My Gay Relationship Made Me Do It

Yesterday we were discussing the wonderful topic of cheating spouses and the breakthrough semen home test kit called CheckMate. It's cool for heterosexuals, but what's a homo to do when he suspects his lover of infidelity? The CheckMate is practically useless to gay men, for obvious reasons (both members of the relationship produce semen). We can't exactly de-pants our lovers and swab down their ass holes in search of semen that shouldn't be there. That's just crazy.

One of my friends actually had an idea as to how gay men can use the CheckMate without being discovered:

You put rufees in his drink as soon as he comes home. Then you use the kit to test his body for sperm. Be sure to test his hair!

I'm pretty sure that this is illegal, not to mention morally reprehensible. Roofies have been known to put people in comas if they didn't die from the initial dose. You don't want your lover to end up in a coma or to die. Then you'll NEVER know if he was really cheating on you. You'll also be stuck with either a hospital or funeral bill.

I asked a few of my gay male friends what they would do if they ever suspected that their lover was cheating on them:

I'd just ask him, point blank.
He'll say he's not cheating. Then you'll believe him and you'll both live as a happy couple, making bundt cakes and streudels. Then you wake up with chlamydia and a note on your pillow, stating that "it just isn't working."

I'd look through his email records, chat transcripts, cell phone records, txt msgs...
You'd need access to his computer and cell phone, which probably would require diverting his attention with some grand scheme in order to get a free moment to search it. Who has time to do all of that? Another thing to consider is that the guy is probably smart enough to know not to set up his trysts using methods that are easily traceable.

I'd ask around. My friends would tell me if they knew anything.
I kind of like this one. Of course, it'll only work if you've got mutual friends.

Send a fake email to him posing as someone else and tell him how long you've had a crush on him and ask if he'd be interested in meeting up for coffee.
This only works if you know he's using a dating/casual sex website like Manhunt or Adam4Adam. And what are you going to do when he does take the bait? You're forced to confront him at that point, and you'll just end up looking like a nutjob who has all this time on his hands to create a phony profile.

You can ask him the same questions on several occasions and wait for him to slip up.
If you watch courtroom dramas, you'd know that this tactic is utilized by most of the lawyers. It has definite merit in real life though, as most cheating men are not smart enough to practice their testimony when they're being grilled by the lover they're cheating on.


What I'd do

I recommend hiring a private investigator. If you're one of my six faithful readers, you'd know that I discovered that my boyfriend cheated on me and I chronicled it in the entry entitled "I'm on to you!" I spent weeks searching for the truth, weeks I could have spent taking music lessons or reading a good book. Private investigators also have access to a wealth of resources that the general public does not. All you have to do is provide a few details about his life and sit back while he does all the work for you. At the end of the investigation, you get a nice little portfolio with either incriminating photos of your lover with some skinny crack whore who dances at The Lucky Horseshoe or a piece of paper with the name of a good counselor who specializes in paranoia because your lover really wasn't cheating on you. The important thing is that you'll have figured out the truth without getting your hands dirty or looking like a raving lunatic.

"My Marriage Made Me Do It"

She always comes home smelling like cologne you'd find in the bargain bin at TJ Maxx. She never answers the phone when you call. Whenever you want to have sex with her, she's never in the mood. Someone keeps calling the house and hanging up whenever you answer the phone. Is your lady cheating on you? How can you be sure?

A funny little product popped up on various forensic investigative message boards recently, and I found it extremely amusing. It's an infidelity test kit called CheckMate that tests for traces of semen on clothes. It even comes with enough materials to test ten times, which is perfect for men who aren't man enough to dump their skanky girlfriends after finding that the first test was positive.

One of the websites that sells CheckMate, SpyGear4U.com, also includes a slide show demonstration of the product. A pair of women's panties is tested for semen, and I don't know if they're swabbing the inside or the outside of the panties. From all of the selling points listed on the website, I'm assuming that they're testing the inside because...

After sexual intercourse the flowback of the male partners semen from the woman's body results in dried semen stains in the undergarment worn by the woman after the episode.

If you were a woman who was cheating on her boyfriend or husband, wouldn't you have worn a condom? Anyone stupid enough to have another man's semen seep into their panties from their vagina deserves to get caught.

