« May 2005 | Main | July 2005 »

June 30, 2005

Fiddleheads

I just want to give a quick shout out to the folks at Fiddleheads in DC. They've cut my hair (what's left of it) for about 4-5 years now. Linda is the one who puts up with my cranky ass and she is fantastic.

The weird thing is most of you in DC don't know where they are located. Let me tell you.

They are right by JR's (and you GUYS all know where that is). And right above the CyberStop Cafe. They are wonderful and you should visit them often because they are an independent little quality shop and awesome people. There is Beth, Tina, Linda, Clamencia (sp?) and Garrett (not Mrs. Garrett, people. But just Garrett). It is worth the price of admission just to hear Garrett's stories while you're getting your hair cut from whomever. Priceless. We love him.

So people, stop going to the same old places and do yourself a favor. Go to a cool place in the neighborhood with great people and quality service. I'm serious. Do it now. You really need some hair work done.

Thank you. That is your durban tip of the day.

UPDATE: Garrett is no longer there. Figures that would happen right after I wrote this.

Posted by durban bud at 07:28 PM | Comments (7)

Big Bad Bangin' Ball-Bustin' Bobbie B.

I met Bobbie way back in 9th grade. We have been through it all. Oh, the stories I could tell. I won't bore you with them today even though they are very salacious and amusing (e.g. Bobbie was doing the Running Man dance on a booze cruise in the Bahamas to the "Humpty Dance" and I have a picture to prove it. It was hysterical).

Her baby just turned 1 the other day. I never thought Bobbie would have a kid. She just never seemed interested. She also never seemed like she wanted to get married but she did. On February 29th. So she only has to celebrate her anniversary every 4 years. Good for her! Plus, she is (or was) the queen party girl. All the boys at Nation know her. And I think most European gay men know her as well after she danced with all of them on a trip to Spain one year.

Motherhood has mellowed her and she is a great mom. When we found out she was pregnant we all took bets on what she would name the baby. 50% of us thought she would name the baby, "Red Bull & Vodka" and the other half voted for "Piels." Instead she chose Killian (which is a pretty decent beer I think). Love the name.

Now please stop smoking. And eat some vegetables.

Anyway, Happy Birthday Bobbie! Life would be boring without you.

Posted by durban bud at 08:59 AM | Comments (5)

June 28, 2005

The Heat Miser Hates DC

The Heat Miser has taken over DC. He is one ripe bastard. It was unbearable yesterday. If anyone has a beach house they could let me live at for the summer I would really appreciate it. I could pay, like $10 a month and even water your plants. I can work off my laptop while I sit on the beach. Please think about it.

I had to go shopping yesterday because I have 2 business meetings today and should try to dress somewhat nice I'm told. I've had meetings before but I would always wear my one pair of khaki pants and a blue button up shirt. The khakis have lost the button that holds them together and they no longer fit. And I'll be damned if I'm gonna wear a button up in this weather. I don't really wear nice clothes. Most of my stuff is very casual (read: slacker wear) and I usually wear the same things all the time. It just suits me better (no pun intended).

I feel so sorry for you people who have to wear suits to work in this weather. It seems very abusive. A suit is like an American version of the burka. You should speak to your HR department about it. It's not right.

So I went shopping. I could have taken a cab to Hecht's where I knew the business attire would be cheaper but I didn't. I wanted to go to the closest clothing store possible and just get back home into the air conditioning.

The closest clothing store to me is Universal Gear (or as we call it here 'Universal Queer'). They have some really nice stuff but it's all overpriced. I asked a boy for help (we shall call him Sebastian). I explained I needed something nice for a meeting but comfortable because of the blazing heat. Sebastian was very helpful. I/he picked out 4 articles of clothing AND a new bathing suit because my other one falls off me. The bathing suit is lime green. Most of my clothes are earth tone colors. They just look better on me but I wanted to be different this time. I think it looks nice. And no, it's not skimpy. It looks like another pair of shorts.

Anyway, the bill came to over $300. Ridiculous. I bought a pair of khakis, 3 shirts and a bathing suit. I knew what I was getting into when I went there so I have no one to blame but myself.

On a separate subject, I'm thinking about getting a tattoo. Yeah, I said it. Lick it up, baby. Lick it up. Please don't tell my mommy yet.

