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May 30, 2006
Mating Season
Memorial Day weekend kicks off mating season in Rehoboth Beach. So I just got back from a 5-day stint there. I am sore. I didn't get a sunburn, but I did get a sand burn. The wind was-a-blowin' on the beach. Ow.
I went into the freezing cold ocean too. Even the kids were steering clear of the water cuz it was so damn cold, but, ya know, when ya gotta go, ya gotta go. A full bladder trumps all common sense. A cute 5-year old Asian girl pointed at me as I doggie-paddled out to a safe point and said, "Mommy, Look at da gay! Look at da crazy gay."
This year, I was very well behaved (unlike last year). I kept all my clothes on, and I remember EVERYTHING. This is a good sign.
Suitcase Sally played awesome host once again. Did I mention how much I love him? Yeah, I think I did last year, but it begs repeating. He makes good husband material, so if any of you would like to apply for this prestigious position, please send your resumes to prada_love_muffin@durbanbud.com.
The Swan and Testacles also joined in the holiday weekend festivities. I saw Bob and Rich, Clickboo & CynOp, and infamous hot tubbers: Tim & Donn. It was a pleasure seeing everyone on such a gorgeous weekend. The weather couldn't have been any better.
One of the highlights of the weekend was getting Suitcase Sally to step foot into a Friendly's. I've developed quite a sweet tooth lately (mainly due to my lack of alcohol intake), so I need to get my fix sometimes. I told him that Friendly's had partnered with Tiffany to serve their specialty sundaes out of Tiffany's fancy-schmancy champagne flutes, so he fell for it. And it was delicious. Better than crack. So if anyone wants to buy me a sundae with a cherry on top, I'm yours.
I ate so much. We went to my faves: The Cultured Pearl, Cafe Sole and Confucius. Confucius is a lovely, quaint Chinese restaurant. Rob and I popped in for a "romantic" dinner. They seated us at a two-seat little table by the window. As we were munching on the best Chinese food we've had in a long time, a woman spotted me from outside and began waving and pointing frantically. I got worried. I recognized her as a new friend I had met in rehab. I thought, "Oh shit, the bitch is SAUCED." She flung open the door, and darted to our table. Um, "Hi there." Turns out she wasn't sauced; she was just overly ecstatic cuz she just witnessed the horseshoe crabs mating ritual at Delaware Bay. Apparently, this is a spectacle to behold. I think I'll pass. Horseshoe crabs are harmless but they are the scariest looking things when flipped on their backs. I don't care how harmless they are; when they look like the baby aliens from those horror movies, keep that shit away from me.
After going out all weekend, we decided to stay in for our final evening. We watched a show called Dr. 90210, and I learned for the first time of a procedure called "labiaplasty." There is a reason I am a gay man, and that reason is called labiaplasty. Oh. My. God. I had no idea this was ever a problem for women. I am clueless. And we watched it after having a large Memorial Day feast. Ugh. Just google the word if you wanna see photos.
Now I'm back in DC. And back to the humidity. And summer hasn't even begun. I'm thinking I could live in Rehoboth. I could be some sort of tour guide for the annual mating season of the horseshoe crab. I'm seriously thinking about moving there. Seriously.
Posted by durban bud at 01:59 PM | Comments (4)
May 24, 2006
Herbie Goes Bananas
I watched American Idol for the first time this season. What a spectacle this show has become. I went to my friend "Herbie's" to watch it. He is OBSESSED. I've never seen anything quite like it. He even bought that Diana DiGarmo chick's CD.
At about 7:45 I was in the middle of telling a story, and he's like, "Is this gonna take much longer cuz Katherine McPhee is gonna start singing in about 15 minutes, and she is fierce." Um, okay, I'll abbreviate it for you.
At 8:00 he cranked the TV so loud I still have a ringing in my ear. When the American Idol theme started, he got up and did the "running man" dance. Please sit down, and maybe pop a Xanax.
Katherine McPhee was introduced.
Me: "I think she's really pret-"
Herbie: "SHHHHHHHH!"
Me: "I like this Cherry Tree son-"
Herbie: "SHHHHHHHH!"
He turns the TV up even louder.
Me: "Do you think that Taylor guy dyes his ha-"
Herbie: "SHHHHHHHH!"
Me: "I think I have a tumor."
Herbie: "SHHHHHHHH! I've so got McPhever!"
He raised his "Kat, YOUR Forever MY Girl" sign he made over his head.
Me: "Noone can see that."
Herbie: "I can, bitch."
Anyway, I don't think either one of the finalists are all that great. The guy who kept chanting "Soul Patrol" seems slightly retarded, and irritating, but he has a better voice. It's more unique. The girl has more star quality, and I could see her being in a video or something, but her voice isn't always consistent. I think I'd rather see her win cuz she's the underdog, and I like underdogs.
