fresh air - go bare

A recent business trip to Denver left me a mile high with a dizzying head cold. I took my free evening to wander a deserted downtown, and find myself some over-the-counter relief. While perusing the aisles of the Rite-Aid, I was started out of my delerium.

CONDOMS ARE ON SALE - 50% OFF !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

In all my years of drug store patronage, I never have seen condoms discounted. Not in Duane Reade or WaWa or CVS, even Wal-Mart keeps it full price. Leaving me wondering, "What would cause a fire-sale of condoms in Colorado?"

Perhaps a government subsidized attempt at population control ?

Is there too much competition from Planned Parenthood and the free clinic giving them away?

Has there been a surge in teen promiscuity in Denver high schools since the casting call for a new season of 16 & Pregnant?

Is the Brokeback bareback Mountian craze still hanging-on in Colorado?

One way or another - prophalactic sales are down! And we all kn0w people aren't abstaining. Who can blame Denvenites for having hot dirty condom-free sex? Aren't we all just a bit jealous? All that fresh mountian air and flesh-on-flesh thumping !!

Rarely one to resist a 50% off sticker, but fearing the inveitable intervention from Hoarders, I resist stocking up by reminind myself that I prefer the pull-out method anyway.

Holy Gay !

Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been 6 months since my last confession blog post. I have strayed from the path Father.. into the woods where it's very dark and men do bad things to me.. and I like it.

A Roman Catholic upbringing can do wonders for the direction a child takes in life. Just look at me: a vision of compassion and ethics, honesty and charity, and let us not forget chastity! Years in the parochial school system led me down the straight and narrow path to moral bankruptcy! A lascivious den of inequity where we can have a lot more fun than in church.

All joking aside - I'm really not such an asshole if you're decent looking and not in my way.

Not so long ago, I talked to a middle aged fellow that really shed new light on my religious past. At a bar waiting for my friends, I did my best not to ogle the beefcake bartender and enjoy my drink, when a friendly chap strikes up a conversation with the usual hum-drum questions. When I told him the small Pennsylvania town I grew up in, he was excited to tell me that his college boyfriend lives there now. Shocked not to be the only gay in the village, I demanded a name! Reluctant at first, he coughed up, "John Cross." I choked !!! Vodka tonic up my nose and eyes red and watery... "FATHER John Cross!!!!" My new friend's face turned white... obviously he had forgotten the unexpected career path of his old flame.

Nearly 10 years later I find out my priest and close family friend is GAY! I had a GAY PRIEST ! This is big news!! Really, I have no gaydar, so i never even suspected... but I had always thought I had no gay role models in my life. I had the freedom of consciousness to be as lurid and loose as all my whore girlfriends, + the gay card, so I really had nothing prohibiting wild adventure.

This changes everything, I'm turning a new leaf - from now on I may try not to be such a little slut - and I will try not to out members of the clergy, especially if they never touched me in a dirty way. WAIT - was I that tragic looking in high school that a fat old priest wouldn't even touch me?? How F**king depressing! And now I'm too old. The only chance I have of getting with a priest is Liz's dad.. and that'd be almost incestuous considering how far up Liz's vag I already am.

sigh

+ he's a Lutheran priest anyway .. which doesn't even count.

I'm on my knees already - might as well start praying

Father, how many Hello Mary's should I do in penance ?

hirsuite pursuit

Sometimes at 1am you try to justify poor decisions you're about to make.. like getting back together with the guy that broke your heart .. but was never right anyway... but you're so desperate for some attention abuse.. that you romanticizing to yourself ..

His dick wasn't that small... I was just spreading that rumor to get over the breakup.

He didn't have too much back hair... nothing that couldn't be helped with this ingenious new manscaping tool I saw an ad for in the Castro Street subway station.

He wasn't violent all the time... he only pushed me down the stairs and made me lose my baby once.

