August 17, 2010

The Happy Hour Bears

Given the recent news I thought I would repost this entry from 01/06/08. I've updated a few things to reflect the current displaced tenant. I'll prolly need to repost it again in a couple years.

A very exasperated Jimbo just called my cell. I answered:

"Hello?"

"Ahhhhhhhhhh! OMG! OMG! Oh. My. God!"

"Jimbo? What's wrong?"

"The bears! The bears! Oooooooh. We...no place...it's ovah."

"What? Slow down. I can't understand you."

"IT'S THE BEARS! [inaudible] closed! Nowhere to go. [inaudible]...oh God...Wrangler Jeans...hurts so bad."

"You're not making sense. Slow down. Grab hold of yourself."

"But...[whimpering]...but...oooooh....Jessssus, Mary and Josssseph....whyyyy?"

"Jimbo, smack yourself in the face."

"What?"

"Smack yourself in the face, hard. You need to snap out of this. Pretend your smackin' Carl's Swedish ass."

"Okay. Hold on." PSSHT! "Ow -- that hurted!"

"Now take a deep breath. Just breathe. Breathe like Anna Nalick. Raise your hands to heaven...and just breathe. Now, again, slowly -- what did you say?"

"Ooooooh, God...it's the bears. The bears. We...we have no place to go for happy hour on Friday. No...where! EFN Lounge closed without warning! No more free nachos and cheese! No free fuckin' pizza! It's created chaos in our community. Chaos! The bears are moping aimlessly down the street, like furbots, mumbling to themselves, slowly walking in circles, drooling all over their beards. Their faces are blank, no emotion, just...empty. It's gotten ugly. Some displaced bears and otters are protesting the closure in front of the Just For Men aisle at CVS; and the polar bears are holding a candlelight vigil at the all-you-can-eat buffet at the Sizzler in Sterling. Some are even...shaving, while repeating, 'It's over, man. Game over.' It's madness! Poor li'l Clickboo was found in the fetal position in a booth at Annie's, dry heaving and threatening to put cologne on if a new bear happy hour location was not announced immediately. Dr. Phil was flown in to mediate. It's spinning out of control. I'm so...so...so...worried about the future of our bear community. Oh dear God. Why? Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?"

"Jimbo, I'm sure you all can find another place to congregate. How 'bout the Applebee's in Silver Spring?"

"That's not even fucking funny. It's all a big joke to you, isn't it, Mister I'm So Lame Cuz I Hardly Go Out Anymore? Well it's not funny to us, the Happy Hour Bears. These tears are real. This pain in my heart is real. This empty mug of Miller Genuine Draft is real. The fur on my ass crack is real, okay? I am 100% bear beef with feelings. It affects so....many....bears like me. Don't you get it, motherfucker? I'm sorry, I just can't even talk about this right now. It's much...too painful."

"Simmer down now and stop crying. It will all work itself out. The bears are a resilient group. You will find another home for Bear Happy Hour."

"TJ?"

"Yes."

"Do you think this is our Stonewall?"

"Um, yes, Jimbo. As a matter of fact, I do."

"TJ?"

"Yes."

"Do you think Danny Pintauro from 'Who's the Boss' reads my blog?"

"I have no idea."

"OMG, I know! I should start a Happy Hour Bear group on Facebook! We could meet there in the interim, maybe use webcams to show ourselves drinking drafts of Miller Lite, checking for ticks, and saying "Woof" to each other as we gently poke one another online! I must go to Facebook now and start the revolution! OMG, I'm totally the hairy Harvey Milk! We Happy Hour Bears will NOT be left behind, ever! We will march the streets at dusk holding candles like they did at the end of Milk! Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, who saved a wretch like me!"

"Speaking of retch," I managed to respond without being interrupted.

"Oh, and don't forget to come to our benefit tonight. Bob Mould is performing an acoustic set in front of EFN Lounge and Motley Bar at 1318 Ninth Street to raise awareness of its demise. He's gonna debut a song he wrote about it called, 'Sound the Alarm, Bro -- It's a Fur-mergency.' Get it? Can't wait! Make sure you wear flannel for solidarity. Be there, bitch. Well, I'm off to Facebook now. Dilemma solved...Bear Power on Facebook! Vive le Résistance! BIG BAD BEAR SNAPS TO ME! K, thanks. Bye."