I think I want one of those tribal designs that go down the shoulder onto the arm. Nothing with color. Just tribal and black. And just on one arm. I've been thinking about this for a couple of years now. I thought about getting one of those arm bands but then I thought I don't want anyone knowing my sexual preference all the time.

Should I do it? And if so, can anyone recommend a talented artist to assist my virgin body with a nice tattoo. I'd prefer some Percocet so it doesn't hurt too much. Let me know if you know of anyone. Much love.

Thank you in advance.

Posted by durban bud at 10:11 PM | Comments (9)

June 25, 2005

Disease of the Seas

I'm going on a gay cruise. There, I said it. And I can't wait. I need a vacation. I always say that but I really NEED one especially after my last one. And I'm not just talking about long weekends somewhere or a week spent with family. That to me is not a real vacation (especially if there are babies involved). A real vacation is spent with friends or lovers, lasts at least two full weeks and involves NO drama whatsoever.

Now I know what you're thinking, a boat full of gay men is going to involve lots of drama. I'm sure there will be drama but it will not involve me. No, sir. No way. Been there, done that. Nope. I will have no part of it. This is not a circuit party event for me. I know there will be that element there but I will read a book, hang out in the water, enjoy a meal with friends, meet new people, play ping-pong with muscle bears, chill out and relax, enjoy new places and have hot sex with the wife my partner. That's all I want.

I've never wanted to go on a cruise. Just never appealed to me. However, when I heard there was a cruise going to TWO places I've always wanted to go AND lasts TWO weeks, I knew I had to kill two birds with one stone. By the way, that's a terrible expression.

I took a mini "vacation" back in March to San Francisco. We have some friends there and Rob had a conference so I hitched a ride. We try to go at least once a year cuz we do love it there. I also realize the weather is hit or miss. It was definitely a miss this time around.

We get there late one night and check into our hotel. I wake up at 3 in the morning to the sounds of severe nausea. Apparently, Rob has contracted some stomach bug or food poisoning or tape worm or demon possession or something. Welcome to San Francisco! He is a wreck. This occurs every 20 minutes for the next 12 hours.

Luckily, Rob starts feeling better the next day so he joins us while we continue to walk around in the cold rain. We went out to dinner with our friends, Matty and Michael who are terrific (and have a beautiful place there). We also got to attend a party by the infamous Todd and we got to play with the beagle. It was worth the price of admission just to spend time with those guys.

The last evening there we went out to dinner to a place called "Home" but a more appropriate name would be "Outhouse." They seat us in this large room and then it hits all of us at once. The wonderful smell of feces. We ask the waiter what the deal is. He tells us that a sewer line has broken and they are "working on it." Ew, okay. Can I have my chicken pot pie to go, please? Thank you.

Rob and I head back to the hotel and pack for our early departure at 6am. Then. At 3am I awoke to an unpleasant feeling. Bye-bye, pot pie! I realize I have picked up whatever Rob had at the beginning of our "vacation." Every 20 minutes. I am terrified. How the hell am I gonna fly home today? Rob could barely move when he had this illness. Now I have to go the freakin' airport and interact with humans. Calgon, take me away!

I suck it up and do my best to get through it. I just wanted to be home in bed with my blanky and pacifier.

We inform the flight crew of my dilemma. The head flight attendant asks me, "Are you really sick or just hungover?" What did you say, you insensitive slut? I wanted to throw my flask of gin at her head. Instead, I said, "I'm really sick." She asks if I think I am able to make it through the flight. I told her I thought I could. Actually, I didn't know but the thought of having to reschedule my long trip home would make me puke even more. "Well, I hope so cuz we don't want to have to divert the plane cuz of you," she said in a snotty tone. Then I added, "It's worse than having a Manhattan Furball." She said, "Huh?" I said, "Nevermind. Long story."

She gets me a ginger ale and a "sick sack." I guess that's a more pleasant way of saying barf bag. I never ever thought I would be one of those people that has to use them. She then hands me a Hefty trash bag. I am humiliated. I am seated in the middle of the plane. I look like death and I am holding a sick sack and a Hefty trash bag and I am shivering while wearing a sweater and winter coat. How'd ya like to be my neighbor on that flight? I pictured that scene from "Stand By Me" when there was a domino effect of vomiting. That would have been kinda funny actually.