Then you drift off to sleep hoping he wakes you up with an offensive 3am text, like the good old days, when you were happy.

an Ethical Slut

This week I did a little contemplation about my station in life. While I may look a fresh 19, I'm nearing a middle-aged 27 and behaving about 12! At what age should I begin making adult decisions about my relationships? (Obviously I'm not taking this responsibility too seriously yet.)

Remember playground crushes- based solely on finding out someone liked you. Molly told Kyle, who told me, that Suzie liked me- then we held hands at lunch. We had it all figured out back then. Like someone, who you know, likes you. Then smooch under the monkey bars (of course wiping it off after) before comparing underwear - yours Spider Man and hers Rainbow Bright.

Why, as grownups, are we attracted to men that clearly aren't interested in us, and probably want nothing to do with us? I think the 'he's just not that into you' concept must actually be extremely challenging to comprehend. We've all heard it, but find it impossible to apply to our current relationships. The tiny amount of attention he gives us morphs into near smothering in our mind's eye, but is truly imperceptible to any standers-by. What is it about a guy that doesn't REALLY like us, that we find so magnetic?

Recently I've been dating a guy that is hot, successful and has a decent personality. His only minor flaw is his religious upbringing. The dude is Mormon... and let me tell you- everything you've seen on TV is true! On our third date we accidentally ran into his other boyfriend and he acted totally relaxed without so much as a Shaggy-esque It wasn't Me-look on his face.

To be fair, he never promised monogamy! Later, I found out that dating 2-4 guys at once is his norm. This put me into fighting mode! It's always a competition with me, I didn't even like this guy too much until I found out I was up against 2 other guys for the role of 'boyfriend.' I instantly related to the crazy bitch on every dating reality show yelling, "I didn't come here to make friends, I'm here to fall in love!" This was war!

I went all out to impress blond Mormon and prove what a superiorly pathetic, eager to please, insufferable boyfriend I could be. The powers of my insecurity are immeasurable!

Now, a few months in, I've accepted he is a total polygamming maniac and I'm the Margene to his Bill Paxton. (Meaning I'm the youngest wife he likes to have sex with the most, but isn't too interested in otherwise.) He says and does all the right things, but there is something a bit insincere about it all. For example, he only compliments my ass and my style, and I'm not sure he's ever seen me with clothes on!

Last week I couldn't deal with the little white Latter Day lies and flimsy excuses anymore! I attempted to end whatever it was we had going. Of course, I was only marginally successful; we had amazing all-night sex less than 24 hours after my big speech terminating our 'romance' and initiating our 'platonic friendship.' What can I say? This guy has moves and I've got no self-discipline. I like to think he wooed me back into his arms with a few lines from Andrew Marvell's 17th Century love poem, "To His Coy Mistress," but it was probably just because he bought me dinner and fed me carrot cake.

http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/16076

(read that and you would put out too)

Only the next day, when I was waking up a very sticky mess in his bed, did I find an e-mail from my very literary confidant, Liz, telling me this poem is the oldest trick in the book! No sooner did I roll over and find his current bed-side reading staring me in the face.

The tag line of this non-fiction: A Practical Guide to polygamy, open-relationships and other adventure.

The only explanation for not getting myself out of this relationship yet is self-hate. But, self-hate feels so good when you're under a tall blond.

I wore red underwear for nothing!

While I love pink construction paper hearts, Valentine's has never really been my day. In 27 Valentine's days only 1 year did I have a boyfriend and his idea of romance was taking me to a vegetarian restaurant on the Upper West Side. The only vegetables I eat are French Fries! I was morally obligated to NOT put out that night. This was the year I decided real men eat meat and I needed a carnivore... I've been alone on Valentine's day ever since.

