Queer & Loathing in Las Vegas - That's Me in the Spotlight

That's me with the sun in my eyes.

The trip to Krave the night before had done little to stave off the, um, pent-up frustration. So we walked back to our hotel to change clothes, and then we walked about five miles through Bally's and the Paris to find the monorail station, which we had been hoping would save us a few steps. We rode to the Sahara, and then walked another five miles through the casino to find the Strip and get our bearings. And then we started walking again. Through a part of Vegas you probably shouldn't be walking unless you're streetwalking.

Nine miles later, we arrived at The Spotlight Lounge. This is probably the biggest gay hole in the wall in Vegas, and just what we needed. Flying nuns in Kabuki make-up and mustaches rollerskated in, and we decided we must be in the right place. Nuns don't drink just anywhere.

We had a few beers and I think the bartender was a little put out with me. I had to pay in dollar coins because earlier I made the mistake of putting a $20 in the machine for a $3 monorail ticket. It sounded like I hit the jackpot.

While we drank, Hotass watched out of the corner of his eye a woman who might as well been Juanita from Sordid Lives. I watched a bearish guy in an Old Navy t-shirt cruising me, or maybe he was cruising HotAss. Since we're Lorrie and Dorrie, sometimes it's so hard to tell exactly who is looking at who.

(I can't believe I found that great pic of Lorrie and Dorrie. And no, they have nothing to do with our trip to Las Vegas.)

Anyway, somebody was getting cruised, and the night was slipping away from us. We left there and walked down to The Badlands Saloon for another beer. Actually, I drank mine and half of HotAss'. We agreed to split up and meet back at the Spotlight three hours later. The night starts to get a little hazy here (i.e., what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas).

Three hours passed and I arrived back at The Spotlight right on time. Rather than freeze outside or look like a hustler cruising the parking lot, I noticed the bar was still open. Hey, I might as well have a beer while I wait, and I still had a few dollar coins in my pocket. Old Navy T-shirt Guy was still there.

Fifteen minutes go by. Old Navy T-shirt Guy starts talking to me. Turns out he was trying to figure out if Lorrie/HotAss and I were a couple. I explained that we're no more a couple than Laverne and Shirley were. Three beers go by, I learned that Old Navy T-shirt Guy was a local and a good kisser, and HotAss is an hour and 15 minutes late. I called him and it seems we forgot to specify whether we'd meet inside or outside.

By now, the monorail had long since stopped running, and wouldn't start again for another three hours. We were facing an hour hike back to Caesar's or a $25 cab ride.

A couple more beers went by. Old Navy T-shirt Guy and I stepped away for minute, and the night gets hazy again.

But I can tell you that, thanks to Old Navy T-shirt Guy, we were spared the hike and the cab ride back to the hotel. I can tell you that sunrise over Vegas is a beautiful thing. I can tell you that he dropped us off at the staff entrance and I think I had to pee five times before we got to the room. And I can tell you that the $50 room service biscuits and gravy Hotass and I had when we got back to the room were fucking delicious.

And so was the Bloody Mary I sipped poolside when I finally got out of bed that morning.

Queer & Lusting in Las Vegas - I Love the Nightlife

Much to the delight of our bank accounts, Hotass and I returned from Vegas on Sunday with a little cash still in our pockets, and absolutely exhausted.

My feet and legs were killing me because we're too cheap for cabs. Actually, our one cab ride/comedy show was definitely worth the 16 bucks. The cabbies in Vegas get $50 from the strip clubs for every person they bring to their door, and the ride is free to patrons. So after dark, every free driver is trying to seduce horny men to go to the tittie bars.

Ours was a little disappointed that we didn't need a ride to the strip club, but like he said, he picked us up at The Buffalo, and he shouldn't be surprised. But at least he thought he was a freakin' comedian.

"What do you call a Mexican woman with no legs? Cunts-Way-Low. My girlfriend is Mexican and she don't like that one much. But that's okay. She sure can clean a mean kitchen. How come there were only 4,000 Mexicans at the Alamo? Because they only had two trucks."

Too bad we waited til the last night we were there to take a cab. My feet might not be cursing me now.

We walked almost everywhere we went. Even if it was in our hotel, it almost always seemed to be on the other side.

We saw Celine's show. It wasn't a show I would have picked on my own. I like her music as long as I don't have to watch her perform. The overacting gets on my reserve nerve. But truly, the show was incredible. There was enough singing, dancing and impressive staging to make me forget about the overacting. The performance of "Seduces Me" surrounding by writhing shirtless men was one of the most erotic things I've witnessed in some while. And she almost had me in the palm of her hand when she began "What a Wonderful World." Tears almost welled up in my eyes. But then she started flashing pictures of the audience on the video screen. And quite frankly, I just didn't see anything wonderful about them.

After Celine, we treated ourselves to dinner at Bobby Flay's Mesa Grill. I had the grilled lamb porterhouse with a sweet potato tamale. It was delicious, even if the meat was still on the bone. And you know how I feel about that.

After the show, Hotass and I stumbled into The Pussycat Dolls Lounge. Again, not something I would have chosen, but someone passed free passes into Hotass' hand. And this place was just cute. Yeah, leave it to a gay man to call a burlesque show, "cute." But Hotass and I were the only ones there to fully appreciate a spinning champage glass on a center stage that was just the right size for a Pussycat Doll to flail in, and two ceiling swings that featured pink feather boas suspending girls in sexy black-and-silver bustiers. Don'tcha wish your girlfriend was cute like me?

After one drink and one quick show, we hit the streets again, and walked 42 blocks to Krave for $10 liquor bust. Not beer bust, but liquor bust. $10 all-you-can-drink buffet. Now there's a concept Memphis could really latch on to. And you should have heard the sigh of relief when we spotted half-naked go-go boys. Las Vegas had been way too heterocentric, and we were starting to suffer from gay man's cabin fever.

The next night, we saw Cirque du Soleil's Mystere which was definitely breath-taking, especially the soft-core man-on-man balancing act. And like Celine, Mystere had me right up until the end. [Attention: spoiler ahead] The baby in footie pajamas that we had been following higher and higher through level after level of acrobats, trapeze artists, and flying hot boys, in the grand finale arrives on stage riding a giant, psychedelic snail with giant, hypnotic bubble eyes. WTF? A snail? I expected something more dramatic, sexier. Especially after that particular LSD trip.

Again as we're walking through the casino, HotAss picks up another free VIP pass, this time to Tangerine. Just in time for a cocktail. And also just in time for the Sirens of the TI show. As soon as we finished our gin & tonics, and as soon as the lusty pirate made off with the sexy siren queen, we bolted...

To be continued...

A Sure-Fire Oscar Contender

Pick up your own copy of the soundtrack.