I tried so hard to hold it together. I really did. But. As soon as the plane took off, I put to use that sick sack AND Hefty trash bag.

At that point, the flight crew knew I meant serious business. I even handed the insensitive slut crew member my Hefty bag of pot pie remains just to spite her. She declined and added, "Please deposit it in the bathroom." "Okay," I smiled.

They cleared the back row for me. That was nice of them. However, the rear seats do not recline. I literally looked like a propped up corpse. At least I was close to the bathroom. The odd thing is this whole event happened very discretely, believe it or not. Very few people noticed. I'm a pretty good patient.

It was a really weird bug because it was so well-timed and only involved yacking my guts out (thank god). Because Rob had the same exact symptoms we knew it would last a total of 12 hours. We were only on hour number 5 of my version of the illness and we had a layover in Denver. Wonderful.

I remember sitting there in my state of rigor mortis thinking that I did not feel particularly relaxed from this li'l vacation.

So I will really enjoy my next longer vacation. Rain or shine. The Disease of the Seas will be taking off at the end of August. I'm looking forward to it!

Posted by durban bud at 03:30 PM | Comments (5)

June 24, 2005

I Despise Tom Cruise

Read this shit.

What a dick. This man is very famous and influential so his ignorant opinion is very dangerous.

I can't tell you how many people I know who have needed therapy when dealing with the whole coming out process. I can't tell you how many people I know who were suicidal during that whole period who needed someone to help sort things out and/or medication just to get through the day (including myself). I have seen people who couldn't get out of bed after the loss of a loved one. Medication helped them through the grieving process and they become better because of it. I have seen medication and therapy help many, many people close to me get through various issues. They are all extremely happy and productive now. The list goes on and on.

Do I think that medication is over-prescribed and not right for everyone? Sure. Blame bad doctors and all the fucking TV ads by pharmaceutical companies allowed to run non-stop around the clock telling us that we NEED medication and for us to ASK our doctors about them. But I also believe that good, responsible doctors have seriously helped people for the better and actually saved lives. And yes, exercise, spirituality, and "vitamins" (as he says) may also assist when you're completely devastated by something but sometimes people need a lot more help.

Not everyone has had such a cushy, pampered life as you, Tommy. Try to think outside the box for once. I hope Katie gives you crabs.

This prick has had two divorces. Perhaps, a little psychiatric counseling would have helped his egotistical ass work through his issues and maybe even helped him keep his lifetime vow to one of his wives.

I hope an alien spaceship with a big Scientology bumper sticker takes him and his brainwashed, Dawson Creek-starring fiance far, far away. Better yet, I hope they give birth to a gay child. That would totally freak him out. He would gorge himself on Paxil.

Fuck you, Tom. I will never support any of your movies. They all suck anyway (especially Minority Report and Collateral).

God Bless Brooke Shields. I might even buy the Blue Lagoon on DVD. Okay, maybe I won't go that far. But good for her for having the balls to speak up.

UPDATE: The Washington Post has a good article about the incident.

Peace.

Posted by durban bud at 01:34 PM | Comments (16)

June 21, 2005

Yet Another Friggin' B-Day

I am going to re-post an entry because it is Todd's birthday and this story is all about him. But first, I have to talk briefly about the death of music. I saw a music video this morning. It was Jessica Simpson doing a cover of "These Boots Are Made For Walkin'." It was frightening. It was more frightening cuz Willie Nelson was also in the video playing guitar and singing backup. I want to puke. How did this happen? Then, I saw a video from my favorite band. Green Day's 4th single from their American Idiot CD is "Wake Me Up When September Ends." It's a wonderful 4 and a half minute song. The video version is over 7 minutes and includes TALKING. Actors reading lines, people. How did this happen? It is terrible. Please edit this video and resubmit it with no actors. It is so cheezy.

Ugh, anyway, happy birthday, Todd. Here is your present. Enjoy!

Please Do Not Call Me At 4 in the Morning

I was enjoying a nice klonopin induced sleep last night. Then. The phone rang. I woke up completely startled. I looked at the clock. It was 4:12 am. Who the fuck would be calling now?