This kit may be a godsend for the heterosexual community, but what are us gays supposed to do when our men come home smelling like the emaciated dancers at The Lucky Horseshoe? With both members of the relationship secreting the same type of evidence used to incriminate in the heterosexual test kit, it's a little more difficult to find out if our men are cheating.

Tomorrow we'll get some input from various members of the gay community about surefire (and possibly mentally unbalanced) methods of finding the truth in a sea of doubt and secret text messages during your one on one time. Stay tuned!

I definitely got Carried away

If you ever sit in your panties and sip wine while you type on your laptop, find it hard to pry yourself away from your "rabbit," or have ever used the phrase "absofuckinglutely," then you've probably found some comfort by watching Sex and the City at some point in your life. I wouldn't consider myself a hardcore fan, but I did find it very enjoyable in the short amount of time that it was on the air. It's very rare that you see people have casual sex AND eat food in a television show. It's usually one or the other, or neither if it's a show about Amish anorexics.

My friend Jane sent me a link to an image of the poster for the upcoming movie because she thinks that anything with Sarah Jessica Parker on it will make a gay man shit his pants. I didn't do that, but I did startle a few people in the room when I gasped at the sight of it. Here are a few thoughts that went through my mind when I saw the poster:

• Wow, Sex and the City!
• I wonder if the actual poster will have pink rhinestones.
• Get carried away with what?

It didn't dawn on me until I read on someone else's blog three days later that the tagline for the movie (GET CARRIED AWAY) was a play on SJP's name in the series, Carrie.

And here I thought that I was hot shit because I'd been playing Brain Age 2 for the Nintendo DS and my brain age is 26 (optimal brain age is 20). I used to rip on my friends who get distracted easily, saying that the mere sight of man or penis was enough to turn their brains to jelly. I guess Jane was sort of right. Sarah Jessica Parker made my brain shit its pants.

Get the Pointe?

I really love to go out to shows like movies, musicals, the opera, comedy shows, and ballets. If a ticket is needed to get in, then you know I'm all over it. Suddenly, Cameron Diaz's line from Charlie's Angels (I LOVE TICKETS!) doesn't seem so silly.

The problem is that I always have terrible experiences whenever I attend any of the shows. I remember there being a train delay on the day I was to see "The Pirate Queen" and I literally had to run from the station to the theatre in very nice shoes with no arch support. The show ended up being lame and my poor feet hurt for days. I also saw "Juno" recently, but didn't enjoy it because too many people were talking during important parts of the film and I spilled my drink on my lap because the lid wasn't staying on.

Last night I attended a performance by Les Ballets Trockadero de Monte Carlo. It's an all-male dance company that performs all across the country. They're men who dress up in women's dance clothes and wear pointe shoes. How bad could it be?

It was one of the coldest nights in Chicago, ice had formed on the sidewalks, and the wind blew right through my trousers. The sandwich I'd eaten earlier wasn't going through my body in the most pleasant way. We got lost coming out of the parking garage because it's like a virtual maze. And to top it all off, I sat next to a pouty queen who made it clear to everyone around him that he was a professional ballet dancer, which meant he was going to be critiquing the whole show and shaking his head in shame because the dancing would probably never compare to his majestic moves.

The house lights dimmed as they started playing the music from Swan Lake and I immediately thought "oh cripes, they're going to do Swan freaking Lake." To my surprise, the dancing was quite good. The men in tutus glided across the stage with such fluidity and grace that they almost seemed like women if you squinted your eyes, due in large part to the fact that their chests were the same size as any Russian ballerina's chest.

There was a lot of physical humor incorporated into the moves such as one dancer getting knocked over by another runaway dancer, and the princess getting dizzy after doing a bunch of pirouettes. You'd think that all of the humor would take away from the dancing and cheapen it, but that is not the case. It's clear that the dancers respected the dance and never let it suffer. The comedy portions complimented the dance portions, and you're left with the perfect blend of comedy and art.

At one point, I looked over to my BFF Scott and he said "this is so fucking cool after all the crap we went through." He was right. Sometimes we get so caught up in all of the negative stuff that goes on that we forget to focus on all of the positives. Sure, the start of the evening was disastrous. But it was a great theatre with stadium seating (which you rarely see in a fine art venue), the show was highly entertaining, it benefited the AIDS Foundation of Chicago, they didn't skimp on the vodka in their cocktails, and a lot of the men there winked at me without me having to do a crazy double take.

It's all about perspective.