1. Viva Las Vegas - Elvis Presley
2. Days Go By - Dirty Vegas
3. Money - Pink Floyd
4. Do Ya Think I'm Sexy (remix) - N'Trance and Rod Stewart
5. It's All About the Money - Meja
6. Desert Rose - Sting
7. I Drove All Night (Hex Hector Remix) - Celine Dion
8. Soak Up the Sun (remix) - Sheryl Crow
9. It's a Sin - Pet Shop Boys
10. You're Nobody Til Somebody Loves You - Dean Martin
11. Ain't Love A Kick in the Head - The Rat Pack
12. Luck Be A Lady - Frank Sinatra
13. SexBomb - Tom Jones & Mousse T
14. A Little Less Conversation (JXL Remix) - Elvis Presley
15. Leaving Las Vegas - Sheryl Crow

Viva Las Vegas!

Bright light city gonna set my soul -
Gonna set my soul on fire.
Got a whole lot of money that's ready to burn,
So get those stakes up higher.
There's a thousand woofy men waitin' out there.
And they're all livin' devil may care.
And I'm just the devil with love to spare.
Viva Las Vegas.

Tomorrow night, HotAss and I board a Northwest flight to Sin City. And I am absolutely giddy with excitement. I left work today with an uncontrollable grin on my face. Perhaps I should get out of the house more.

This is my first real vacation in three years, and somehow I don't think a trip to Las Vegas will be the same relaxing, introspective trip as my vacation in 2002 to the Outer Banks.

And really, don't people go to Vegas to see how much trouble they can get in? Isn't that what easy weddings, cheap divorces, slot machines and whorehouses are all about? Money and sex.

When I teasingly told my dad today that I might get married out there, he laughed. Not just a chuckle, but a full-blown belly laugh.And told me a story about how he had run into someone lately (he couldn't remember who) that had commented in disbelief on how I was the last remaining member of my family who wasn't "married or shacked up."

And since I have no money, this trip must be all about the sex. Maybe I'll meet someone out there to "shack up" with. And the family will be happy.

Have You Ever...? Part 3 - Virginia Strikes Back

11. Have you ever called your girlfriend/boyfriend "Honey?" I do believe that I have called a boyfriend, "Honey-lamb." But you see, here in the South, we're lazy and we call our boyfriends, "Hun." As in, "Don't worry, hun. It happens to everybody." or "Hun, why don't you put down the gun and come back to bed?"

12. Have you ever changed your appearance a lot in a short time? I once made my black-as-an-Ace-of-Spades hair platinum blonde. Freaky, to say the least, and not attractive. Not long after that, I did something with my goatee. But I can't remember if I shaved it or it I grew it.

13. Have you ever cheated on an exam? Yes, I have. In a math class in college, I hid the formulas I needed in the sliding case for my scientific calculator. And I've lifted my paper a little too high to show my answers to the cute but perpetually dumb boy in history class.

14. Have you ever cried in public? Gimme a break. Of course I have. I cry at movies. I cry at "Extreme Makeover: Home Edition." I cry whenever channel-hopping just happens to land for a second on one of Animal Planet's animal rescue shows. I cry when I'm very angry and I cry when I'm very sad.

15. Have you ever dated someone from another race, culture or religion? "Dated?" No. And I'll let it go at that.

16. Have you ever driven a truck? Yes. Before I got my first car, I drove my father's black 1978 Ford pick-up truck with the fire-engine red tool box.

17. Have you ever eaten in a restaurant and realized you have no money with you? No, but once, HotAss and I were invited to a going-away dinner for which Hotass was assured that the host was picking everything up and that "everything will be taken care of." The restaurant happened to be a little out of our budget at the time, and everything wasn't taken care of. When the checks came, HotAss and I exchanged a few nervous glances across the table, when we realized neither one of us had enough cash to cover our tabs. Somewhere between random dollars and a little extra room on the credit cards, we covered it.

18. Have you ever eaten frog legs? No, but then I do have an aversion to eating meat off a bone. Especially bones that are prone to hopping and flopping around in swamp water. Blech.

19. Have you ever fallen asleep while talking on the phone? Yep.

20. Have you ever fallen down the stairs? Do I really have to answer this? Cue the wavy screen and the flashback music.

Red, Red Wine, or Que Shiraz Shiraz

To prepare for my going-away party from the nonprofit agency in Nashville, a co-worker asked Virginia, "What kind of wine does he like?"

In pure snarky fashion, she replied, "Whichever one he happens to be drinking at the time."

Hey, da bitch knows me.

In the summer, you can't beat a perfectly-chilled Vivacious Vicky. Yeah, she's cheap. She's white, but damn, that girl know how to work it. But, I live above a liquor store, and the WineBear works there. I get a lot of the "budget-minded" wines, as he reminded me a few days ago. If I go in and he's working, he knows how just to direct me to the perfect white wine. Like the Cousino-Macul Sauvignon Gris.

But fall has arrived in Memphis. The cool, crisp air. Leaves are starting to fall from the trees. And a man's palate turns to tastes of something richer. Something red. And WineBear has some excellent recommendations.

Combine that with the fancy-schmancy corkscrew that was given to me by the Dynamic Dou for my birthday, I popped the cork on my first bottle of red wine for the season.

Ferngrove Shiraz 2003. Very tasty. And shiraz has always been my favorite red wine.

Desolation Flats Rustler's Red. Also very tasty. And perfect if you don't really know what you want since it's a "kitchen sink" of every red wine.

Cheers to Autumn.

Have You Ever...? Questions 6-10

6. Have you ever been on TV? Yes. In a previous lifetime, I was the media spokesperson for a nonprofit agency in Nashville, so I ended up on the 6'o'clock news a couple of times. Once, I even demonstrated how to make sweet potato ice cream in the cooking segment on the midday show.

7. Have you ever broken a bone? Yes. When I was a college freshman, I had a group of friends with whom I played Death Tag in the Fine Arts Building on Friday nights. We drew names of our target, ensuring that no one knew who their killer would be. We chased each other through acting labs and music appreciation classrooms. One night, as I was being chased down a flight of concrete stairs in the fire exit, I landed on my right ankle wrong. Snap went my ankle and I spent the next six weeks in a smelly cast. The incident also ended my acting career. Just that afternoon, I found out I had gotten cast as Chorus Member #4 in the spring semester's production of Wiley and the Hairy Man.

8. Have you ever broken up with someone? Yes. When I was a college senior, I began dating Crazy Keifer. He worked with my roommate at Chili's, and he drove up from Nashville to spend his crazy server days off. After four weeks, it wasn't working out. So I broke up with him in the rain under the pine trees. Dramatic, huh? It gets worse. The next day, while I was in class, Keifer was still in my apartment and began drinking cheap beer at 10 a.m. By the time, I arrived home at 4:30 p.m., he was blind-ass drunk. I put him to bed and went out with my friends to The Pub.