There are only 3 reasons someone could possibly be calling at this hour. (1) It's a family emergency, (2) A friend is in the 'hood and desperately needs a place to crash, or (3) it's Pat O'Brien. It was none of the above.

The caller ID suggested a local number but after the answering machine picked up I heard a not so local voice. It was our friend Todd and his buddy calling from San Francisco. They were obviously having a good ol' time. I appreciate you thinking of us over there and wanting to express your love over the phone while having a wild time but please remember, we were 21 in 1992. That was like 13 years ago.

I would also like to remind people that if you do call and leave a drunk message I will save it, edit it with some audio software and put it to music. It will be played at all the local house parties and it will be funny. Trust me. I've already made 2 hot dance tracks this way and a third will now be on its way. There is the hit "I'm a Fuckin' Drunk" by Bobbie B. taken from her audio message that said, "I don't know what the fuck time it is but I'm fuckin' drunk..." which was followed by some more foul language and slurring. There is also "Big Baby Bottom Girl" by "Dino" taken from his message that said, "When you send out that Evite to everyone on that list about my upcoming birthday party, please do not refer to me as a girl, or a big girl, or baby girl or bottom. Some of these people are my co-workers." Okay, I won't.

Todd is one of the most unique people you could ever meet. He's the owner of that beagle I'm chillin' with in the picture on this page. He is brilliant and crazy at the same time. He was a lawyer and a political consultant for the past 7 years. He, like me, was raised Southern Baptist so we both have interesting stories about that (I won't bore you with that now). His talent is much better put to use doing more creative work. He left DC to pursue something different in San Fran. I hope he has found it there. He has a lot to offer.

We went to see Todd (and a few other friends) a couple months ago in San Fran. We made plans to see Todd one night. We went for a bite to eat and then he took us to some bar in the Castro. He's very social so he started talking to the first people he saw. He immediately had his arms around them and we were forced to engage in idle chit chat.

One of the men looked like Francis Ford Coppola, the other can only be described as a platinum blonde twink. The next thing I see is a member of Menudo standing with us (or he looked like he is/was in Menudo). He couldn't be more than 20 (so I guess he was kicked out of the group). Todd has his arm around him and informs us that he is leaving with him. "Umm, what? You are curb dropping us?" Then, for some completely odd reason, Todd suggests the twink go back to our hotel with me and Rob. "Ha, ha, ha, very funny." I then ask Todd in front of his new friend, "Are you going to have anal?" I invite all of you out there who get curb dropped by your friends for a complete stranger to ask this question. It makes for an extremely awkward moment for the new couple and a whole lot of comic relief for everyone else. Todd leans over to me and says, "that's inappropriate." I know, and so is curb-dropping your friends for Menudo. Whatever, they end up leaving together. Rob and I are standing there like, "should we leave?" The twink then whispers in my ear, "I would love to watch you and your boyfriend have sex. I would also love to give you both a blowjob. It would be so hot." Umm, ew, no thanks, raincheck, bu-bye. We left and that was the last time we have seen Todd. Just thought I'd share.

Posted by durban bud at 08:45 AM | Comments (10)

June 20, 2005

Lesbians Dig Us

You're not gonna believe this. On Saturday night, we went to a friend's birthday celebration. I'm just as surprised as you are that another person was actually born in June. Who da thunk it?

Our friend Walker was celebrating his last year in his thirties. We arrive at Alero and there is a huge table. It looked very Last Supper-ish. Walker played the Jesus part and I think Ken was Mary Magdalene. Mel Gibson played the waiter or water boy. It was very scandalous.

Anyway, you know how they serve you a glass of water and the waiter or water boy or whatever he/she is called is constantly staring at it so if you take a sip they automatically refill it? Well, they were doing that. Only with the margaritas. You can imagine the rest. I wish they would do that at Lauriol Plaza. That would make me happy.

We sat at the end of the table (read: little kids table) with 2 sweet lesbians who we did not know. We're not sure exactly why so many lesbians have come into our life recently but they are there. And they are everywhere. I appreciate them but I am still not going to go golfing. At least not yet.

