Dear Diary,
When a tacky straight man throws a girl a bad pick up line and gets shot down, he grabs his crotch and grunts with his buddies.
When a tacky gay man throws another guy a bad pick up line and gets shot down, he flips out and takes every rejection he's ever gotten in his life out on you then runs away and cries.
NO JOKE, earlier a guy sends me a message which said:
"Are you really 6'8"? OMG excuse me real quick while I go blow a load all over myself real quick.... ok I'm back."
So I said:
"Seriously, do people really throw out any kind of tact when they get online? What about a "hi, hows it going?" before jumping to "I just blew a load all over myself"?"
And the guy got upset! F'real, kids, we are NOT street people around here! Who would get turned on by that? Have people seriously forgotten COMPLETELY how to talk to a prospective suitor? Or is it all just about blowing loads all over yourself?
The guy was halfway attractive until he started talking about blowing loads on himself. I wonder if I met this guy in person, would he be the shy, mistreated shell of a man that he really is or just walk up to me with his dick in his hand spooging everywhere???
I feel like I should have paid the guy for the laugh I got, and the blog fodder.
The Gambler.
As I am by no means any kind of relationship expert, I am a gambler. And a smoker and a drunk, but that’s beside the point. In the past year of being single I’ve lightly treaded the waters of the dating world like an alien to new terrain, rarely even taking off my breathing apparatus to inhale the native air. Now that I’m old, cold, and jaded, I’ve really noticed all the games that one really has to play in the dating world, and recently I’ve noticed it’s a lot like poker.
My favorite poker game is Texas Holdem! During the winter I used to play poker a lot with my volleyball buddies and even though most of the time I’d suck and loose all my chips I got a pretty good grasp of the game. Everyone has a different way of playing poker, as they do dating.
There’s the guy that screws up and puts all of his cards down before the first card is even turned over. There’s the guy that holds out until the end, plays all his chips, and doesn’t have SHIT in his hand. There’s the guy that folds EVERY TIME and looses all his chips on antes. There’s the over-better that puts their whole pot in on the first hand then cries in the corner for the rest of the game because they’re too broke to play. Then there’s the smart poker player who carefully analyzes his hand, the other players in the game, and himself. This guy always leaves with everyone else’s chips.
Every game goes the same way. All the players throw in a chip, the cards are dealt, then the bets are placed. This is where it gets interesting and what kind of gambler you are is revealed. The players are whittled down until only a few remain and inevitably all the cards are laid out on the table. This is when it comes time to bet or call. You look at what you have invested in the hand already and what you have left to invest in your pot. Then it comes time to decide weather you’re going to fold, bet, or call their bluff. Either way eventually you have to lay down everything to see if it’s time to play another hand or walk away with your winnings.
You can’t play one had of cards forever. Just like any game there’s eventually a winner and a looser, but either way you come out to play another hand. And really some people have a knack for it and some don’t. I think Kenny Rogers gave the best dating advice with the entire song of “The Gambler”, it describes the intelligent way to date if you can understand a little bit of metaphor.
You got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em,
Know when to walk away and know when to run. (like that time you ran up on that big bottied ho at the club and made the mistake of giving your REAL number)
You never count your money when you're sittin' at the table.
There'll be time enough for countin' when the dealin's done.
My favorite poker game is Texas Holdem! During the winter I used to play poker a lot with my volleyball buddies and even though most of the time I’d suck and loose all my chips I got a pretty good grasp of the game. Everyone has a different way of playing poker, as they do dating.
There’s the guy that screws up and puts all of his cards down before the first card is even turned over. There’s the guy that holds out until the end, plays all his chips, and doesn’t have SHIT in his hand. There’s the guy that folds EVERY TIME and looses all his chips on antes. There’s the over-better that puts their whole pot in on the first hand then cries in the corner for the rest of the game because they’re too broke to play. Then there’s the smart poker player who carefully analyzes his hand, the other players in the game, and himself. This guy always leaves with everyone else’s chips.
Every game goes the same way. All the players throw in a chip, the cards are dealt, then the bets are placed. This is where it gets interesting and what kind of gambler you are is revealed. The players are whittled down until only a few remain and inevitably all the cards are laid out on the table. This is when it comes time to bet or call. You look at what you have invested in the hand already and what you have left to invest in your pot. Then it comes time to decide weather you’re going to fold, bet, or call their bluff. Either way eventually you have to lay down everything to see if it’s time to play another hand or walk away with your winnings.
You can’t play one had of cards forever. Just like any game there’s eventually a winner and a looser, but either way you come out to play another hand. And really some people have a knack for it and some don’t. I think Kenny Rogers gave the best dating advice with the entire song of “The Gambler”, it describes the intelligent way to date if you can understand a little bit of metaphor.