We got back home about eight. Around 10, someone suggested I might should check on him. Crazy Keifer had slipped out into the night. The red light bulb on the bedside table was dramatic, casting the room in a spooky crimson light. The open window and the billowing curtains were even more dramatic.

I don't know how long he had been gone. He could have slipped away after we arrived home, or he could have left while we were gone, in which case he could have just left through the front door.

Coincidentally, Crazy Keifer also started the Crazy Crab Infestation of 1995.

9. Has someone ever broken up with you? Yep. And in every instance, it was the best thing that could have happened.

10. Have you ever called your significant other by the wrong name? I'm sure I have, but I can't recall a specific time. Wait, does "motherfucker" count?

Wake Me Up When October Ends

This past week just might be the most blogworthy week I've had in quite sometime. So many things happened and I think that each one deserves its own post. But who has that kind of time?

So here are the highlights...

...Last Friday night, Kimdog took a roll on the river and spent the weekend with the Gaggle. She proved herself as a true honey when she conspired with us to redecorate Bobo and Dusty's bathroom in rubber duck.

...Bobo and Dusty hosted a housewarming party at their beautiful home. I'd love to visit them more, but I hear that Homeland Security has imposed travel restrictions on Memphis Midtown citizens to the state of Arlington. The evening also featured the surprise rubber duck motif in the bathroom.

...I went on a management retreat where I learned how to make boursin stuffed chicken and watched my boss get pathetically and unprofessionally drunk on scotch. In the middle of dinner, she tapped her glass with her fork, stumbled to her feet, and explained why Memphis' rank as the number one bankruptcy per capita city wasn't such a bad thing.

...I endured a five-hour-long and awkward car-ride back to Memphis with my boss.

...Upon getting home, I quickly painted my face and changed into my goth punk costume for the Halloween party.

...Today is my 33rd birthday. I almost feel like I should be disturbed by this, but, um, nothing.

...The Dynamic Duo threw a birthday luncheon for me, complete with Monte Cristo sandwiches and hearty vegetable soup. It was a nice chilly day, and it feels like fall has finally arrived in Memphis. We drew names for Christmas, and we discussed plans for our post-Thankgsiving progressive dinner party.

...I got some cool stuff for my birthday. A book of vintage male nude photography. A fancy-schmancy corkscrew. Gift cards to both Barnes & Noble and Old Navy. Kenneth Cole Reaction cologne. Yesterday I took myself shopping and found white 100-percent Egyptian cotton sheets on sale and a new shower curtain at Target. I can't tell you how excited I am to go to sleep tonight on classic white sheets. It really is about treating yourself to the small luxuries in life.

...I got so wrapped up in sheets I almost forgot about Dusty & LeBobo's gift. So now I get to figure out what do with my own website. Hotass has nixed the idea of a gay porn site. He thinks that might be overdone and common.

...When I got home from lunch, I had an instant message from my ex, "It's a chilly day here... brrr.... the kind of day when i miss you most... makes me want to be cuddling with you under a blankie, snoozing...." My ex and I had an instant messenger conversation for almost an hour and a half. And he never once acknowledged that it was my birthday. I almost feel like I should be disturbed by this too, but, um, nothing.

The Mad Organist - A Halloween Tail

People on Willett Street whispered about the organist's house. There was something a little creepy about it, and every October the house became more sinister.

Some of the residents of the tree-lined street suspected that something twisted and evil lived in the darkness. They saw the old Ukrainian man through the windows, playing dark and disturbing melodies and inviting something perverse to their quiet conservative neighborhood.

As the leaves fell from the trees in the front yard, the house became more and more shadowed. The bare branches seemed to menacingly beckon to the quiet neighborhood.

Ten days before All Hallow's Eve, darkness came early to Willett Street. Candles in the windows in the house flickered to life, and the ghostly guests began to arrive. Like shadows, the shrowded visitors moved silently through the leaves, and entered the house. What demented ritual was summoning these souls?

A single virginal figure dressed in white arrived. A minotaur stomped through the yard with his manly devil hooves. The wild-eyed Devil himself appeared with one of his Satanic minions. The living dead and necrophiliacs mingled around the porch, swilling poison from red Solo cups and sucking down sweet blood-red Jello shots. Evil laughter and the agonizing cry of "Will someone please put on dance music?" drowned out the eerie music and echoed down the street.

And the organist, dressed in a cassock, chains, harness and a leather jockstrap, reigned in a kingdom of phantom fags and gay ghouls. As his ghastly guests reveled throughout the night, unfortunately the poor organist had no control over the poisonous evil he consumed that evening.

As midnight approached, while bloodsuckers floated rubber rats in the queso dip and a witch hunt formed to reveal the identity of the Black Phantom, two undead marched the organist to the second floor to prepare him for sleep.

Throughout the night, the neighbors heard gutteral moans, groans, garbled exclamations of "You guys are the greatest!" and the rattling of chains coming from the second floor window. By sunrise, the party had vanished into the cool October morning.

The organist came to just before church on Sunday morning with shackles on his wrist, mysterious ectoplasm on his crotch and shoe polish on his tongue. Hell's bells rang in his head, blocking out any recollection of the evening. And he's forever tortured because he can't remember if the evil he summoned truly arrived or if it was only a nightmare.

Seven Things: Revenge of the Fortune Cookie

So you're sitting there at the Chinese buffet at House of the Golden Dragon China Panda Garden. You've had more than your fair share of Won Ton Soup, General Tso's chicken and something with snow peas, but otherwise unidentifiable. Everyone has laughed at the whore born in the Year of the Cock as determined by the paper placemats.

Your server arrives with your black plastic tray of fortune cookies. Everyone reaches for the plastic-wrapped treats, because you've heard before that it's bad luck to choose someone's fortune for them.

But doesn't the one who chooses last have his fortune chosen for him, simply by process of elimination? Or is that how the universe works? Are the ones who lunge greedily for the post-Moo-Shu-Pork taste of something sweet the same ones who should be beaten back unmercifully with sweet-and-sour-sauce-caked forks in an epic Oriental battle for the best destiny?

Or is it just a cookie? I'll leave it to Confucious to decide for sure.

Anyway, as you crack open your cookie, the greedy sons-of-bitches have already started reading their slips of paper.

"Good things are being said about you...in bed!" Riotous laughter ensues.

And everyone goes around the table, reading their fortune aloud and tacking on "in bed." Everyone smiles politely at the person whose fortune is stupid when their sexual proclivities are added on, and quickly moves on the next person, hoping for something racier.

Question for Confucious: Are our destinies and our personalities really determined by our bedroom habits? Get back to me on that, would you?

Anyway... so what happens if you take those two little words and start applying them to our favorite memes?

For example...