I usually bring my camera to things like this, but I forgot to put the memory card back in it. This is a fun little picture of my night at the theatre.

Rainbow Bubble

I laced up my running shoes and participated in the 2008 Aramco Houston Half Marathon this past weekend. The route would take the runners from downtown Houston, through the Heights, into Montrose (the gayborhood), and back downtown. I sewed a rainbow flag onto my shirt to show my pride and to make it easier for my fellow gays to find me in the crowd.

During most of the race, people would clap for the runners, but they'd stop clapping when they saw me coming. Instead, they'd whisper to the person they were standing next to as they pointed at me. Some of the police officers who stood at the road closures would look at me and shake their head. Others just laughed as they consumed their kolaches and Shipley do-nuts.

I really hope that their apparent coldness toward me was because I run like duck with joint problems and not because I was wearing a gay flag on my chest.

My friend Joe had a similar experience during his recent trip to Jacksonville:

When [we] were in Jacksonville for Thanksgiving, we were staying at the Omni (the nicest hotel in Jacksonville). We went to have breakfast our last day there at the lobby restaurant. This lady ran from the kitchen and stopped the hostess from seating us with everyone else and had her seat us in an empty section of the restaurant by ourselves. It was really very insulting and I have to say I was pretty shocked, too.

I'd been living in Chicago so long that it was such a shock to see that my homosexuality isn't fully embraced in other places. I can hold hands with a boy, have gay patches on my man purse, and even visit straight bars here in Chicago without fear of being jeered at or made to feel less of a person. Some gays in Chicago don't realize how great it is here, and I have a feeling that I'll be explaining this type of thing to all of my boy servants when I'm in my eighties.

So kick up your heels and proudly kiss your boyfriend in public because people in other cities would love to do that without getting rocks thrown at them!

So Crazy, It Just Might Work!

Yesterday I promised to share my new and quirky techniques for meeting new and exciting people, so here it is. Enjoy!


The Crazy Double Take

After making eye contact for more than three seconds (counting is important), slowly turn away with a coy smile. Then quickly turn back to look at him with a crazy look on your face. I like to pretend that I am reacting to news that I'd been selected to represent the United States in the world championship of naked yoga.

Why it works: How many times have you seen someone do this? The crazy double take isn't really about being funny or silly. It's about being unique among a lot of individuals. Statistically, there are not a lot of funny gay men in Chicago. Being one of the few funny-seeming people in the city will more likely attract people because they've been deprived of it for so long. It's a lot like supply and demand.

Disclaimer: There's a good chance that the crazy double take will backfire, so be prepared to talk your way out of it if you are accused of being on illegal substances. Sometimes an innocent smile and a shrug of the shoulders will save you, but not often.


Rock the Accessories

Unique accessories are great ways of breaking the ice and getting men to talk to you. Is it raining? Bring a huge golf umbrella instead of that dinky little bumbershoot. It opens up the possibility of you assuring the guy that you're not compensating for small genitals. Ditch the basic white iPod headphones for a snazzy red pair of Vmoda Vibe earbuds. Only two people in Chicago own red earbuds and a lot of people always ask me where I got mine.

Why it works: A lot of people are afraid to talk to others because they feel like they have no way to start a conversation. Men like big things, colorful things, shiny things, and things that make noise. Not only will the accessory calm them down, but the uniqueness of the accessory will spark their curiosity and get them to talk more.


Edgy Liquor

My friend Aileen likes to order seltzer water and bitters. She calls it a "Bitter Aileen." Whenever I see her interact with people on the subject of the drink in her hand, it always results in a roaring good time. One of the most frequently asked questions in a bar or cocktail party is "what are you drinking?" If you respond to that question with Bud Light, Miller Light, vodka tonic, long island iced tea, or cosmo, then you've lost all hope of having a fun conversation. You may as well tell the guy that you alphabetize your DVDs and listen to NPR on Friday nights.

I order vodka tonics with maraschino cherries in them instead of the traditional lime because it looks cooler and tastes better. You can also go around to guys and ask them if they want your cherry.

Why it works: Ordering drinks the way you want them and not the way they're supposed to be made is a great way to show people that nobody can tell you how to live your life.

Disclaimer: This one only works in places that serve alcohol, so it won't work if you're a t totaler. Also, for those of you who enjoy Manhattans, be warned that there's a nasty little association between Manhattans and angry, aging divorcees who live in Boca Raton.


