I'm just as shocked as you are. Apparently, this one didn't get the memo that twirling flags when you're NOT in a marching band or at a dance club in the 90s is a big no-no. I also get double points because they're rainbow flags.






* The line in front of a port-o-potty.



They're only waiting in this line because there was a rumor that someone drilled holes between the port-o-potties to act as glory holes.




















* Any one of my fuck buddies (just snap a photo of a random guy and you'll probably get this one right).
Whoever said that you can't swing your dick in the city of Chicago without hitting someone who I've been with was wrong, wrong WRONG! I really didn't see any of them out yesterday. I'm pretty sure that this is one of the signs of the apocalypse. Rain of fire, plague of locusts, absence of Richie's gentlemen callers... OH NO!

Pride Parade Scavenger Hunt

This year's pride-themed Oblogitory post was going to have a sort of dark tone to it. I wanted to promote radical gay pride in response to the blatant commercialization of the annual gay pride parade. The idea comes from an episode of Absolutely Fabulous, where Edina convinces Twiggy to promote "Fists Across America," a radical gay pride movement. Their motto is 'we won't take it lying down!'

I was a little sick of the fair weather fairies who show up on pride weekend and act stupid and drunk so they'd get photographed and displayed on news programs and newspapers, showing the world that gay means trashy and slushy. Some gay people are a little more classy when they're having fun. We all don't struggle to hold our liquor at 11:00 A.M. while posing shirtless with rainbow boas for pictures to post on our myspace profiles so that all of our shallow friends can be jealous that they weren't able to go because they had to work that day.

I was sick of the thousands of people who claim to have gay pride, but are nowhere to be found when anti-hate crime bills need public support. Those cute boys and girls on those floats who you whistle at are in danger of being beaten down because they're gay and the people who beat them will just get a slap on the wrist because the law doesn't protect homosexuals against hate crimes.

Then I figured that being a jerk during this time of year is a lot like trying to steal the magic of your sister's wedding day by announcing that you're a big flaming queer and that you can't support her marriage until all other gay people can get married. It's tacky and no one cares about what you have to say because they're so drunk already, so it definitely is a lot like being a jerk during pride.

So this year I am passing out a little 'gay pride' scavenger hunt list to all of my friends. It's a list of things to watch out for this Sunday during the parade. Bring a camera and snap a photo of whatever you can find on the list, then e-mail it to me. It's a ton of fun, and it beats being a jerk on a day where scantily clad young men and women roam the streets for reasons unknown to them.

GAY PRIDE PARADE SCAVENGER HUNT

• A politician who hasn't done anything to help the gays, but showed up to the parade in a pathetic attempt to show everyone that he has no problem being near the queers... as long as they don't try to sleep with him.

• Really, REALLY bad drag.

• The big but short lesbian who goes around selling overpriced novelty parade gear such as pride flags, pride pins, hat umbrellas, and glow sticks. You know who I'm talking about.
  

• The Altoids float!

• An anti-gay sign that tells us that we're going to hell or that the rapture is coming. You get extra points if it's got a bible verse on it.

• A person with a drink in his or her hand who doesn't look 21.

• A person you'd like to fuck.

• A person not on a float, but who just happened to have brought his flags to twirl around. Double points if they're rainbow flags.

• The line in front of a port-o-potty.

• Any one of my fuck buddies (just snap a photo of a random guy and you'll probably get this one right).
  

Happy hunting!

New Entries in the Urban Dictionary

METER MASH

1. The act of walking into a parking meter while being distracted by various attractive objects on the street, such as men on bikes, men in shorts, men with children, and men carrying bibles.

"Richie was severely meter mashed when he spotted Father Martin walking into the bank because he fantasized that the priest was making a deposit in the First Bank of Richie instead of LaSalle."


"I'M NOT GAY" SEAT

1. The single seating space between two heterosexual men at a movie theatre.
2. The only seat in which Richie will ever sit when watching summer blockbusters.

"As Richie sank into the 'I'm not gay' seat between the sexually-deprived college frat boy and the lifeguard, he waited patiently for the opportunity to accidentally drop a gummi bear on to either of them in attempt to grope around to pick it back up."