Taking most of 2009 off dating, sex and men in general I was ready for a real Valentine's day this year. I hinted to the blond I've been dating a few times the week before and finally got the balls to ask directly via e-mail, where rejection isn't as scary and he would have time to think up an excuse before replying. The jerk told me he was celebrating the Chinese New Year instead! Of course he is.. obviously code for 'taking my other boyfriend out for V-day, sorry kid!' That's what I get for dating a Mormon. If only I had some self-respect or he wasn't such a hot master I would totally tell him off... via e-mail, of course.. where I could throw my insults from a safe distance.

With my inevitable life-partner, Liz, away in San Francisco, on a sex tour of college boyfriends, I was left to lick my own wounds and think up a way to get laid on Valentine's day. I had to think gay... mindlessly watching the Olympics a light bulb went off- gays figure skate! Less than an hour later I was lacing up the hockey skates my brother gave me for Christmas last year and was testing out the ice with my eyes and ears open for the Johnny Weir of Central Park's Lasker rink. Much to my dismay there were 100s of snotty kids, but no fancy boys to show off their triple s0w cows for me. So I skated alone on Valentine's day.

Not one to get down on myself for striking out on the first try, I followed an old standard for romantic success. G.T.L. Gym - Tanning - Laundry. This trifecta was the secret to getting laid for the Jersey Shore guidos .. and it would be my M.O. for Valentine's booty! I pumped a little iron and stopped at the tanning salon on the way home so I could look particularly healthy orange for the trashy singles I was sure to meet. Feeling particularly svelte I snapped a naughty camera phone pic and sent it to an ex boyfriend or 3 with a sweet Happy Valentine's Day note. This was sure to make them think dirty thoughts and get me a little attention that I so pathetically craved. Maybe I wouldn't be alone on Valentine's day after all.

I showered and shaved and slipped into a cute pair of red Y-front undies - I hoped cupid was on my side! BUT going out to the bars was the usual flop. The dirty go-go boys got all the attention and I snuck out when my friend's where getting more singles. Who wants a sweaty high school drop out in a jock strap full of ones, when you can walk home in the rain, alone on Valentine's day.

I picked up a Domino's pizza on my walk of shame down 23rd Street. Midnight binging is an international fat girl-no sex on Valentine's day right of passage turned annual celebration for me.

Somewhere between my 3rd and 5th slice of meat-lovers deep dish I remembered my afternoon naughty e-mails to the men of my past and rushed to my computer to bathe in their gushing adorations. I anticipated "take me back" and "let's fuck" exclamations, or at least a "happy valentine's too." But, instead I found only 1 new e-mail - subject line: HORNY MOMMIES. How embarrassing! I grit my teeth and checked my sent mail to see if the e-mails actually went through from my iPhone... only to find the desperate alone on Valentine's day fool I truly am!

With ferocious zeal I tore into the second half of the pizza. Another Valentine's day comes to a close and I think stuffing my face with a meat-lovers pizza is better than any cliché UWS vegetarian dinner, and going out with my friends is better than any Chinese New Year celebration and Horny Moms are way cooler than e-mails from my ex-boyfriends anyway!! Maybe I shouldn't take advice from The Situation.. he ended up in the hot tub with Snookie! ...and just maybe the red undies will debut next year.

dear nobody.

(a somebody would never be interested in me, so surely you're a nobody)

Popping up on my digital soap box I give you my New York: concrete jungle where dreams are made of .. I have nothing to do, these streets make me feel so poor! ... and so the lyrics seem to unfold so relatably through my pea-sized Manhattan life. Over 3 years in New York with the solitary goal of finding a decent gay guy to buy me dinner has brought me full circle... without ever having to go in a circle. And thus, I've gone nowhere.


This fits perfectly with my lay-about lifestyle, but despite my lack of progress you'll be surprised to find out, I've actually put in quite a lot of effort to go so short! While I am not proud of this feat, it keeps my friends entertained and my bank account in the low double digits - two things that seem to epitomize what it means to be me. Let me tell you about a recent encounter.