We ended up at Halo. Love that place. It is a NON-SMOKING ESTABLISHMENT! If you have a non-smoking establishment I may be more inclined to visit it. I was wasted by this point but did not kiss anyone. This is a good sign. Luckily, we went straight home after that. When we got closer to our place Rob made me hold his hand. A big group of heterosexuals walked by. I was waiting for the homophobic comment. And it did come after we passed them. So, of course, I had to yell back at them. They kept walking. Don't fuck with me bitches. I will call you mean names.

We had fun. Wish you were there.

Posted by durban bud at 11:27 AM | Comments (9)

June 17, 2005

Poughkeepsie Girl

Our dear Marla celebrates her birthday today. Is it just me or was almost everyone born in June? Why is that? Do we become more horny in September or is ovulation in overdrive then? Hmm.

I met Marla about 5 years ago. She had just moved next door to us in the Wardman. I was walking down the hall and this woman stops me and says, "'Scuse me (as she snapped her gum), I locked myself out of my apartment. Do you have a ladder (Snap, snap went her gum)?" "The building has a ladder downstairs," I said. "Could you help me get it?" "Sure, Nell." "By the way, I'm Marla, your new neighbor." And you've already locked yourself out of your apartment, I thought to myself. This is not a good sign. "Nice to meet you, Nell" I said.

We walked downstairs to get the humongous ladder. We take it outside and prop it against her windows. The windows were open but the screens were not. Marla runs up the ladder and starts thrashing at her window screens. She was stabbing them with scissors. "You can't keep me out of my own apartment, motherfuckers," she yelled. "Like a tay in da win." Huh? She seemed to sway back and forth as she repeated that line. I became a wee bit concerned about my new neighbor. Was she on medication? She had two cats who were watching this whole incident unfold from inside. They were looking at her as if to say, "Umm, why are you breaking into your own place?"

She finishes ruining her screens and is able to reach her hand in and push the windows up. I'll never forget the sight of her dangling out of the window with her ass in full view. She held that position for a long time while talking to her cats. "Mommy is home again. Everything is safe. Mommy loves you." The cats looked at her and then looked at the screens. "You're gonna fix that, right?" they seemed to say.

Dave from across the hall then comes into her apartment after hearing all the commotion. He sees what she has done to the screens. He then reaches outside of the window and pushes the screen up. "You realize," he says, "that the screens open from the outside too. You just need to push them up." Oops.

So that's how I met the infamous Marla. We have remained great friends ever since but I will never forget our first meeting. Classic.

Happy Birthday!

Here is a picture of what Marla's life would look like if she stayed in Poughkeepsie.

Posted by durban bud at 10:27 AM | Comments (13)

June 15, 2005

Manhattan Furball

A few months ago I invited Randy and "Herbie" over to watch a movie. We went to Health Bar right down the street to order some takeout beforehand. I go to Health Bar a lot. It usually takes about 20 minutes before the meal is ready to go. I realize that is a long time to wait, but I am used to it and accept it.

We went in and placed our orders. It was around 7pm on a Saturday night and was quite crowded. Since we had to wait, I suggested having a drink. I asked the bartender what kind of beer they had on tap. Before the man could finish telling me, Randy pipes in, "I'll have a Manhattan." Randy is one of those sweet-natured, friendly, well-mannered, church-going type of guys so his choice of beverage surprised me. I picture old, slutty, Laura Bush-like women as their primary audience. Randy asks if I want one. Always willing to sample new cocktails, I said, "Sure." He asked Herbie. Herbie, clearly annoyed that we had to wait for our meals, gave a sassy, "I'm not drinking." Whatever.

The bartender finished making them and handed them to us. I took a sip and realized that a Manhattan is really just legal moonshine. My stomach began to burn. Within seconds of taking a sip, a waiter informs us that our meals are ready to go. This would have to happen. The first time EVER they make our meals quickly, and we have ordered a foo-foo-shee-shee drink that takes about an hour to finish. Since Herbie wasn't drinking, I felt an obligation to hurry up. Plus, he kept giving me that "let's go now" glare. Only in his midwestern accent, it sounded more like, "Let's go knee-oww."