I feel bad for them cuz they're forced to sing these awful, sappy, "original" songs written for them. Both songs sounded like they were written by 6th graders. I've decided I'm going to submit a song for next year's competition. It's called "Pretty Rainbow." It goes something like this:
I see a rainbow over there
The birds are flying without a care
The Lord is telling me of who I'll be
I'm gonna make it most definitely
I'll grow some wings and fly so high
It will be hard to tell my trailer goodbye
My time has come, I hear my calling
Through the sky I'll soar, never falling
chorus:
The rainbow is pretty, the grass so green
I'm living out my American dream
I'll fly above the clouds, just like an eagle
I'm beautiful and wise, i ain't no seagull
and if I fall into a million little pieces
I'll look to the sky and thank my sweet Jesus
Fade out.
This is my CD cover:
I guarantee someone will sing a variation of my hit single next season. Just you wait. Everyone will be in tears.
At 8:45 Herbie frantically dialed his vote in, although voting wasn't even open yet. I really hope McPhee wins, or Herbie is definitely gonna go bananas.
Posted by durban bud at 12:51 PM | Comments (4)
May 22, 2006
Dapper Duds
I headed out to Baltimore on Friday to catch a plane to upstate New York. The people of Baltimore have a unique accent. The word "home" is pronounced "whom", and they say "you know" every other word. It's, you know, kinda, you know, interesting.
At the airport I noticed Southwest Airlines still have a number of those older planes with those nasty colors. Who the hell came up with the color combination of brown and red? It's like shit and blood. Thankfully, I did not fly Bloody Stool Airlines; I flew Air Tran, and it was a nice flight.
Once I arrived, I donned my dapper duds and drove to the death dance.
Before my uncle died, he made a list of the people he wanted to be pallbearers. I was one of them. Ugh. The last time I went to a funeral I was chosen to be a pallbearer. It was for my grandmother who lives in the hills of West Virginia. And she was buried on a fucking hill in West Virginia. There were six of us climbing Mount Hillbilly Everest carrying my grandmother's coffin. It was so steep I swear I could hear her poor little body shifting to the complete bottom of the coffin. I could her say, "I reckon y'all need to lift harder cuz I caint lay straight."
My uncle's funeral went very well. I got up and spoke about him. He was like a second father to me while I was growing up; I felt I had to say something. So I did. I didn't prepare a speech or even think that I would speak so I just rambled shit off the top of my head and was surprised at all the stuff I said.
After that, my sister sang "Wind Beneath My Wings." If I never hear that song again, it would be too soon. She asked me to be in charge of the CD player that would play the karaoke music for the song. There were lots of other 80's songs on the CD so I had to be sure I cued the right music. I pressed play and the first few notes of "She Blinded Me With Science" exploded inside the church. Oops, perhaps it's the next song. Nope, that's "Jessie's Girl" by Rick fucking Springfield. Shit, why did she have to make me in charge of the music. She gave me a dirty look. Whatever. Luckily, the next song was the right one. I whispered to my sister, "Don't screw it up." She didn't.
After the funeral, I quickly headed back to DC. It was a beautiful weekend. The sun was out, so I went to my favorite spot in the Circle, and watched all the cool freaks walking around. I love DC, you know.
Sucking Corporate America in the Circle
That chick behind me is totally checking me out.
Posted by durban bud at 02:13 PM | Comments (5)
May 21, 2006
The Icelandic Courtney Love
This is fucking hysterical. And sad. Apparently, she's some fake pop star that didn't make it into the "finals" (whatever that means). One word: issues.
Enjoy.
Posted by durban bud at 02:05 PM | Comments (6)
May 17, 2006
Death in the Family
My uncle died yesterday. We were very close. He was suffering from brain and lung cancer, and his time was finally up. I wrote briefly about him during one of my Debbie Downer Drinking Days posts. I got to see him one last time in February, and I am at peace with that. For some reason, he always called me "Tigger". He was a great man.
So d'bud gets to go to a funeral on Friday, woo-hoo! I don't really go to that many funerals. In fact, I have only been to two. I've also been to one wake and one memorial service. I guess not many people close to me have died. Plus, I find the whole open casket thing revolting.
One of the funerals I attended was for Rob's grandmother back in '99. She was always very sweet to me. She knew we were fudgepackers, and was totally cool with it. She always called me CJ. I didn't have the heart to correct her.
Her funeral was on a cold, rainy day in Yonkers, NY. Some woman went to put a rose on her casket and slipped and fell in the mud. It was pretty funny.
My uncle's funeral is going to be a family reunion of sorts. Six of my dad's brothers and sisters are gonna be there with all of their kids. Ugh, I really don't like hanging out with my extended family. I don't have much in common with them and rarely ever see them. I'm the only out homosexual in the family. My mom loves to parade me around for everyone to view. I start to feel like I'm Amish or something cuz they all stare, point and take pictures. Whatever, I'm going cuz I love my uncle and want to show my appreciation. Plus, there will be lots of free food.