Posted by durban bud at 3:34 PM | Comments (12)

October 20, 2009

Maine Gratitude

Today, a straight married friend of mine from Maine with three children just posted this status on his Facebook page:

"Voted early and voted #NoOn1"

Just pretend I was the first to post this video, okay?

An 86-year-old Republican, WWII vet with four sons, one of them gay, speaking up for marriage equality in Maine. The tear falling off his face at the end kills me.

From reading a passionate speech, to voting and publicly alerting your friends that you voted against inequality, proves we do have common-sense allies standing up for us. They may seem like small tokens of selflessness in our favor but they are very much appreciated by thousands of Maine residents they will probably never know.

More of these kinds of advocates, please. Donate here. Fingers crossed, Maine.

Posted by durban bud at 10:26 PM | Comments (9)

October 14, 2009

Paranormal Activity

I was rocking out for equality here. The people in front of me were not. They have that look on their face of someone who accidentally stumbles upon my blog and finishes reading one of my posts and makes a mental note to never ever do that again.

Lots of people were shouting the usual call and response chants during the march. I tried to change things up and get people to shout my inspirational pro-sodomy limerick I wrote specifically for the march. But no one played along except for Mister Fister. In fact some dude had the audacity to tell me I "was making gay people look bad with that song." I was like, "You're the one wearing jean shorts in 2009 in front of thousands, so really, who's doing more damage?"

Despite that, this march was the most positive event of its kind that I've been to. I know some anti-gay protesters were there but this was the first time I never saw them. They're losing their members willing to publicly be dicks to us. I was expecting to see signs saying the apocalypse was near and that gays will next be demanding to legally marry their iPhones or some such nonsense.

Lots of straights marched with us, lots of kids, lots of everybody. Yay!

The only thing I thought was cheesy was when Starship reunited at the march rally to perform the equality-themed "Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now" featuring a completely unnecessary "rap" by Queen Latifah midway though the song. I guess Barney Frank pissed off some people for saying the march was a waste of time. So, of course, she targeted him with lyrics that went something like:

Fuck Barney Frank
Your shit done stank
You an Uncle Tom
Prolly work for NOM
How now brown cow
Ain't nothin' gonna stop us now

Dreadful. That's all I could remember from her performance. But other than that the whole day was perfect!

We all went to see Paranormal Activity over the weekend. I usually avoid seeing hyped-up films on their opening weekends, especially when they are only playing in 150 theaters around the country. But the hype had such control over me I couldn't resist.

We arrived early enough for the 9:10 showing to score some great seats. So we're sitting there watching the theater fill up with people. And then, as the start time was quickly approaching, I saw something troubling out of the corner of my eye coming into the auditorium. A baby stroller. Oh, hail no. Keep pushing that thing through the emergency exit, please. Then, behind the woman pushing the stroller were two enthusiastic toddlers. Seriously? An R-rated HORROR FILM? At a late showing? Have Child Protective Services been notified? Naturally the woman and an adult male escorted their brood AND STROLLER in my direction. I put on my best death stare that Jimbo taught me. It seemed to work as they chose two rows behind me, but the group of kids sitting directly in front of them weren't having it. They moved completely to the other side of the theater. That's when another woman holding HER baby entered the auditorium and sat right in front of them. Is it Bring your Tired Infant to a Crowded Theater to Sit for a Couple Hours Night? Worse, I thought, were the two toddlers who will be eternally traumatized after the movie because they will at least understand some of the movie. Awkward! But I was feeling all equality and shit so I refused to judge them any further.

Anyway, I liked the movie. It's really low-budget and slow with Blair Witch-like cinematography. It's certainly not your typical gore-fest scary movie. But it was original and creepy and fun to see with a group of friends in a packed theater of crying babies and toddlers. It probably scared me more than it should because Stina kept screaming and jumping at certain points, causing me to choke on my pretzel and almost pass out. Good times!