SCAR SEARCH

1. The act of groping the midsection of previously unskinny men to check for liposuction scars.

"Suspicious of Bradley's new six-pack, Richie performed an immediate scar search while pretending to get frisky with him."

Green Warriors

I was talking to Joe recently about having to buy batteries. He accused me of needing to power my sex toys, but I reminded him that all of my sexual accoutrement runs on rechargeable batteries because I live a green (environmentally friendly) life. Though my funny little statement got a little laugh, I couldn't help but feel a sudden tingle of fear run through my lithe and supple yoga-enhanced body.

It was as if Mark and Jason knew that I was mocking the green effort. Mark and Jason are two gay boys who live in the suburbs. I met them when I first moved to Illinois, during my brief period as a volunteer for various community events in Naperville. They're very scary young men with this weird ability that allows them to know when they're being made fun of.

The first time I was allowed to set my non-Birkenstocked foot in their house was also the last time. I made the mistake of tossing a soda can in the garbage. Mark rolled his eyes at me, made me pick the can out of the trash, and icily said "we RECYCLE in this house."

UGH! Excuuuuuse me! It was an honest mistake, what with having lived in Texas for four years. Texas' closest thing to environmental awareness is stocking every one of the 1000 Wal Marts in the city of Houston with shopping bags made of 10% recycled materials that ironically end up being thrown out on the side of the freeway because people love to toss their garbage there.

One of Mark and Jason's planetary friendly efforts included making their own compost in the backyard. Phew! I saw this food container in their refrigerator that one time and it had all their scrap food and other biodegradable food wastes in it (such as eggshells and carrot peelings). They'd store it in there until they'd have enough to make a layer in the compost heap. Meanwhile, the water in the water pitcher would absorb the onion and corn husk odors. Blegh!

Mark and Jason both drove hybrid cars, they used rechargeable batteries in their clocks and remote controls, and they only buy organic food. They were all about the organics. I never understood what the rage was, so I asked what organic food was. They looked at me like I'd just asked them where they buried Jimmy Hoffa and responded with "organic food is better for you." These posers didn't know what it was. I began to suspect that their green campaign was just a fad brought on by some brochure they picked up at an Earth Day rally where Sheryl Crow was the guest performer.

If you were to ask 8 out of 10 people to describe the difference between regular food and organic food, they wouldn't be able to tell you. They just buy it because they read in People magazine that Angelina Jolie was spotted at a Whole Foods.

When people are truly a part of a cause such as environmental friendliness, they aren't usually 'in your face' like Mark and Jason. If they are, you can bet that it's just a craze and you can quickly cut them down by asking them questions like you're Barbara Walters. You'll most likely find a flaw in their responses and you get to be a bitch about it by calling them out as posers. Try it!

It's a Dog Eat Dogeater World

Dear Asian queen at the gym who rolled his neck and bitch-blinked at me today for talking to someone who I didn't know was his boyfriend,

First off, who does that? The last time someone snapped in my face and rolled their neck as they bitch blinked (combination of a stare down and a roll of the eyes) was when I was handing in my spelling test in the fourth grade. I wasn't clever then and it's not clever now.

All I did was chat him up about running. We weren't planning to run off to Rio de Janeiro together on a honeymoon. To you it may have looked like flirting, but I feel EVERYONE'S biceps while pretending to be impressed.

Maybe the reason why he was so into talking to me was because you're so frigid that they used your ass as the model for the ice factory when they filmed "The Mosquito Coast." Gay men in Chicago tend to gravitate towards fun and refreshing conversation, not discussions about Paris Hilton's eating habits in jail. Yes, I heard you talking about that to someone last week while I was waiting for a machine.

If you're going to get offended by every Asian boy who talks to your boyfriend, then you're going to have a hard time living in Chicago. We're everywhere, sweet cheeks! And we love the white mens! Mua ha ha ha!