7 things I plan to do before I die..in bed:
1) Have sling sex.
2) Digitally record sex.
3) Zip through the Gay Kama Sutra.
4) Scream like a banshee.
5) Have a beefy, hairy, youngish farmer with a beard and in overalls plow new ground.
6) Fall asleep in farmer's arms
7) Now, that I'm older...sleep a full night without having to get up to pee.

7 things I can do...in bed:
1) Perform oral sex that's sure to please.
2) Analingus that's also sure to please.
3) Cuddle
4) Have breakfast
5) Well, God is a DJ...
6) Dream
7) Get distracted. (This was left over from Dusty's responses to the original "Seven Things," and I thought it seemed somewhat appropriate here.)

7 things I cannot do...in bed:
1) Eat a dirty ass.
2) Perform while the doberman watches.
3) Perform while the TV plays in the background, unless it's porn.
4) Sleep if it's unmade.
5) Cuddle with a 100 percent smooth man and 100 percent enjoy it.
6) Wear underwear or pajamas or anything of that nature.
7) Sleep when he's too hot. And I mean body temperature...

7 things that attract me to the same sex...in bed:
1) Thick dicks
2) Hairy chests
3) Uncut dicks
4) Facial hair
5) Good hands
6) Dark hair
7) Deep voice

7 things that I say most often... in bed:
1) Snooze. Snooze. Snooze. Where is the goddamn snooze button?
2) I fuckin' hate that alarm.
3) Gotta pee. Gotta pee. Gotta pee. Fuck, it's 4:13 in the morning.
4) Goddamn, you're burning me up.
5) Is that all there is?
6) Move a little to the left.
7) Oh, there you go.

7 people I want to do this with me...in bed. Well, they don't have to do it in bed. They can just blog about it.
1) Char
2) Virginia
3) Dusty
4) HotAss
5) Kimdog
6)The Artist
7) The Chef

Before Party-Throwing Fags Rejoice...

Before you demand one in your new-construction, neo-Craftsman cottage, know that the DishMaker has a drawbacks.
Wired News: Machine Makes Dishes on Demand

This seems like a pretty cool idea. Instead of washing dishes, make them at home and recycle them.

But it seems a little over-the-top.

"When Barbara Wheaton, culinary historian and honorary curator at Radcliffe's Schlesinger Library, told Massachusetts Institute of Technology researchers that she longed for durable dishes that didn't need to be washed and could be thrown away after a meal, she was surprised when they took her seriously."

Hello? Barbara, that's what we call "paper plates." And even Chinet makes some pretty durable dishes that don't get soggy with baked beans or ice cream.

And for example, it only makes a dish every 90 seconds. But for a Gaggle gathering, you might need 100 cups (we drink a lot) and 50 plates (we eat a lot too but the machine only has the capacity for 150 dishes). We'd need to put aside 3 hours and 45 minutes just to make dishes.

Hardly a good use of time.

I'm Coming Out!

In Honor of National Coming Out Day...

In the out-versus-closeted continuum, RuPaul might be a 10. She is pretty out there, out, proud and glad to drape herself in a rainbow flag. On the other end, you might find Tom Cruise or Kenny Chesney.

Now, as for me, I think I might fall somewhere about a 7 or 8. My parents don't know I'm gay. Well, at least not that I'm aware of. Or maybe like good Southern families, they just don't talk about those things. In either case, I decided a little more than a year ago, after debate for years, that I'll tell if they ask, or if a situation arises in my life that requires them to know.

Most of my friends are gay, and the ones who aren't gay know I am. And to be honest, unless you're gay, I don't let people into my world easily.

Most of my co-workers don't know about me. Although, in the past week, a few more people at the office have been clued into my secret.

My policy for coming out is to use good judgement. I'll tell you when you need to know or when I'm ready for you to know. I don't go to great lengths to hide it, nor do I make it the first thing a person recognizes about me.

Some people live quietly in their closets. Some crawl in behind the dusty shoeboxes and cower in the dark. Some men slowly open the door, and others kick the door down. My experience was more that someone ripped the door off the hinges and came in after me.

After a long and heated discussion about our respective sexualities, my college roommate, with whom I'd been fooling around with for years, pinned me on the bed with his knees and told me that I was gay and I would never be happy until I admitted it. The best he had been able to do up to then was get me to confess that I might possibly be bisexual.

That was also the same summer that I discovered Diana Ross. In a moment of boredom and love-sickness, I picked up the unauthorized biography at the library, and I bought three cassette tapes: Miss Ross and the Supremes, the best of Motown - 60s & 70s and the best of Motown-1980s.


I got stuck on "I'm Coming Out." The thought intrigued me and terrified me. I didn't want the world to know, but I wanted to let it show.


The whole "coming out" issue was complicated by the fact that my college roommate and I were from the same hometown and had been best friends all through high school. We had the same friends, and when he began dating a guy in our hometown who was known by all our friends, I knew it was just a matter of time before I was dragged through the homosexual mud.

Sure enough, it wasn't long until I was asked to come home by a girl friend to explain to another girl friend that I wasn't gay. She's in love with you, Julie said, and she'll be devastated to know that you're gay. So just come home and tell Diva you're not and it'll be okay.

I went along with the plan. I told Diva how absurd it was that I was gay and it was totally untrue. And I figured at best, I might be bi, because I still wanted to marry and have kids and and blah, blah, blah. She breathed a sigh of relief and we had a good laugh about it. In fact, we laughed all afternoon because...wouldn't it be so funny if I indeed were gay? The gay jokes ran rampant, and they eventually wore on my nerves. So I pulled her aside and confessed that I wasn't really bi and there was no way I was straight. I'm gay.

I knew she needed time to process it, so I told her to write down any and all questions she had. Nothing was too taboo, and keep a running list of questions. The next time I was home, I'd answer any and all questions she had.

The next time I was home she had a list of 35 questions, and I answered them all.

WWJD? - #2

He's 34 and lives in Washington, DC. He likes playing rugby and he describes himself as "somewhat kinky."

Today's link is brought to you by Bigmusclebears.com.

(Disclaimer: Not all links are workplace-safe. If you're going to surf the Internet and read crap like mine, surf responsibly.)

W.W.J.D.? - #2

Have You Ever...?

I got tagged by Virginia.

1. Have you ever appreciated a sunset? When I moved to Memphis, I had a great view of the sunset over the skyline every single night. And a July sunset in a partly-cloudy-Memphis-Tennessee-sky-with-a-chance-of-scattered-thunderstorms sky, full of reds and oranges and yellows and deep purple, just might be one of the most beautiful things you'll ever see.

2. Have you ever ridden a horse? Yes. In fact, at age 10, my intent was to become a serious barrell racer. I had this horse named Gypsy Lady, and she was black with a white star in the middle of her forehead. Because she was a little short-legged, she was not a barrell-racing horse. She wasn't really good on the turns. MaybeI wasn't that great of a rider. But if you put her on a straightaway, to a 10-year-old me, she ran like the wind.