I told Randy we needed to finish them quickly. Randy took a big sip and got real quiet. Suddenly, a large cough erupted from his little body. He began to gag. Cough, cough. Snort, snort. Gurgle, gurgle. Sounds were coming out of his mouth that I had never heard before. I kept thinking, how did Randy get a furball stuck in his throat. He kept coughing. And. Then. The whiskey drink started spurting out of his mouth. I was waiting for the alien to explode out of his stomach. The bartender, who looks completely mortified, starts handing Randy baby napkins. Randy wipes his mouth while continuing to dry heave all over the bar. It gets worse. A frothy like whiskey mixture began to drip out of his nose. It was as if his nasal cavity had converted the Manhattan into a Whiskey Sour.

Herbie and I didn't know what to do so we kept patting him on the back as if to say, "Good puppy dog." Should we give him the Heimlich? I don't know. You give him the Heimlich. No, you give him the Heimlich. I'm not gonna give him the Heimlich. You give him the Heimlich. He wasn't turning blue yet so that was a good sign. In between dry heaves, he would chortle, "I'm cough cough gag gag okay." Herbie, remember, is already annoyed because we ordered a drink. Now he's even more annoyed because Randy is coughing up a furball, and creating a major scene in the restaurant.

A man sitting directly behind us puts his fork down from his meal, and looks like he might vomit. A young girl begins to weep. Her mother takes her away. People start leaving the restaurant. It all happened in slow motion.

Luckily, Randy's coughing becomes intermittent, and is no longer dripping from his nose. The furball has been expunged and he is okay.

We can joke about it now. But the damage was already done. Randy coughed up a Manhattan furball and ruined several people's meals.

I ran into Randy last night. I mentioned that we had a good picture of him from the Pride parade. He joked that I should put it on my blog. Good idea. But I have to include the furball incident too.

Good times.

Posted by durban bud at 11:45 AM | Comments (5)

June 13, 2005

Rip Taylor Throws Confetti

And gets paid for it. What an interesting way to make a living. Whatever works for ya. I'd do it. Maybe that's my new calling. Fuck this web shit. I'm gonna start skipping down 17th Street and throw confetti. I'll be different though. I'll also hand out Dutch cookies and condoms. And I'll wear a baseball cap. Look out boysssss. Here I come....

The big gay holiday has come and gone. We had a small BBQ on Saturday with my new favorite lesbian couple, Deb & Greer. The Tos man and his new "friend" also joined us.

To prepare, we thought it best to have some Pride accoutrements so we went to Lambda Rising to shop. They were mostly out of everything. A woman took us to the back of the store and opened a drawer unveiling a few gay flags. She took one out that is probably 2 x 3 feet. We grabbed it. We saw another one with a paw print so we had to have that as well. We also got one of those things that blow in the wind. We went to check out. The cashier rings it up and says, "That will be $128.24." You have to be fucking kidding me. Happy Pride!

We went down to the festival on Sunday. Mr. Taylor was among the many acts performing there. It was approximately 145 degrees out with 100% humidity. Why do I live here again? It was so hot I turned down having a beer. It was so hot Mr. Taylor's toupee curled. Ba-da-boom.

Bob Mould gave the festival a much needed jolt of energy. It was just him and his electric guitar and he tore it up. It was very impressive (especially considering how hot it was). He was wearing a black t-shirt and jeans. I would imagine he was very moist.

We saw quite a few people we know (of the non-blogging orientation). I have to admit I'm not sure what a lot of the local bloggers look like. I hear there were quite a few there. We did see Clickboo during Bob's set.

We left after that cuz I began to melt. Also, a drag queen wearing an American flag dress started screeching the national anthem. My ears hurt so bad I needed a Vicodin. Ba-da-boom.

Here is my hand holding proof, people. Try not to stare too long at that woman's boobies.

Seriously, stop looking. Pig.

Posted by durban bud at 08:54 AM | Comments (4)

June 09, 2005

Hold My Hand Day

So this weekend is Gay Pride here in DC or, as Rob likes to call it, the One Day Out of the Year That He Will Hold My Hand in Public Day. I'm just not a big hand holder. I think it goes along with my fear of being held down. I just don't like not being able to move about freely. I would make a terrible Siamese Twin. Okay, maybe that's a lame excuse. Maybe I'm really afraid of some truck driver from Laurel throwing a rock at me. I don't know. Just not big on the PDA (unless, of course, someone serves me some blue "kool-aid." Then I will most likely make love to you in front of everyone).