This also means that I will have to wear a suit. I haven't worn a suit in years. I hope I still have one. I'll make sure to take a picture cuz this sort of thing only happens once in a great while, sorta like Haley's Comet or something.
A good friend of mine called me yesterday and told me she has Melanoma, and may have to undergo chemotherapy. Is it just me, or is there a lot of death, disease and depression going around? I've been doing great since I dealt with some of my issues, but I notice a lot of friends and fellow bloggers are dealing with some heavy shit. Maybe there is something in the water? Maybe 2006 is just a bad year? I dunno.
Anyway, I'm gonna throw some positive energy out into the universe. If I can get through the rough times, anyone can.
And that is your d'bud affirmation for the day. Don't you feel better already?
Posted by durban bud at 10:54 AM | Comments (6)
May 15, 2006
Man Nectar
Friday night Suitcase Sally and I went to Merkado for a bite to eat. Sally is like DC royalty at most restaurants around here. The place was packed, but we were seated immediately and attended to regularly. Of course, he took up two of the table chairs with his backpack, overnight case and toiletry bag.
Hanging out with him is like hanging out with a construction worker (but, like, the construction worker from the Village People). He loves to stare at the boys and whistle make comments. You could say to him, "I think I may be suffering from heart disease," to which he replies, "I think that guy is checking me out." After about an hour of this, I find myself behaving the same way. We had the most adorable waiter. I am not usually into younger straight guys, but I would make an exception for this sweet piece of man nectar. Sobriety has made me hornier, and Suitcase Sally is my enabler.
Let's Make Fun of Drunk People
Saturday was spent with my buddy, Gregg. I decided to make my triumphant return to Blowoff. We grabbed a bunch of sober-friendly mates, put on our white gowns, boarded the short bus and descended upon the 9:30 Club. I had not been to Blowoff since they moved into the big room. What a change. There were lots of people dancing. The last time I "danced" at a club was about 2 years ago at the Pride Pier Dance in NYC. Somehow I got suckered into shaking what my mama gave me. Usually I would have to be high or drunk to get on a dance floor. Not this time. I had bottled water and joined the boys on the floor. I did my lame white man dance and had a blast. I love the blowoff experience, in more ways than one.
The DC bloggerati were out in full force. Most of them are linked under my "durban buds." I love these guys. I don't know a lot of them well, but they've always been friendly and supportive of me. And they're fun to cuddle with too.
Jimbo was lookin' good sportin' his full beard. It's really workin' for him. I was surprised however, that he was freshly manscaped. The king of ogling the hirsute was himself, a trimmer? Color me perplexed.
There was an onslaught of deaf boys and girls there as well. I was overcome with a slight panic. Did they read my last post and want to confront me on my poor signing skillz? I just found it odd that I had not seen many deaf people out since that "incident" and then suddenly I see a number of them at once. I think someone is mind fucking me. Needless to say, I did not engage myself in any conversations. I was very well behaved. Whatever, Mary.
The Boy in the Bubble
Sunday was spent at the gym, renting pornography and chilling out at home. I watched some special on that mess that is called David Blaine. What is his problem? He almost died last week trying to drown himself. Ya know, there are easier and safer ways to be a narcissist. He could, like, get a blog or something.
Posted by durban bud at 07:09 AM | Comments (6)
May 09, 2006
The Hearing Slut-Boy
I took a sign language course in college. I went to RIT back in the day. RIT is also the home of the National Institute for the Deaf, so all my classes there included a signing interpreter. I was kinda fascinated by this unique language. After RIT, I tranferred to AU here in DC. They offered a course in signing; I needed an elective so I took it.
For some reason there was an influx of gay deaf boys in DC while I was taking the class. This provided me an opportunity to put my mad signing skillz to work (and maybe also score some deaf man-butt). I really didn't know that many phrases but I could always spell them out cuz I was the king of the alphabet. My limited signing vocabulary consisted of, "My name is TJ," "I go to college," "I like to drink beer," "Nice to meet you," "I enjoy making out," and "Yes, Jesus loves me, for the bible tells me so." That last one I learned when my parents forced me to go to sunday school as a wee young boy. It was also the one I would pull out if I wanted to clear the room.
Remember when gay guys referred to each other as "Mary"? Yeah, that annoyed me too, but a friend of mine introduced me to the "Whatever, Mary" signing technique (demonstrated right over there <---). I felt I needed to teach some of the deaf boys this new bitchy phrase so I showed them how to do it. They loved it.