* It is my duty to inform you that all photos featured here were taken by Stina and Rob.

Posted by durban bud at 10:53 PM | Comments (9)

July 29, 2009

Is It Okay For A Dude To Send Flowers To Another Dude?

Recently a friend of mine, let's call him Pedro, was given a flower from a guy he was casually dating. Pedro became flustered and offended that another man would give him a flower. He took the flower, put it down, got pissy and told him not to do it again. Vicious!

I think his reaction has to do with masculinity insecurities deeply rooted in his family's culture. Even though he's gay, I guess receiving a flower from a guy is just too gay or feminine or something. As if getting sodomized on all fours by another dude isn't too gay.

I think it's perfectly fine (and sweet!) to send another guy flowers, providing they're not carnations. Nobody deserves fucking carnations.

Posted by durban bud at 10:40 PM | Comments (20)

June 14, 2009

Snake Pride

Posted by durban bud at 10:40 PM | Comments (23)

November 17, 2008

Dirty Brown Stains on Pretty White Dresses

Is anyone else sick and tired of The Gays after all of their well-documented, attention-whoring shenanigans from the past couple weeks? They're EVERYWHERE these days, shouting about gay this and gay that, with their shrill demands for special rights, yammering out tired old clichés like "equality," "respect," and to be treated with "fairness" and "basic human dignity." Ugh. All over the news. All over the blogs. All over the Facebooks. All over the streets. All over the country.

Maximum. Homo. Tolerance. Levies. Have. Been. Breached.

Next thing you know that pregnant dude will suddenly reappear in the lavender limelight and announce he's expecting his second child with his legally-recognized wife! Wouldn't that be an ironic salt in the wounds?!?

Oh, I kid.

I'm thrilled my fellow dues-paying members of GAY USA, INC., along with our supportive allies, are risin' up and finding their inner Norma Rae and channeling their hurt and anger into a powerful, twenty-first century, grassroots, protest movement -- already branded with its very own logo. I'm in complete support of the mission and will do whatever I can to help fight the good fight, providing it doesn't intrude on my daily beauty naps. I say, EQUAL RIGHTS FOR ALL -- except for the members of that god-awful rock group Hinder.

"Gay marriage" is really just the new "turkey meatball." Once people understand this the world will be a better place. If someone offered you a turkey meatball a decade ago you would have been all, "Eeeewwww, that's gross. Turkey doesn't belong in a meatball. That's just wrong, man. I like my meatballs the traditional way, the way God meant for them to be eaten."

But once the turkey-phobes got used to the idea of this healthier alternative to traditional meatballs, they realized that turkey meatballs could be just as tasty and acceptable as pork and beef meatballs. Sure, they may not taste exactly the same to some, but they do share the same exact recipe, with the only exception being your preferred type of protein. With time and patience, turkey meatballs become just meatballs.

The only time the descriptor needs to be added is after you've ordered the spaghetti and meatballs and the waiter asks, "What kind of meat would you prefer in your balls?" That's when you look him directly in the eyes and smile, before proudly answering with a wink, "Oh, I prefer the turkey meatballs, sir." And no one these days would pass judgment on your decision. That's called progress, folks.

I've heard many people admit they favor equal rights for all couples, but they're just not comfortable applying the word "marriage" to unions between those who dig their own sex. This reaction is obviously selfish and irrational, but seems to be a major sticking point with the marriage elite.

We can kind of understand why they feel this way, but only if we acknowledge an ugly truth that no one wants to discuss publicly. Whenever the words "gay marriage" are spoken, straight people instinctively picture two hairy guys buttfucking in front of a wedding cake designed to resemble Carol Channing's head. It's true. And you know it.

Trust me, straights (especially the men) are obsessed with buttsex. (Note to self: Maybe you're straight, bro.) I used to hang out with them in my earlier denial years when I was perfecting my acting chops. It doesn't matter that not all gay guys are anally-oriented, or that lesbians should automatically be exempt for obvious reasons -- to most heterosexuals, gay triggers buttsex imagery, end of story.