3. Have you ever been a guest at a surprise party? The 7-11 party comes to mind. The Artist knew something was happening, even if he was a just little miffed that nothing happened on the birth date.

4. Has anyone ever thrown a surprise party for you? A poorly disguised surprise party that HotAss organized. The boyfriend-of-the-moment (Mr. Boring) took me out driving for a while and brought me back to my place for the Eeyore party. As an almost 33-year-old man, I am positively embarrassed that I had an Eeyore party at age 26.

5. Have you ever been in a fist fight? There have been times I wish I had used fists, and left a black eye or a busted lip. But the only real fist fight I've been in, I threw the one and only punch, breaking his nose in three places and making him bleed like a stuck pig.

The Night the Disco Ball Stopped Spinning

You might want to sit down for this. I have something very important to tell you.

I'm bored with dance music.

I know. I'm a little shocked myself. I sure didn't see this coming.

What Makes a Gaggle-Gathering?

It started with a birthday party for HotAss and me, and there has been a winter solstice dinner, a Village Christmas party, a New Year's Eve party, a chocolate party for Valentine's Day, a toga party, a Memorial Day camoflage party, a Fourth of July party, a convenience story party, a South Seas pool party, Pistol Pete's Bowl-a-Rama, and finally a celebration of love. And there's a housewarming for Dusty and Bobo coming up in a few weeks. Followed by a Halloween party and then a All Hallow's Eve dinner. The social calendar tends to fill up quickly.

And there were various and sundry gatherings thrown in there. And after 11 months with the Gaggle, one begins to see certain trends.

1. The Chef will lose his clothes. The first time I ever met the Chef he was naked. And, whenever acceptable, he is the first one to strip out of his clothes or wear as little as possible.

2. The Chef will put something in his mouth. I've got at least two pictures of the big-mouthed Chef inserting something huge into his mouth. In one it's a Diet Coke can. In the other it's a big-ass cookie. Like a python, he has the uncanny ability to unhinge his jaw and devour his prey.

3. The straight girls look glamorous. I'd like to think it's the influence of gay men. But secretly I know that these girls have more fashion sense in their purse than we have in ours. And they always look radiantly beautiful.

4. I end up naked with Wanda. I won't profess to understand. It's like the Bermuda Triangle, Sasquatch or the Loch Ness Monster. It's been witnessed by a handful of folks, but we may never completely understand what the hell is going on.

5. HotAss gets drunk. In the 10 years I've known Hotass, I've only seen him stupid, falling-down obliterated drunk a few times. But if the gathering a classic one, HotAss is stupid, falling-down obliterated drunk.

6. Dusty pukes and Bobo gets embarrassed. To Dusty's credit, he didn't puke at the wedding. Nor was he even obviously drunk. However, I've have seen or heard about him puking his guts out after a cocktail or nine. And amazingly enough, he has it to such an art form that he can puke and walk at the same time, never missing a step. And when he pukes, you can tell that Bobo just wants to drag his spewing ass away from the light of day.

7. Buffy chases a boy. 'Nuff said.

8. Buffy and The Pink Lady cheese it up for the camera. Because they are so photogenic, or because they are camera-hogs, I have numerous pictures of the two posed together for the camera. And it's not a candid shot. It's intentional. "Here. Take our picture."

9. Movies are quoted. I don't know how we could communicate if it weren't for quoting lines from Steel Magnolias or Sordid Lives.

10. There is a costume. Whatever happened to "come as you are?" I have to plan for every gathering, ensuring that my outfit fits within the theme of the evening. Or we make t-shirts for a function. What are we? Sorority girls?

11. T-man doesn't get a joke. Let me first say that T-man is brilliant, but sometimes he's a little slow on the uptake.

12. Wanda sneaks food in a corner. Like a bulemic binging on leftovers, when Wanda disappears, you're likely to find him hunched over the cake, the chips & salsa, the grilled bratwurst, or all three. "Girl, I'm hungry."

13. I fall down. I am one of the klutziest humans on the planet, and evidently I am more of a klutz around stairs, steps, and cracks in the sidewalk.

14. More than 75% of the Gaggle are wearing a cockring. What is the fascination with rubber, metal and neoprene? And why do we all feel the need to hoist up the boys? If you ask the Gaggle who is wearing a cockring, more than three-quarters will drop their pants to show you.

The Gaggle Goes to The Fair

What would a trip to the fair be without a cocktail? Not quite the fair I remember from my childhood, trying desperately not to spend all of my money in the first hour I was there and getting giddy at the mere thought of being flipped upside down.

Friday evening found me sitting at T-man’s, flipping through the Halloween issue of Martha Stewart Living. I ooh-aah’ed at Martha’s ideas for post-prison Halloween décor and food. Pumpkin lobster bisque served in hollowed-out squash. Artificial ivy spray-painted black tacked against Turkey Hill while tattered lawn-and-garden Hefty bags billowed in the windows.

Buffy entered the front door and gave hugs all around.

“Do you have anything to snack on,” Buffy asks, and then reconsidered. “What am I thinking? There’s gonna be all that food there. Do you have anything to drink?”

“We have gin. And gin, and gin,” Hotass offered. “How about a gin and Sprite?”

I sipped my drink while I marveled at Martha’s pillar candles wrapped with gauze and safety-pinned.

“That Martha. She is so fucking clever.”

Halloween is a big deal because it is a time to stick shit in the chandeliers. Hotass was already discussing plans of sticking tree branches in the chandelier to create an ominous canopy of reaching arms. Last year, ravens perched above the dining room table and Styrofoam skulls grinned down in the kitchen.

The Chef and the Artist arrived, fresh from their honeymoon, just as T-man bounded down the stairs, fresh from a healthy poop generated by his newfound love of all things organic.

After a quick discussion about riding arrangements to the Fairgrounds…

“We might as well take one car and save on parking.”

“We can but I’m on call.”

…we loaded into two cars, three by three, passing through tree-lined neighborhoods with the windows down, sunroof open, and back window down. Buffy shouted “nice ass!” to boys as we passed. It was truly a great day to be alive.

We had yet to even pull into the parking lot before we spotted the beefy security guard we believed to be text-messaging his boyfriend, and the Christian Brothers University’s baseball team, directing cars into the spaces.

“Well, what’s the point of going in? All the rides are out here.”

Walking to the fairgrounds, these 30-something men transformed into giddy adolescent boys. I swear I saw somebody skip.

We purchased our tickets, and the never-ending debate of food-versus-thrills resumed.

“Do ya’ll wanna eat first?”

“Let’s ride something first so that nobody pukes fresh corn dog.”

We couldn’t argue that point, and dazzled by bells, buzzers, hawking carnies and flashing lights, we moved down the Midway toward the first remotely-thrilling ride we came upon. Chalk one up for thrills.