I was at JR's one drunken evening. The place was packed with deaf boys. I could see a number of them signing "Whatever, Mary" all the way at the other side of the bar. They would try to speak this whenever they would do it but it ended up sounding like "Whaaa-ebahhh Ma-wee" which was followed by loud deaf laughing. Seeing a bunch of drunk, obnoxious gay guys doing this was priceless. I felt I had contributed to deaf culture. And this made me happy.
I would always close the evening by signing "Nice to meet you." They would usually giggle when I signed this. I didn't understand why.
I went to get coffee at a local cafe down the street. There were a couple deaf guys there signing so naturally I had to involve myself in their conversation. One of the guys was very attractive; the other one looked like Beaker from the Muppets. He's my favorite muppet. When this guy tried to speak I swear I could hear a high pitched, "Me-me-me-me-me."
Anyway, we signed for awhile and I closed with my infamous, "Nice to meet you." They began snapping their fingers wildly with the sign for "No!" Huh? What did I do wrong? They put their two index fingers together and said, "This means meet." They then put their index and middle fingers together (which is what I always did) and said, "This means fuck." Uh-oh. Beaker reprimanded, "You said, 'It was nice to fuck you.'" I got bright red. They couldn't stop laughing. But I could. So basically I was telling all the gay deaf boys in DC that it was nice to fuck them. How lovely. I was now known as the hearing slut-boy. I felt so dirty. I stopped involving myself in signing conversations after that.
In deaf culture the difference between meeting someone and fucking them is one finger. Something to remember.
Posted by durban bud at 08:23 AM | Comments (7)
May 05, 2006
Cubs
The whole muscle bear/cub culture fascinates me. I would like to think I'm more of a cub. I notice a lot of older men refer to themselves as cubs but can you really say that when you're, like, 45? Haven't you graduated to beardom by then? I guess if you're cuddly you can be. And then there's otters. I'm not an otter and I'm definitely not a big bear. Perhaps I'm a platypus.
Warm weather and sun makes me happy.
Posted by durban bud at 12:30 PM | Comments (6)
May 02, 2006
Food Stamps
So here's the thing, somebody needs to create an ATM/credit card machine that lets you swipe your card the same way each time. I'm a fairly bright guy; not lately, but usually. Every time I try to use one of these machines it takes me a few minutes to get it to accept my card. I approach the machine. I see the little graphic of the proper swiping technique. I put my card up to the graphic just to be sure. I swipe. I hear the "Family Feud" red "X" sound and Richard Dawson saying, "Try again."
This always seems to happen at a busy store. I was at Safeway. I go to check out. I swipe my card. The cashier, Laquita (and that was her real name) says, "It did not go through. Try again." So I do. "You selected food stamps. Are you gonna use food stamps?" "Um, no."
My little error has created a major problem for her register. A woman behind me notices what I selected so she chimes in, "Don't be embarrassed; I had to use food stamps back in the day." "I'm not using food stamps," I giggle. To which she replies, "You say that in a condescending manner. You think there sumpin' wrong wit food stamps?" "No, there is nothing wrong with food stamps. I am just not using them for this transaction." "Oh, so you do use them sometimes?" "No, I have never used food stamps." She now asks her daughter for her opinion. "Tamika, do you think there is sumpin' wrong with using food stamps?" "No!" Tamika shouts. "I don't either, Tamika, but I am not using them." "Well, you may have to someday."
The mother chimes in again, "Brotha thinks there sumpin' wrong wit food stamps. Has a chip on his shoulder or sumpin'. All rich people do." "I am not rich. At all. If I do have to use food stamps, I will." "But you jus' said you will never use them." "I did not!" Security! Why am I having this conversation? Please stop talking to me. I take a deep breath and ignore her.
Laquita pages Kyle, the manager, for register assistance. Kyle skips on over. "He selected food stamps." "Are you using food stamps?" Kyle glares at me. A huge line has now formed in my lane. "No, I hit the wrong button." Kyle lets out a big sigh, stares at me for a few seconds and begins to hit numerous buttons on the register in a bitchy manner.
"Brotha hates po' people," the mom tells the manager. I accidentally start speaking like her, "I do not hate po' people." "You sho seem like you do. Ya seem a little racialist too." "Wha-wha-what?!? I am not racialist. At all. Why would you say that? Please stop talking to me." "See? You racialist. You too good to talk to me." How did this happen? I give up. I look around and notice several people giving me dirty looks.
Kyle corrects the situation and asks me to swipe my card again. "Better not select food stamps again," the angry mom mutters. I smile at her, pay and leave. I realize as I am leaving that they will now remember me as the "food stamps" guy. Or Mark Fuhrman. Or maybe a republican.
As I am walking home, a homeless man approaches me asking for change. I ignore him. That angry woman has now given me a complex. Maybe I do hate po' people.
Posted by durban bud at 11:49 AM | Comments (10)