On a damp and dreary Sunday in late January, after a particularly awkward brunch with the guy I had been seeing and his actual boyfriend, I was feeling a bit worthless and sub-human. I picked myself up by my shoe strings and tried in all attempts to garner sympathy from my dear friend Liz. With aspirations to get out of our apartments more in 2010 we have bought ourselves membership to a very chic gay church in midtown. Our outing to MoMA had been planned earlier in the week and despite rain and poor spirits we were determined to see the Tim Burton exhibit. If the dark and twisted world of Tim Burton can't make a rainy New York seem brighter, then I don't know what can.




Into the mouth of the beast we strolled with melancholy mustaches announcing our distaste for our general predicament. Crowding a few rooms, hoards of tourists escaping the wet streets were appreciating some modern 'art', or so they thought. Luckily for Tim Burton, MoMA and the movie business, most people believe anything you tell them... and these lambs were told this stuff is ART. Liz and I, being cultured beyond our own comprehension saw through the smoke and mirrors. "Why, this isn't art!" Liz declared, "these are cheap movie props and unsuccessful cartoons from the 80s." Liz is very perceptive and reminded me of a commonly accepted value that anything unsuccessful must be misunderstood, and therefore beyond the grasp of our limited comprehension... So we nod and smile, "oh yes, beautiful... how artistic," to practically anything really; this includes Tim Burton's, never-before-seen short cartoons which are currently showing on a loop at the exhibit.


Well, we did not nod, nor did we smile! While I am a huge fan of Edward Scissorhands, his life- sized wax figure would be better showcased at Madame Tussauds than MoMA. Had either of us a gag-reflex remaining, we may have reacted to these gruesome images deemed 'art,' but it was our fellow patrons that ruffled our feathers. In their OLD NAVY fleece and 'comfortable shoes,' with their kids and refrigerator- sized American Girl doll shopping bags, these spectators were distracting me from the unsavory exhibit. Being one to judge, I bitched and complained until we left.


With efforts to cheer me up, Liz recommended our favorite MSG hot spot. New Yeah Shanghai Deluxe (New Yeah is the phonetic spelling of New York in Chinese) can be found in the heart of Chinatown on Bayard street and is home to some true delicacies. General Tso chicken (fatty chicken chunks of ambiguous-shape fried and slathered in spicy sugary goo) and spicy won-tons (all mystery ingredients) are among the tastiest. We ate and gossiped in English under the watchful slanty eyes of our waitress. They always sit us in the front, away from the actual Asian people whom we are sure are given completely different menus and are served actual Chinese food.






But we don't mind the poor service and even poorer lighting, we are just happy to eat without the judgment of people whose opinions actually matter. Filled to capacity, we requested they clear our plates. Upon being offered our unfinished dumplings 'to go' I demonstrated my keen knowledge of current events by suggesting they send our left overs to Haiti. Perplexed and hesitant our poor busboy hovered without making eye contact, obviously an ESL student and suffering from low self-esteem. We pitied him. Being the compassionate giver that I am, I thoughtfully switched the destination of our generosity to his homeland China. "Or you could send our leftovers to China!" He was very gracious and bowed to us as he scrambled up all our uneaten food. The look on his face was all the thanks I needed. It feels good to give back on such a tight budget.


Even though this place is so cheap, I still didn't have enough money to cover my half the check. Luckily, Liz's new man friend is so enamored by her blondness that he has paid her to read! This is one of many reasons why Liz is a bottle blonde; appearing an ignoramus can be quite profitable to young New Yorkers. One must remember to exploit stereotypes at every opportunity.

Being a true friend she filled in for my short comings and we parted ways. I walked home alone and contemplated my afternoon. Was it a partial success because someone paid for part of my dinner? I like to think so. But, despite her drag queen-esque predilection for faux fur Liz is not a man nor is she interested in buying me dinner again, so I am back where I started. One circle of lower Manhattan later and alone on a Sunday night in New York.

As the wise Tim Burton once said of the #1. "This poor fellow never has fun! He's all alone. He's only ONE."