Two rides later, we were reminded that we were not adolescent boys. We might have been squealing schoolgirls, giggling about the prospect of being thrown out into the middle of Arkansas and how hot that guy would be if he had teeth.

Or we might have been 30-something men, painfully reminded throughout the evening as we passed hydro-massage tables and hot tubs in the exhibit hall that carnival rides jostled our bones in ways that we just weren’t cut out for anymore.

We headed to the restrooms.

“Is this the one where there’s a gloryhole?”

“No, that’s the one on the other side.”

“Whatever happened to the old troughs?

“Hey, your name is still written in my stall.”

We stood and wondered about our next direction. A young couple passed by, the man swilling beer from a bottle.

“Hey, where can we get beer?”

“Do ya’ll want to eat now?

“Since we’re here, we might as well ride the Zippin’ Pippin.”

Thrills, two. Food, zero.

“This was Elvis’ favorite ride. He used to rent out Libertyland and bring his…hey, where can we get roasted corn?”

It didn’t take long for the eating binge to begin. Hotass and I stopped for Pronto Pups, slathered in mustard. T-man disappeared for a roasted turkey leg. Buffy returned with a boat of French fries covered in cheese from a jar. We turned the corner, and Hotass and I pitched our sticks and napkins in the trash. Up ahead, we spied a place with roasted corn, gyros, butterfly fries and more goddamn turkey legs.

I have this incredible aversion to eating meat off a bone that I have to pick up with my hands. Not only am I afraid I’ll choke on a bone, but I just feel barbaric gnawing at meat and slinging grease and barbeque sauce on my face. Ribs are out of the question. As are fried chicken and turkey legs.

The Dynamic Duo got gyros and fries and Hotass got a roasted ear of corn, generously dipped in a butter-like sauce. I got butterfly fries, a spiral cut potato thinly sliced and deep-fried. A little ketchup and it was positively divine. And I started to feel the sludge moving through my veins.

We wandered a little further down, and like eyes first looking up on the face of God, we stopped, mesmerized by the prospect of deep-fried junk food. Yes, battered and deep-fried Twinkies, Oreos, Three Musketeers bars, Snickers bars, Milky Way bars, and sprinkled with powdered sugar. At least one of each was ordered and we placed the paper plate around, sampling and reveling in the decadence.

Food scored a comeback, trumping thrills for a good 30 minutes, while we ate our way around the Midway.

“Let’s go into the Creative Arts Building before it closes…hey, look, mounted police.”

Inside the Creative Arts Building, there wasn’t so much art as it was people selling “You As a Cartoon!” portraits and scented candles.

We did see a real-live black Republican who was recruiting people for the Dark Side. Forming our solid alliance as Jedi warriors bravely facing the rise of conservatism, we moved deftly through the crowd and away from the men offering the smiley-faced “Smile! Jesus Loves You!” stickers on behalf of the First Fundamental Church of God Hates Fags.

Preventing an ugly scene, Hotass also managed to navigate me away from the snake on the fish and wildlife table before we made our way back out to the Midway.

As we stood in line for the Ferris wheel, we spotted the panties. We stood as a group for at least 15 minutes, laughing hysterically as parents re-directed their children away from the raspberry-colored panties that lay crumpled in the middle of the Midway.

From high atop the Ferris wheel, we called the Pink Lady, just to let her know that we were high atop the Ferris wheel.

We roamed the entire fairgrounds, deciding if we should eat or if we should ride something else.

“How about the Himalaya? I always wanted to be guy who ran the Himalaya.”

“Do you wanna go faster?!?” the Artist howled in a crazed rock-star voice.

“Do you wanna go backwards?!?” HotAss howled back.

“Remind me before we leave I want to get one of those Fiddlesticks.”

“Oh, and I need to pick up some salt water taffy for Big Linda.”

We all paid our 25 cents to see the spider girl. It was the discounted rate as we all saw that it had been a dollar earlier in the night. We literally stood transfixed as we tried to figure out how this lady’s head seemed to grow from the spider sewn together from pieces of black shaggy fabric. Then, the Chef pointed the mirror out to us.

“You know, that would have been a lot more believable if the spider had looked more realistic.”

“Do ya’ll wanna go out tonight?”

“We’ve done the fair. We might as well do the freak show too.”

Tag. I'm It!

The Rules:
1. Go into your archive.
2. Find your 23rd post.
3. Find the fifth sentence (or closest to).
4. Post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions.
5. Tag five other people to do the same.

I saw a creature, naked,

Interesting. I'm afraid my taggable friends are diminishing. HotAss will probably never blog again. Dusty has already been tagged. Char's the one who sent me this. Ummm, Virginia??

W.W.J.D.? - #1

My “Woof-Worthy” series has been wildly popular, at least among my 10 or so regular readers, and has even stirred a little controversy (Remember the Cingular Triplets?). And as it goes with any good idea, people seeking to roll in the fame and fortune will milk that idea to death. So here is my idea for a spin-off for “Woof-Worthy.”

“Woof-Worthy” is just looking/lusting from afar. Not to say I wouldn’t get the chance, but finding Larry the Cable Guy laying line in my bedroom or blowing Robbie Williams backstage probably isn’t going to happen to me.

And then there are those real people, with pictures or profiles all over the Internet, who are woof-worthy in their own right. And, let me say, I like a variety of men, but there are some varieties I like more than others. Some of these guys I’d just want to look at. There are men I’d f*ck. And there are men I’d let f*ck me like a Louisiana hurricane.

And occasionally it happens; I run across a man I’d date, marry in a beautiful ceremony like the Dynamic Duo’s, and rock with on the front porch in our golden years while dogs slept at our feet, water trickled down the sides of our plastic tumblers of gin and tonic, and the sun set in the west in a dazzling array of golds, reds and purples, reminding me it was time to change his diaper.

And sometimes, when the stars align just right and the universe decides it’s my time, it’s all of the above.

So here is the first installment of WWJD. The fun part for you, dear reader, is to figure out what I’d do.

(Disclaimer: Not all links are workplace-safe. If you're going to surf the Internet and read crap like mine, surf responsibly.)

WWJD #1

Oh L'Amour

In what was the most beautiful, inspirational and touching wedding I have ever witnessed, the Artist and the Chef formally became The Dynamic Duo, emotionally tethered to one another til death do them part.

Congratulations, boys. On behalf of the Gaggle, thanks for letting us share your day with you.

What Sound Does the Crazy Train Make?

Instead of "choo-choo," the Crazy Train Says "Stuuu-Stuuuuu-pid!"

I'm still on the crazy train for this stupid boy. And it sucks.

So far, it's been four very promising dates, but I'm getting the feeling he's a little bit of a flake.

He never calls when he's supposed to. Last night when we talked, he said he would call this afternoon and we'd get together. To me, "afternoon" implies a time period between noon and approximately 5:30 or 6:00 p.m. It's almost nine and no word from the sonofabitch. What the fuck? And like a schoolgirl, I broke down and called him at 8:30. No answer, and no, I didn't leave a stupid message.