You got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em,
Know when to walk away and know when to run. (like that time you ran up on that big bottied ho at the club and made the mistake of giving your REAL number)
You never count your money when you're sittin' at the table.
There'll be time enough for countin' when the dealin's done.
Why Queers Hate Queens.
First off, this is sort of a response blog to my friend Chris who wrote a piece called “Why do Queers Hate Queens?”. I was really compelled by it because it raised a lot of issues that I’ve noticed myself. What does it mean to be gay? Many people, especially gays, feel like if you aren’t wearing your sexuality on your sleeve and completely living your life solely to be a gay man you’re self-hating and trying to act straight. So what if you're just not that queeny, and like to date like-minded guys?
Most queers hate queens because they're ANNOYING. They're loud, most aren't funny, and they're shoved down our throats in every gay bar or gay event. I think the defining point is what kind of “queen” are you? Are you genuinely who you are or is it a show? Most people who are considered Queens, be them androgenous, flamboyant, or full on performing Drag Queens are hungry for attention and live their lives as a show, they aren’t true to themselves or anyone else. Sure it’s entertainment, and there is something to be said for people who live their lives as entertainment.
Hence, Queens are a joke because they live their lives as a joke. They don’t dress or act like real men or women, most just act like a BAD caricature of ghetto ethnic women. They’re starved for attention and use their sexuality, probably the only significant segment of their personality to get it, and it doesn’t matter if that attention is negative or positive as long as their getting it. To not see them as a joke in some form is to say David Sedaris writes serious, classically derived novels. I mean sure I flame out at times, my hag says my bff and I act like teenage latino girls when we’re together but I realize there is a time and a place for everything.
I think a big factor in this is when flamboyant guys are asked to “act straight” what the person usually means to say is “act right”. Personally I don’t like going places with someone I know is going to act a fool or draw attention unless I want attention, and most “queens” have no grasp of the concepts of “low key” or “situation appropriate”. When in Rome you don’t insist everyone else change to fit your life; if a person can’t be pliable to different social settings what does that say about them as a person? We are who we are, our personalities are what they are, but society is what it is and one can’t expect it to change because they aren’t comfortable or it isn’t accommodating.
As sad as it may be society, even our own gays, clump anyone that deviates from the sexual norm as “queens”. I’ve really noticed though that attractiveness is relative to location, gay men in Texas tend to like manly men and shun anyone flamboyant as guys in New York or San Francisco seem to have a broader spectrum of what they find attractive. Personally I tend to like masculine guys more so I guess I fall into that Texas mold, but that has to do with my personal tastes. It’s like being at a buffet. When I walk by the oven baked salmon it doesn’t appeal to me at all. It looks disgusting. It doesn’t spark my apatite at all, but as I pass it by some other buffet patron comes through and scoops up a triple helping. We’re all like dishes in the buffet. Everyone, no matter how cold they’ve begun to turn, has someone out there waiting for a triple helping.
Personally being Justin Thyme is my #1 priority. I am myself, I don’t define my personality by my sexuality, that’s just a side order and I don’t like to date guys that do either. Sure I use it as a basis for a lot of comedy but I’m no one-trick pony.
Most queers hate queens because they're ANNOYING. They're loud, most aren't funny, and they're shoved down our throats in every gay bar or gay event. I think the defining point is what kind of “queen” are you? Are you genuinely who you are or is it a show? Most people who are considered Queens, be them androgenous, flamboyant, or full on performing Drag Queens are hungry for attention and live their lives as a show, they aren’t true to themselves or anyone else. Sure it’s entertainment, and there is something to be said for people who live their lives as entertainment.
Hence, Queens are a joke because they live their lives as a joke. They don’t dress or act like real men or women, most just act like a BAD caricature of ghetto ethnic women. They’re starved for attention and use their sexuality, probably the only significant segment of their personality to get it, and it doesn’t matter if that attention is negative or positive as long as their getting it. To not see them as a joke in some form is to say David Sedaris writes serious, classically derived novels. I mean sure I flame out at times, my hag says my bff and I act like teenage latino girls when we’re together but I realize there is a time and a place for everything.
I think a big factor in this is when flamboyant guys are asked to “act straight” what the person usually means to say is “act right”. Personally I don’t like going places with someone I know is going to act a fool or draw attention unless I want attention, and most “queens” have no grasp of the concepts of “low key” or “situation appropriate”. When in Rome you don’t insist everyone else change to fit your life; if a person can’t be pliable to different social settings what does that say about them as a person? We are who we are, our personalities are what they are, but society is what it is and one can’t expect it to change because they aren’t comfortable or it isn’t accommodating.