You gotta step up your game, boy! Wait, this letter started out by me explaining that I wasn't into your man. Now I'm ripping you apart and claiming that you belong in the minors with the rest of the boys who can't deep throat. I guess I really was wanting to get with him. There really isn't anything else to say, except: may the best lay win.

Hugs and kisses,

Richie

How Do You Solve a Problem Like Richie?

One Sunday evening about four years ago, my roommate yelled to me that he'd be back in a few hours. I got up and opened the door to my room to see him off, but he was in a real hurry to get out of the house. It's a good thing that he forgot his sunglasses and came back into the house to grab them, because I never would have been able to see what he was wearing to go out! It looked a little like a sailor's outfit, but he was also wearing short shorts that matched the top so I assumed that he was going to a costume party or a European schoolboy-themed orgy. He finally confessed that he was dressed up like one of the children from "The Sound of Music" and that he was on his way to a Sound of Music Sing-a-long.

Thinking about it still makes me giggle. To this day, I still make fun of the fact that he attended a sing-a-long (that's how it was spelled on the flyer) with 499 other sad gay men and straight women who secretly think that they can magically convert them. When he came home from the show, he told me all about how everyone would clap after each song and some people would get up and mimic all of Julie Andrews' gestures as she sang about her favorite things. My roommate had to stop his first hand account of the evening because I kept interrupting him by laughing. He was not amused. But, really... imagine all those costumed queers singing along to The Sound of Music and tell me that it's not the least bit nerdy.

Then one day, my friend told me about a little event that would happen at the Music Box Theater here in Chicago. They would broadcast one of my favorite Buffy episodes, "Once More, With Feeling" onto a movie screen with subtitles for people to sing along. My bitch side wanted to slam it the way I slammed the Sound of Music sing along, but the frosty side of me wanted to hold my dry cleaning up in the air and proclaim that THEY GOT THE MUSTARD OUT!

I really loved that episode of Buffy, but it's still a sing along and I hate sing alongs! Fortunately, it was the same night as the Gwen Stefani concert, so I had a reason not to attend the strangely alluring but ultimately lame in my mind event at the Music Box.

If you haven't already guessed, there's a reason why I have issues with sing alongs. It's because I can't sing. I can't carry a tune in a sedan chair, I'm so bad! Whenever I'd attend a birthday party, I'd always have to mouth the words to "Happy Birthday" because I could never be in tune with everyone else. My inability to sing has brought me much shame throughout my life, especially during the elementary school Christmas carol assemblies.

My freedom from my shame would come in the form of a certain platinum blond girl from Orange County named Gwen Stefani. She told everyone at the concert that she loves people who make signs for her to read, but she loves people who sing along even more. She explained that it didn't matter if you didn't know how to sing, only that the feelings and the positive energy behind the words are what really matter.

Epiphany! Any woman who can see through Sanjaya's questionable singing ability is definitely someone to listen to. Needless to say, a little bit of doubt about my own singing went away after seeing her and hearing her speak about it. Gwen Stefani said it was okay for me to sing, as long as I felt good doing it. Be sure to look for me at all of the karaoke bars in Chicago this week during Gay Pride! There is no doubt that Gwen helped me get over my own issues! Ha ha... no doubt.

Keep Fishing

I was having lunch with someone recently and he kept pulling his pants up as we walked. His response to my puzzled glances was: "Ever since I lost all this weight, my pants just seem to sag like clown pants!"

Drawing upon my fantastic observation skills, I noticed that I'd never seen him wear that particular pair of pants. He was also wearing a belt with a huge belt buckle, so it didn't take me long to realize that he'd bought a larger pair of pants just to make people think he lost weight. The fact that he was wearing a belt kind of sucked the plausibility out of his previous statement about losing weight and his pants fitting like clown pants.

Perhaps it was his roundabout way of fishing for a compliment that made me brutally honest - I then told him that I really didn't notice that he'd lost any weight at all. All of a sudden, I'm the bad guy. He really didn't look any skinnier than he did any other day, so I was just being honest.

It really pisses me off when people expect you to compliment them on something that isn't all that noticeable to begin with. If you want to hear me say "you look like you've lost weight," then you have to earn that shit by actually losing weight. I don't hand out compliments like I do with blowjobs!