The Imaginary Fuzz Pick

During a low point in the conversation (if you're lucky enough to have survived a crazy double take), furrow your brow and pretend to notice a piece of fuzz on the person's shoulder. Pick it off and flick it away, then smooth the material on his shirt.

Why it works: Tactile contact between strangers is very intimate, so people often go giddy when somebody touches them in one way or another. The fuzz pick also satisfies every man's primal need for personal attention.

Disclaimer: Occasionally, you'll encounter people who don't like to be touched. In these cases, the fuzz pick will indeed shine because it helps identify the crazy folks.


Please don't come after me if you fail at any of these new techniques. It works for me, so if it doesn't work for you, then you did it wrong.

...because I suck at Parcheesi

I was sitting at dinner with one of my friends this week and he mentioned how he was having trouble getting a man's attention whenever he's out in public. When I told him about all of the luck I had meeting fun and interesting guys recently, he was a little confused because he knows that I'm currently dating someone and meeting other men while you're dating someone is wrong (according to him).

There's a difference between me striking up a conversation with an attractive man in a bar and me spreading my legs for an attractive man in a bar. Just because I'm dating someone doesn't mean I should turn off the part of me that attracted him in the first place.

A sushi chef's knives are extremely important to his livelihood and he must never let them get dull. The same is true for a young gay Asian man living in Chicago. We have to maintain our wit and charm or else we become stale and boring just like all of the couples who invite you over to their place on Saturday nights to play Parcheesi and watch Tivoed episodes of Project Runway. It's hard enough for us to get guys to look at us in the first place, so why should we stop when we finally DO get one?

So for all of you who don't want to end up like that, I will offer some quirky and fun ways to get a man's attention in tomorrow's post. Have a sexy day!

Saving Karaoke

Do you remember taking Spanish class in high school or college? I grew up speaking just English and I was one of those people who found it difficult to learn another language. I was never a cunning linguist and I always struggled to conjugate verbs correctly and never remembered which words were masculine or feminine. I had a problem with a certain student named Jonathan Villagomez, who already knew how to speak Spanish. A lot of people were quick to come to his defense by claiming that there's nothing wrong with honing your existing language skills by taking a structured Spanish class. I prefer not to piss in a cup and tell people that it's lemonade. Who are we fooling here? Come on!

I find that the same type of thing is happening to karaoke in Chicago's gay bars. I went to Roscoe's with my special guy friend, "Ezekiel," in time to catch the first round of karaoke hosted by Chicago's own Honey West, and was excited to sing a fun little song. We wanted to sing "Islands in the Stream," but were shocked to learn that it wasn't in the song book. I didn't have time to complain about that because the person who was up on stage was singing extremely well and it caught me off guard. The next six people who sang after that also had pleasing voices.

What really got me was the fact that most of them had their eyes closed throughout the song and had carefully planned hand gestures. I think I saw one of them order a hot tea from the bar because it was good for his throat. Clearly they were not amateurs.

When people hear the word 'karaoke,' images of liquored-up office girls belting out a Michael Bolton song come to mind. It used to be a lot of fun seeing shy boys and girls being prodded by their friends to sing a song on stage with promises of complimentary buttery nipples if he or she was able to get through without butchering the song. Now I and all of the other people who are tone deaf are even more apprehensive about participating in what used to be a fun and campy national gay pastime because all of the people with formal voice training are hogging up the microphone.

Here are three suggestions that I've come up with to save Chicago gay karaoke:

• Refine the song selection - There should be less depressing songs by artists who we've never heard of and more songs for the artists who have the most drag impersonators. I've seen a lot of Dolly Parton, Stevie Nicks, and Amy Winehouse drag queens out on the streets, but we can only choose from one or two of their songs when we want to karaoke. What's up with that?

• Enforce a mandatory drink minimum for each song - I'd like to see all of the American Idol hopefuls perform their rendition of "My Way" after downing shots of Jack Daniels. Songs should be performed the way the original artist performed them.

• Add "Islands in the Stream" to all karaoke bar song books - Madrigal's had this in their selection until they closed down. Now you're lucky if you even find a bar that has anything by either Kenny Rogers, Dolly Parton, or the Bee Gees. It's possibly the most perfect song in the world and I'm pretty sure that it has the power to heal certain skin conditions if sung correctly.