As sad as it may be society, even our own gays, clump anyone that deviates from the sexual norm as “queens”. I’ve really noticed though that attractiveness is relative to location, gay men in Texas tend to like manly men and shun anyone flamboyant as guys in New York or San Francisco seem to have a broader spectrum of what they find attractive. Personally I tend to like masculine guys more so I guess I fall into that Texas mold, but that has to do with my personal tastes. It’s like being at a buffet. When I walk by the oven baked salmon it doesn’t appeal to me at all. It looks disgusting. It doesn’t spark my apatite at all, but as I pass it by some other buffet patron comes through and scoops up a triple helping. We’re all like dishes in the buffet. Everyone, no matter how cold they’ve begun to turn, has someone out there waiting for a triple helping.
Personally being Justin Thyme is my #1 priority. I am myself, I don’t define my personality by my sexuality, that’s just a side order and I don’t like to date guys that do either. Sure I use it as a basis for a lot of comedy but I’m no one-trick pony.
Crack of the Pistol
It’s nearly a month into the new year and I’m feeling like I’m at that point before a foot race when you’re getting pumped up; when you’re stretching and breathing and waiting for the ref to give the order to line up with the other runners. That twinge of adrenaline is starting to pump and we’re all waiting for the ref to shoot his little pistol in the air.
When I was a kid we had field day every year. I never won anything… I mean really I had to have been one of the most fairily faggoty fluffiest queen of a little boy. I hated sports. I hated P.E. class where I had to run around with all the other kids. I wanted to sit on the grass with the girls and talk.
I was so gay in elementary school that I had a couple of hags in my class that were allowed to spend the night, and none of that “separate rooms” bullshit that the straight kids had to do when they had a girl sleep over. We made forts in the living room, played in my room with the door shut doing all kinds of stuff where adults couldn’t see us, but I was “that boy” that parents knew wouldn’t play doctor with their daughter.
Anyway, redirecting from my bizarre childhood back to my real point – On field day when it came time to do the little foot race thing where we all lined up and ran around the little track and got little ribbons or cupons to pizza hut or trips to Europe or whatever it was that the winners got (again, I wouldn’t know I never won) I was terrified of the ref shooting the gun.
I talked to my mom about it, I talked to my teacher about it (you know, because I was one of those kids that would actually talk to his teachers… not to mention my mom WAS a teacher at my school), they both gave me a pep talk and said it wouldn’t be that bad when he fired the gun.
Sure enough when the ref fired the gun instead of running straight away I jumped a little, tried not to cry, then skipped along sprinkling magical gay fairy dust to catch up to the rest of the kids that were actually trying to win.
That’s the way I feel now. I’m waiting for that big bang that’s going to start it all and it scares the HELL out of me.
Pause that…
Turn it back…
Look at what I said there – it scares the hell out of me. As I thought of that statement right after I wrote it I realized that I’m not afraid, I’m excited. It’s so funny to me how fear and excitement are so parallel; even though they’re opposite emotions they’re often confused as the same thing.
And really we’re already hearing the gun firing. Obama’s been at work for like HALF AN HOUR and we’re already getting Guantanamo Bay shut down. This man means business and he’s not afraid to take names. This excites me. But what excites me even more is I know, no matter how hard I get rattled up by the crack of the pistol I know I’m just gonna keep skippin along sprinkling magic fairy dust.
When I was a kid we had field day every year. I never won anything… I mean really I had to have been one of the most fairily faggoty fluffiest queen of a little boy. I hated sports. I hated P.E. class where I had to run around with all the other kids. I wanted to sit on the grass with the girls and talk.
I was so gay in elementary school that I had a couple of hags in my class that were allowed to spend the night, and none of that “separate rooms” bullshit that the straight kids had to do when they had a girl sleep over. We made forts in the living room, played in my room with the door shut doing all kinds of stuff where adults couldn’t see us, but I was “that boy” that parents knew wouldn’t play doctor with their daughter.
Anyway, redirecting from my bizarre childhood back to my real point – On field day when it came time to do the little foot race thing where we all lined up and ran around the little track and got little ribbons or cupons to pizza hut or trips to Europe or whatever it was that the winners got (again, I wouldn’t know I never won) I was terrified of the ref shooting the gun.
I talked to my mom about it, I talked to my teacher about it (you know, because I was one of those kids that would actually talk to his teachers… not to mention my mom WAS a teacher at my school), they both gave me a pep talk and said it wouldn’t be that bad when he fired the gun.
Sure enough when the ref fired the gun instead of running straight away I jumped a little, tried not to cry, then skipped along sprinkling magical gay fairy dust to catch up to the rest of the kids that were actually trying to win.