I do hold his hand from time to time. It's just kinda rare (like spotting Big Foot or the Loch Ness Monster. You may need a picture to prove it). Doesn't mean I'm not affectionate. I am. Just not in public so much. I'm a teddy bear behind closed doors. ;-)

Of course, when we first started dating I would hold his hand. That adreneline rush numbs any inhibitions. I think a lot of people do this initially to say to their friends and neighbors, "Look what I bagged. Not bad, huh?"

We all get giddy in the beginning of a budding romance. Sometimes too giddy (yeah, I'm talking to you, Mr. Cruise). It is a great feeling though when you really like someone and your excited and nervous to be around them and you have no idea what the future holds.

I met Rob about a year before we started dating. He was a co-worker of the anti-christ a guy that I was dating at the time. Rob was also in a relationship. With a woman! Stop laughing. No really, stop. Shortly thereafter, Rob came out of the closet. I remember thinking, "Wow, he's really cute and seems very nice. I wish I could show him the ropes of the gay world (like I was any expert) instead of Satan my boyfriend." Not that my ex was a bad person 666 is the number of the beast, I just felt that he might make the gay world look slightly less appealing. Luckily, we broke up. Ugh, that was a bad time and really bad year.

I was talking to my shrink and he asked me to define my ideal "type" of guy. I said, "Rob." He asked, "Well, why don't you ask him out?" And I explained, "That would be impossible because he works with Lucifer my ex." He basically told me that was a silly excuse because we were no longer together. It didn't matter. I was too shy to do anything about it anyway. Plus, I found out Rob was dating someone.

That summer, I went to Amsterdam for school. (You can read all about that wild excursion in my Hash Pipe entry). When I returned, I ran into Rob at some bar. We spoke for a long time. He was telling me that he had just spent a lot of time in Amsterdam and his Dutch friend was coming into town to stay with him for a few weeks. Odd timing. He also told me that he was single again.

About a week later, I saw Rob, his Dutch friend Bas, and another friend walking down the street. I was walking back from getting my hair cut and looked fabulous! Good timing. They asked where I was going to be later. I told them I would be at my usual hang out and they should stop by later.

It was a restaurant/bar on 17th Street where you could usually find me sitting at the bar. I was very friendly with the bartender. Straight guy too. Very cute. I used to make mix tapes and he would always play them and give me free beer. Now that I think about it, I was like the gay Norm. Yikes. Anyway, it wasn't necessarily a gay bar but since it was on 17th Street it got quite a bit of traffic from the homosexuals.

About 11:30 that night, I got a visit from Rob and his 2 friends at the bar. I was so excited and surprised. I started bubbling in my panties. They pulled up a stool and we shot the shit for awhile. Rob excused himself to the bathroom and I asked his friend if he thought Rob might be interested in "joining me for coffee." Isn't that what everyone says? His friend gave me this look like, "Ohh, yeah" and he started to shake his head up and down. Score!

Rob came back and I made my move. "Would you like to join me for a spot o' tea or perhaps a quick shag?" I said in a British accent. Okay, I didn't really say that but it was something like that except for the shag part. He said, "Yes." Double score!

We exchanged numbers and Rob walked me back to my apartment. We went inside and just talked for about 20 more minutes. Seriously, that's all we did. It was about 3:00 am so I walked him outside and gave him a quick little peck and said goodbye. I watched him walk away until I couldn't see him anymore. I had this enormous feeling of giddiness. Then I realized I made a huge mistake.

I turned around and grabbed the front door handle. It was locked. Fuckin' A. It was 3 in the morning. I had no shoes on. There was no way I could get back in. The only other people with a key were the family upstairs and there was no way I was going to scare the shit out of them at 3 in the morning. I had already done that a few weeks earlier but that's a whole other story. I couldn't walk anywhere without shoes. Well, I probably could but I didn't want to start any stories about this night-time Jesus prowling the DC streets. Everything was closed anyway.