And the really stupid thing is...this is part of an on-going cycle with me. See my post from Sunday, February 6.

According to He's Just Not That Into You, this boy is just not that into me.

Calling when you say you're going to is the very first brick in the house you are building of love and trust. If he can't lay this one stupid brick down, you ain't never gonna have a house, baby. And it's cold outside.

Prick.

What Happens When Your Magic 8-Ball Fucks Around with Your MP3 Collection

YAY! Another fun blogging game! You can guess who is going to get named to keep the game alive. Char. The Artist. HotAss. Dusty. Virginia.

Here are the rules: Go to your media player/mp3 player and put it all on shuffle. Say the following questions aloud, and after each one press play. Use the song title as the answer to the question. And then elaborate...

One more thing...I swear to God I can't make this shit up.

1. What do you think of me?
Beautiful Stranger - Madonna

To know you is to love you. You're everywhere I go. Everybody knows. To love you is to be proud of you...If I'm smart then I'll run away.

2. Will I have a happy life?
Cinderelly, Cinderelly - Disney's Cinderella

When dancing at the ball/She'll be more beautiful
than all/In the lovely dress/we'll make for Cinderelly

3. What do my friends really think of me?
Macho Man - The Village People

Every man ought to be a macho macho man, To live a life of freedom, machos make a stand, Have their own life style and ideals, Possess the strength and confidence, life's a steal, You can best believe that he's a macho man He's a special person in anybody's land.

4. Do people secretly lust after me?
Absolutely Not (Thunderpuss Remix) - Deborah Cox.

Well, that seems like a pretty definitive answer. And while my ego was crushed for a second, I found some strength.

Should I wear my hair in a ponytail? Should I dress myself up in Chanel? Do I measure me by what you think? Absolutely not, absolutely not

5. How can I make myself happy?
Caribbean Blue - Enya

So the world goes round and round with all you ever knew. They say the sky high above is Caribbean blue. If every man says all he can, if every man is true, do I believe the sky above is Caribbean blue, if all you told was turned to gold, if all you dreamed were new, imagine sky high above in Caribbean blue

6. What should I do with my life?
Bohemian Rhapsody - Queen

I'm just a poor boy. I need no sympathy because I'm easy come, easy go. Little high, little low. Any way the wind blows doesn't really matter to me, to me.

And I guess that sounds better than "put a gun against his head, pulled the trigger and now he's dead."

7. Why must life be so full of pain?
Amazed - Lonestar

And it just blows me away. I've never been this close to anyone or anything.

8. How can I maximize my pleasure during sex?
One Less Bell - Gladys Knight

One less bell to answer. One less egg to fry. One less man to pick up after. I should be happy.

Well, masturbation is rather fun.

9. Will I ever have children?
Smooth (Tayar Radio Edit) - IIO

Smooth like the air, I take you into me. You're all I crave. Remain within me deep

10. Will I die happy?
(If Loving You Is Wrong) I Don't Wanna Be Right - Barbara Mandrell

My Mama and Daddy say, It's a shame. It's a downright disgrace, but as long as I've got you by my side, I don't care what my people
say.

11. Can you give me some advice?
The Theme from Laverne & Shirley

We're gonna make our dreams come true, doing it our way.

12. What do you think happiness is?
Look What You've Done - Jet

Give me back my point of view, 'Cause I just can't think for you. I can hardly hear you say what should I do. Well, you choose. Look what you've done. You've made a fool of everyone.

13. What's my favorite fetish?
If I Had a Million Dollars - Barenaked Ladies

If I had a million dollars, I'd buy you a fur coat but not a real fur coat. That's cruel. If I had a million dollars, I'd buy you a monkey. Haven't you always wanted a monkey?

14. What can you tell me about my true love?
More than A Woman - The Bee Gees
I'm not even going to justify this answer by posting the lyrics.

15. Where should I look to find true love?
The Sound of Silence - Simon & Garfunkel

Hello darkness, my old friend. I’ve come to talk with you again because a vision softly creeping left its seeds while I was sleeping. And the vision that was planted in my brain still remains within the sound of silence.

All Aboard the Crazy Train

There have been times in my life when I have gotten my ticket punched for the Crazy Train. I have been standing on the platform, waiting for the cars to pull to a stop so that I can get on board, well on my way to doing something stupid.

My bags were packed full of heated emotion, and at the last second, just as this runaway train was about to pull away from the station, I thought better of my trip to Nuttyville. And I retreated from the tracks as the train left in a dizzying cloud of steam and smoke.

And there have been times when I got on that train, punched the conductor right between the eyes, kicked the engineer in the nuts and took control. Wide-eyed with insanity and blind to rational thought, I blew the goddamned whistle, rang the fucking bell, and drove that train straight through Crazy Town and ended up in Downtown Uuuuuugly.

If you have ever created a master plan in which a potential lover would accidentally run into you at the grocery store, Starbucks, or a local gay bar, you were making plans for a trip.

If you have ever driven past a lover's house in the middle of the night just to make sure he was at home alone, your bags were packed.

If you have ever called his house just to see if he would answer and then hang up knowing he had Caller ID, you were making reservations.

If, like The Pink Lady a few months ago, you called a friend and asked in a semi-frantic voice mail for the friend to call the missing-in-action love interest at work just to make sure he was alive, your traveling companion might have been Glenn Close in "Fatal Attraction." Fortunately for The Pink Lady, she had the good sense to get off the crazy train before the situation escalated into boiling his bunny.

I like to think of myself as a semi-rational human being, capable of knowing the difference between genuine concern and stalking. But there is something about infatuation and blossoming romance that makes otherwise sane people jump on an out-of-control steam engine and pilot it for a one-way trip to Crazy. And the thing about it is, as my mother would say, you know better than that.

We've all taken that trip, and we've all watched our friends speed away on that train, thinking they had lost every bit of God-given sense. But what can you do but wish them safe travels and hope they make it back home alive?

For two weeks, I have been chest-deep in infatuation with a particular boy, and I've caught myself pacing the floor, waiting for a phone call or anticipating seeing him. We've had a handful of dates, so it's not as if I'm stalking from a distance (Red Flag #1 -rationalization). And I get the feeling he is genuinely interested, but it's been frustrating not being as engaged as I'd like (Red Flag #2 - desire). We have conflicting schedules, so obviously things can't move as quickly as I'd like either (Red Flag #3 - impatience). I've driven down his street on my way to get gas. Never mind that it was out of my way. (Red Flag #4 - stalkerish tendencies).

It's a rough rail to ride. How do you show interest without becoming a fucking basketcase? And how do you keep the madman, all-consuming thoughts at bay? And how do you keep from becoming giddy as a love-struck schoolgirl everytime his name shows up on the Caller ID?