That’s the way I feel now. I’m waiting for that big bang that’s going to start it all and it scares the HELL out of me.
Pause that…
Turn it back…
Look at what I said there – it scares the hell out of me. As I thought of that statement right after I wrote it I realized that I’m not afraid, I’m excited. It’s so funny to me how fear and excitement are so parallel; even though they’re opposite emotions they’re often confused as the same thing.
And really we’re already hearing the gun firing. Obama’s been at work for like HALF AN HOUR and we’re already getting Guantanamo Bay shut down. This man means business and he’s not afraid to take names. This excites me. But what excites me even more is I know, no matter how hard I get rattled up by the crack of the pistol I know I’m just gonna keep skippin along sprinkling magic fairy dust.
The Dangers of Butt Bleaching
Has anyone else noticed that people are never satisfied with their current methods of fixing their broken self esteem? Now, in 2009, the hottest trend in spas around the country is anal bleaching. That’s right, bleaching your asshole. It’s a process in which the pigment around your sphincter is lightened to get that clean, flawless, porn star look. You know, so your ass doesn’t end up looking like a Chow tongue.
Apparently the chemical in the product used to bleach your brown beauty is called hydroquinone and is the same stuff they use in hair bleaching… and the rubber industry oddly… The rubber industry??? I’m sorry, but I wouldn’t want ANYTHING applied on my doodie ditcher that is used in the manufacturing of Goodyears. Needless to say there seem to be mixed opinions on the safety of it. If you ask someone on the clinical side they ASSURE you that it’s 100% safe but many health professionals have a drastically different opinion.
This is the sketchy part, I can’t find a website that gives a straight answer on the side effects. One website (which just happened to be advertising the product) says that it’s perfectly safe and somehow increases yours and your partner’s testosterone (because obviously only gay men and whores would get this procedure) and the next website I found said that winky whitening could cause incontinence and eventual permanent splotching of the skin. So you turn your brown eye into a Chow tongue by trying to keep it from looking like a Chow tongue, and on top of that you can’t hold your poo. Riiiiiiiiiight.
So is a pearly white asshole really worth sacrificing poo control? What is so important about having your genitalia look like a porn star? I think the source of the whole skidaddle has 100% to do with people trying to disguise the fact and perpetuate the popular belief that NOTHING really comes out of your butt. Poo just magically appears in the sewers but never really comes out of anyone’s butt. Even though melanin - not poo - causes your manhole to get darker it’s still a painful reminder to some that yes, indeed, their partners poo out their butt.
Sure it’s kind of a gross subject but it’s true, people are so uncomfortable with the fact that their body disposes of the waste it consumes that they will risk having to wear a shit bag someday to make it whiter. But then again we once said “who the hell would inject BOCHOLISM into their skin to make themselves look younger?” Now look at Laura Bush.
In a few years Crest will be making strips for it.
Apparently the chemical in the product used to bleach your brown beauty is called hydroquinone and is the same stuff they use in hair bleaching… and the rubber industry oddly… The rubber industry??? I’m sorry, but I wouldn’t want ANYTHING applied on my doodie ditcher that is used in the manufacturing of Goodyears. Needless to say there seem to be mixed opinions on the safety of it. If you ask someone on the clinical side they ASSURE you that it’s 100% safe but many health professionals have a drastically different opinion.
This is the sketchy part, I can’t find a website that gives a straight answer on the side effects. One website (which just happened to be advertising the product) says that it’s perfectly safe and somehow increases yours and your partner’s testosterone (because obviously only gay men and whores would get this procedure) and the next website I found said that winky whitening could cause incontinence and eventual permanent splotching of the skin. So you turn your brown eye into a Chow tongue by trying to keep it from looking like a Chow tongue, and on top of that you can’t hold your poo. Riiiiiiiiiight.
So is a pearly white asshole really worth sacrificing poo control? What is so important about having your genitalia look like a porn star? I think the source of the whole skidaddle has 100% to do with people trying to disguise the fact and perpetuate the popular belief that NOTHING really comes out of your butt. Poo just magically appears in the sewers but never really comes out of anyone’s butt. Even though melanin - not poo - causes your manhole to get darker it’s still a painful reminder to some that yes, indeed, their partners poo out their butt.
Sure it’s kind of a gross subject but it’s true, people are so uncomfortable with the fact that their body disposes of the waste it consumes that they will risk having to wear a shit bag someday to make it whiter. But then again we once said “who the hell would inject BOCHOLISM into their skin to make themselves look younger?” Now look at Laura Bush.
In a few years Crest will be making strips for it.
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