It didn't matter though. I was so happy. And exhilarated. Nothing could make me lose this feeling. I took a deep breath and laid down on the walkway by my apartment. Nothing else I could do. It was shaded by some bushes so no one could see me. I curled up in a ball and rested my head on the grass and fell asleep. I slept so well that night. And have ever since.*

So this weekend, the most joyous of all gay holidays, I will hold my little butt muffin's partner's hand proudly. And I will take a picture to prove it.

-
-
-

*Sometimes I do need an Ambien or two.

Posted by durban bud at 03:47 PM | Comments (10)

June 07, 2005

Birthday Boy

Somebody needs a spanking. The Tos man celebrates his birth today. Happy 29th, my friend!

Posted by durban bud at 08:59 AM | Comments (10)

June 05, 2005

Whorehouse

We moved into a new condo two years ago and had (pretty much) the entire place renovated or updated except for the bedroom. That was a mistake. It is now starting to bother us a lot. With the exception of the bed all the "furniture" is old (mostly stuff we acquired during our high school/college years). My nightstand is a makeshift stacking table and Rob's is some plastic Ikea storage thing. We desperately need new ones. Actually, we desperately need our bedroom completely renovated. It is disgusting. If Candice Olsen is reading this, please call.

We heard that a new furniture store opened up in the area and was having a sale. Out of respect for the store I won't mention their name but I will give you a hint. It rhymes with whorehouse. We had shopped at whorehouse before and bought a couch. It was okay even though all the cushions became flat after one year. Maybe I was eating too much Chinese food or drinking too much beer. I don't know. I complained and they replaced the cushions. That was nice of them. The new ones became flat after 6 months. My warranty had run out. At that point we didn't care anymore. We would just sit on the floor or the chair and let our guests sit on the couch until we could afford a new couch. It was fun to watch them wiggle in their seats after about 10 minutes. If we really didn't care for the person we would invite them over to watch "Dances With Wolves" or "Schindler's List."

Despite that experience we decided to check out their nightstands. After all, they were having a sale. The store was beautiful. The furniture was gorgeous. We spotted a nightstand we liked. A pleasant man came over to us and asked if he could help. We said the typical, "Thanks, we're just looking." He said "Well jusssssst let me know if you need anything" and then I thought he said "Toodles."

The nightstands we liked were about $30 off each. We weighed the pros and cons and decided to get just one cuz we're cheap bastards. We alerted the pleasant man (who we shall call Mr. Potato Head). Mr. Potato Head said "Sssssuper, would you like to have it delivered or would you like to pick it up at our warehouse in Laurel?" A sudden chill came over me. I used to work in Laurel. Laurel is about a 30 minute drive into hell. I said, "We would like it delivered." He said, "Okay, there will be $90 flat fee for delivery." Huh. There must be a mistake. He must think I said we want the bed and that we live in Florida. "Ummmm, we just live 8 blocks from the store, can we pick it up here?" "No. You need to pick up furniture at our warehousssssse in Laurel." Another chill. Please stop saying that word. He disappeared to his computer for a moment.

Mr. Potato Head comes back and says, "We are actually out of sssstock of that particular model. We should be getting sssssome more in ssssstock in about a month. I would advissse you to purchassse now caussse there is a long waiting lisssst and you want to make sure you don't lossssse out."

Okay, ssssssso let me get this straight. I could purchase the nightstand that is $30 off. Pay a $90 delivery fee even though I live down the street or drive all the way to Hell on Earth, Maryland to pick it up. I could pay for it today, get put on a waiting list and maybe get one in a month. Sounds like a sssssssuper deal! Sssssign me up!

We said, "I think we'll pass." I was waiting for Mr. Potato Head to try to appease us so he wouldn't lose a sale but he just walked away. Whatever. We left.

Whorehouse does have some nice things. So does Crate & Barrel and Pottery Barn and Williams-Sonoma and Mikasa. We've decided that we will have a party for our upcoming gay anniversary and "register" at these places so we can get all new things for our bedroom. So all you married muthafuckas who got the chance to register start saving your pennies. It's payback time!

Posted by durban bud at 05:31 PM | Comments (7)

June 02, 2005

Deep Throat

The best line from that movie is "Do you mind if I smoke while you eat?"

Classic.

Posted by durban bud at 11:39 AM | Comments (2)