To Be Heard and Not Seen

My neighbor's alarm kept ringing one morning last week, which leads me to believe that he didn't come home that night before... that little slut. I'm actually a little 'alarmed' myself because I realized that if I could hear his alarm, then he could hear all of the naughty little things I do in my own apartment! Scandalous!

I don't do anything really bad when I'm home alone. It's not like I perform rituals for a winged worm-god. I'd never do that. Do you know how hard it is to get the smell of burned goat intestines out of a leather sofa?

My neighbor probably wouldn't be able to tell the difference between the sound of porn on my TV and the sound of my sexual ecstasy with some random bar boy I picked up during happy hour. But still, it really is a little embarrassing to know that people can hear the things I watch on television as well as my phone conversations. The floors in my apartment also creak, so I just know that people can hear me stomping around at odd hours of the night in search of the remote control because I need to watch more porn.

I'd always tiptoe around my apartment to reduce the amount of floor creaking, and I'd have the volume turned down really low so no one would hear my porn. I put a towel in between the headboard and the wall so that it wouldn't bang so much when I'm getting a good pounding.

All of this precaution stemmed from the horrific possibility of running into my neighbors in the hall and having them whisper and point at me as they discussed how I tromp around so much in my apartment that it sounds like Hannibal's army crossing the Alps on elephants and that it is virtually impossible for me to stop masturbating or entertaining strangers in my bed with that thing I do with my tongue.

It's bad enough that I have trouble picking what clothes to wear and how to do my hair so that people won't criticize the way I look. Now I have to worry about the way I sound? In my own apartment, no less? That's about as silly as my ex boyfriend trying to help me with my calculus homework in college. He was dumb, by the way.

What's also dumb is feeling like you have to please other people (who you can't see) in a place that's supposed to be your sanctuary. If I want to have men in my bed, then I will fucking have men in my bed - a bed with a headboard that slams up against the wall so much that it sounds like Mormons knocking on your door when they know you're home. If I want to watch a hardcore six-man punch fisting orgy film, I'm not going to turn the volume down so low that I'd have to imagine the slurpy sound when they pull the fist out. If I want to get to the other end of my apartment, I will do the Can-Can, the Lindy Hop, and even the Tango: Maureen to get to the other goddamn end of my own apartment. I am not going to tiptoe just because I'm afraid someone might hear.

Forget about being caught at a dance club wearing the same outfit as someone else who looks cuter in it than you... being unseen and not heard is one of the most tragic things that can ever happen to a gay man. Don't let it happen to you!

Richie Versus Evil Electronic Superstore

As a serious gamer, I need to stay current with the best game titles for all of the cool systems. That's why I'm always on the prowl at all of the electronics stores on Tuesdays (because anyone with half a brain knows that new releases happen on Tuesdays). My choices are pretty limited, and the only electronic store that I thought would ever have anything is Best Buy.

Best Buy is a huge company with over 1150 stores in the US, Canada, and China. You see ads in the newspapers and on television that try to convince you that you fucking NEED to shop at Best Buy or else your dad won't love you. I'm referring to the father's day commercial where the dad favored the Best Buy present over the dinky little non-Best Buy present. They use flashy colors and really hot print models to appeal to your senses. I, too, have fallen victim to all of the clever advertisements and I find myself going there every Tuesday to futilely find the newest video games.

I get myself all revved up as I'm walking through the door, believing that I'm going to go in and quickly find what I need and then walk out with enough time to call the people I neglect when I'm in one of my video game marathon sessions. Sadly, I never find what I need. On six separate occasions, I've come up empty handed when in search of a new release. It's quite frustrating and I'm a little hurt when I walk out, but I find myself coming back for more every time. It's exactly like an abusive relationship where the husband beats the wife or his secret gay boyfriend who he has to meet at the dirty motel across the street from the Piggly Wiggly.