So here I stand on the platform. My bags are packed. My ticket is in hand. I hear Crazy Train rumbling down the tracks. I'll either get off in the town of Embarrassment or I'll end up in the big city of Love.

Hmmm... after a sentence like that, the village of Shame seems a likely destination.

Further Stories from the WTF Department

Story #1: The fiance of a former employee called me this morning, asking to borrow money to take said former employee off on a weekend trip because "she's been working so hard lately."

And there is this item from the Associate Press:

SYDNEY, Australia - A man shocked authorities after he released so much static electricity from his jacket, he left burn marks in the carpet of a business.

Fire officials in Victoria state said the man, Frank Clewer, had built up at least 30,000 volts of static electricity in his jacket simply by walking around the city of Warrnambool, according to a report by the Australian Broadcasting Corp.

He received his first shock when he walked into a local business Thursday afternoon. "It sounded almost like a firecracker or something like that," Clewer told the ABC.

Burns less than an inch in diameter were left on the carpet where he had been standing, the report said. ABC did not say if Clewer was injured.

Fire officials evacuated the building, fearing the incident might trigger electrical problems, but let Clewer go, the report said.

When he got in his car, Clewer's problems continued.

"I actually scorched a piece of plastic I had on the floor of the car," he said.

Fire officials took Clewer's jacket and said it continued to give off voltage.

And in further shocking news.

Renee Zellweger and Kenny Chesney Split. After four months of marriage, Renee and Kenny have filed for annullment. Renee cites "fraud" but didn't elaborate. Well, of course it was fraud. Kenny was trying to make her believe he was heterosexual.

My Big Fat Gay Wedding

With the nuptials of The Artist and The Chef barely a week away, I can't help but be reminded of my big fat gay wedding. Yeah, so it didn't happen, but it was supposed to take place on April 24, 2004.

There was something symbolic or maybe just clever about 04/24/04, although if I did the numerology on it, it probably would have spelled out doom and disaster.

At any rate, the Ex and I were planning for that date. Invitation lists were starting to come together.

We were scouting out places. We really wanted the Japanese Garden at Cheekwood or possibly the Rathskeller of the Seelbach Hotel in Louisville. The Seelbach would have been perfect for the mood we wanted to convey.

As the first priority of gay men, we had selected the appropriate outfits - black suits with matching purple neckties. White tulips were the flowers of choice. Attendants were lined up - Hotass was mine, and his brother was his. I was looking into the getaway car - a classic 1930s convertible. The invitations were designed in purple, white and black Art Deco design. A year out, he gave me a couple of books about gay and non-traditional weddings for Easter.

And I was most excited about the music because it really does set the tone for the ceremony, doesn't it?

While people gathered, we had agreed on a collection of jazz vocal standards to keep with the mid-century feel of the day - "L-O-V-E" by Nat King Cole, "It Had to Be You" by Billie Holliday, "I've Got a Crush on You" by Ella Fitzgerald, "Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered" also by Ella, "Can't Help Lovin' that Man" again by Ella, "Isn't It Romantic" on the trumpet by Chet Baker, "The Man I Love" again by Ms. Fitzgerald, "What a Wonderful World" by Louis Armstrong.

Processional music was to be Pachelbel's "Canon in D Minor" played on guitar. At least we agreed on that.

I wanted something unconventional, something fun, for the recessional music - "How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved By You)" by James Taylor and Carly Simon, "This Will Be (An Everlasting Love)" by Natalie Cole, "All You Need Is Love" by The Beatles, or "Marry Me" by Dolly Parton.

It was a source of disagreement as you might imagine. He didn't think his mother would take kindly to the "Marry Me" lyrics that said "His momma don't like me one little bit/ But you know I don't care/ Let her pitch her hissy fit/ Cuz I ain't marrying her."

We were leaning toward Natalie Cole. How ironic. Because that love oh-so did not last.

But my reception, my reception. Well, that would have been the party of the season. And really, isn't that the reason that gay men want a wedding? Isn't it really all about the party?

The groom and the groom got the first dance - "At Last" by Etta James. And we decided on that song before Celine Dion ruined it.

Every wedding reception I've ever been to has been devastated by stupd songs like "YMCA" or "The Chicken Dance." You can count that gay weddings will never be marred by such insanity. So our wedding reception was to have tasteful music, well at least not retarded music that you hear at every reception.

Note to the Dynamic Duo - "The Chicken Dance" is a party-killer. Your friends will think you're straight. Seriously, it's not really that fun. It's stupid.

So what happened to my big fat gay wedding? Good question. I think as we got closer to the date, he got cold feet. Well more like Birdseye-frozen-food cold feet. And the conversations about the wedding became more and more infrequent. And the plans fell by the wayside, and April 24, 2004, came and went without much excitement.

We broke up a month or so later.

"Cry Me a River" - Julie London

The F-Bomb

Before you begin this post, I have to tell you that this is Not Safe For Work (NSFW).

I fucking love the word "fuck."

Not necessarily in the sexual context but in the exclamatory, I-want-to-make-a-point context. It works in so many situations. Disappointment? Say "fuck." Disgust? Anger? Annoyance? A moment of sheer sexual ecstasy? "Fuck" works with a variety of emotions

Here lately, my favorite fucking phrases have been:

"Fucking-fuckity-fuck..."

"Fuckthatnoize...sheeeit"

"What in bloody fucking hell..." As if this makes me more British.

"I need a fucking cocktail."

"Fuuuuck."

"You fucking people are driving me fucking nuts."

"Two tears in a bucket. Motherfuck it."

And when I get really creative, I combine phrases to say crass things like:

"What the bloody fucking-fuckity-fuck are you fucking thinking, you bloody stupid fucking retard? This fucking shit is bananas! B-A-N-A-N-A-S. FUCK! If somebody doesn't fucking give me a fucking cocktail now, I just might go fucking nuts on their fucking asses."

I do try to exercise some restraint, and only use the word when I'm around people who will truly appreciate its emphasis. But occasionally I slip up and drop the F-bomb in front of people who I shouldn't use that word around. At work, for example. Most recently, I used the word "fuck" to describe my feeling of angst at forgetting to do something important. The people I used it in front of froze for a second and then laughed nervously. I apologized and they informed me that almost any word was acceptable except the F-bomb.

I've been trying to do better. But seriously, fuck it.

What I've Been Up To

In another moment of boredom, I Googled my name and found out some interesting facts about myself.

Did you know that...

• I have been the host of BBC's "The World This Weekend" since 1994?
• I was first introduced to marijuana following two operations for testicular cancer that metastasized to my stomach?
• I have an art gallery in Woodstock, NY, and apparently it is one of the best fine art galleries in the Hudson River Valley?
• I have been the governor of Ohio, and the airport in Dayton is named after me?