I finally put my foot down this week after not being able to find a copy of "Tomb Raider: Anniversary" at the local Best Buy. I was able to find it at GameStop, which is a million times better when all you want is a cool video game. The employees are a million times more knowledgeable than Best Buy employees, and they're down to earth and will tell you like it is. Have you ever had a conversation with a Best Buy employee and gotten the feeling like he or she is struggling to string a sentence together for fear of being wrong? I sometimes wish I could look inside their minds with a special machine that can broadcast it onto a movie screen. It would totally look like stock footage from a circus in the 1920s.

I also went in there last week with my friend Scott to ask about high definition and why my television wasn't looking high definition. The picture on the model television looked fabulous and I wanted to know how I could get that on my own television. The "specialist" who helped us tried to convince me that all of the electricity in my apartment was dirty and the only thing that would help it was a $149 power strip that supposedly filtered out all of the "dirty electricity." That was the point where I threw my hands up and wondered out loud when the world got so fucked up that major companies employ smoking hot young men to influence less hot people to spend money on shit they don't need. I was wondering when this boy was going to tell me that I wasn't sexy unless I owned the third season of F Troop on DVD.

We need to wake up and smell the dirty electricity, people! Best Buy doesn't care about the little guy the same way that George Bush doesn't care about black people. The CEO of Best Buy is actually one of the nails used to crucify Jesus. Instead of easy listening music, Best Buy broadcasts the sounds of crying children over their loudspeakers.

I'm still going to shop there. Sad, huh?

Misplaced Aggression

I saw one of my ex boyfriends at a bar about a week ago and he's now dating someone younger, whiter, and more feminine than me. Throughout the evening, I'd come up to him and say things like "Do you still go to church with your mommy on Sundays? I think that's so cute!" or "You still have one of my cock rings and I want it back."

We weren't even boyfriends, really. We saw each other exclusively for a few weeks and had a ton of sex. It didn't even end that badly, so there was no need for me to be so rude or spiteful to him or his new piece of fluff. Seriously, anyone who wears sunglasses in a bar after 10 PM deserves to be made fun of. But where did all of that venom come from? Why was I so quick to tear into the helpless little Ken doll? A clue to my misplaced rage would come from an event in my past.

A while back, I was reading Instinct magazine and I saw that one of my ex boyfriends (who I will refer to as "Mossimo") was featured in the blind date section. Every month, they do an article where they choose two guys and send them on a date like that show "Blind Date."

His date was some twinkie white boy who looked like he was forced into gay prostitution because he had a pretty mouth and an ass so tight that it could snap the ties off of a bundle of newspapers if he sat on them. He listed the last three books he read: The Old Man and the Sea, The Great Gatsby, and The Picture of Dorian Gray. Upon further investigation, I found out that those three books were on the literature reading list for one of the high schools in the city where "Mossimo" lives. Way to screen your applicants, Instinct Magazine!

I criticized everything they did in the article, from the henna tattoos to the game of laser tag where Mossimo complained that it was too dark to see anything. I carried a copy of the article to show people and I realized that I was not in a good mental state when I went up to complete strangers at coffee shops and showed them how pathetic I thought Mossimo was for wearing flip flops to a bar where his date wasn't supposed to be anyway because he was still in high school.

I thought to myself: "Richie, you've got a lot of hidden anger!" Then I stopped thinking to myself like because it would only lead to talking to myself and only nutjobs do that. Though seemingly crazy, my initial observation was accurate. Now I know how Goldie Hawn felt when she saw Elizabeth Berkley in "The First Wives Club." It's never easy seeing your ex dating someone younger, cuter, and possibly better at sex than you are. It'll happen to you too, so don't scoff at me.

My only consolation is the fact that in a lot of other situations for other people, I'm the saucy little sexpot that's better than THEM. It's one of those 'circle of life' kinds of things, really. I meet a guy, he eventually dumps me for a cuter guy, I meet another guy and find out that he dumped his boyfriend to be with me, the guy who got dumped meets a cuter guy than the one that I'm currently dating, the guy who I was initially dating gets dumped by the guy he dumped me for, and... well maybe it's not a perfect circle, but you get the idea.