This uncomfortable visualization stains the picture-perfect wedding day scenario they've painstakingly storyboarded in their minds after watching too many Julia Roberts movies, so they respond in the negative when equating certain marriages with theirs.

Maybe we should consider a maneuvering of semantics. I hate the term "gay marriage." Or "same-sex marriage." It shouldn't require a descriptor. We don't say, "I'm getting gay married," do we? A marriage is a marriage, no? So let's strike it from the record so the marriage stands on its own merits without prejudice.

Once we've tweaked the semantics, we can focus on operation bigot reform.

Besides protesting outside organizations that seek to demean us, the gays and their allies need to do something provocative to bring attention to the individual meanies who continually disrespect us behind our backs. An animal rights activist recently threw flour on poor Lindsay Lohan for wearing fur. In the past, similar activists have branded fur-wearing bitches with red paint. This strategy works. Whenever we now see a sophisticated woman in tears walking down the street with red paint splattered all over her fancy attire, we think to ourselves, "Wow -- that woman must hate animals, or maybe she must have gotten into a fight with her pimp. Regardless, I think I will avoid her in the future. She's scum."

Maybe instead of red paint or flour we could sprinkle our mean-spirited adversaries with glitter. Glitter might appear to be harmless and an easily removable annoyance, but, as someone who used to go clubbing regularly, I can attest that little specks of glitter -- covertly transmitted from brief non-consensual contact with a grinding tina twink -- will remain on your person for days until a senior VP points it out during an all-staff meeting in the company conference room by saying, "Can you turn your head a little bit? I think I saw a little sparkle shining on you or something." As he leans in for a closer inspection he shouts, "OMG -- are you wearing glitter?!?"

If it works from brief glitter contact, imagine what would happen if someone were hit with a glitter tsunami. So in the future, people spotted with specks of glitter would be branded as bigots (or recreational drug-using clubbers teetering toward rehab) and avoided by the enlightened. I can picture the Focus on the Family press release now, "Gird your loins, the gays got glitter."

Think about it. All of this could really work in our favor.

Posted by durban bud at 12:48 PM | Comments (22)

August 16, 2008

Maleek

Today at my volunteering job -- where I read short stories to disenfranchised 9-year-olds with cleft palettes -- one of my favorite students, Maleek, interrupted me mid-story and asked, "TJ, why haven't you written about the whole Manhunt brouhaha on your gay web site? Rumor has it Manhunt is gettin' Dixie-Chicked hardcore."

This caught me off-guard. I put the Dr. Suess book down on my lap, tilted my head and did my best "Whatchu talkin' bout, Willis?" We shared a good belly laugh. I slapped my knee and patted him on the back, still giggling, until he stopped laughing and deadpanned, "I don't get it. My name's not Willis."

"Don't play dumb with me, smartass. You know Gary Coleman says that. Don't try to make me feel stupid and old. Now address me properly, and I'll answer your question. You also need to explain why a 9-year-old is reading my blog. It's not appropriate for kids, or Toby Keith fans."

"Okay, Professor TJ -- Honestly I don't really read it; I just skim it for new vulgar terms. You tend to blather on and on, with lots of run-on sentences, about things I don't understand. I just check it out it cuz I'm homeless and bored. Anyway, when I was surfing the web at the public library, I noticed lots of other butt pirates were waging holy hell on Manhunt and was just curious what you think about the drama."

"Oh, Maleek -- First off, you're a dick. Secondly, you hurt my feelings. Thirdly, who cares what I think? I mean, really."

Maleek looked down to the ground, appearing despondent, like a scolded puppy. He lightly kicked a rolled-up piece of orange construction paper by his chair, folded his arms and glanced up at me, sheepishly. Our eyes met, revealing water in the corners of his big, brown eyes. He quickly averted my stare, put his head down again and shielded his cleft palette with his hand and mumbled, "I care, Professor TJ. I care."

"Awww hell, Maleek. I can't say no to you now. I'm sorry I called you a dick."

"It's okay. I just don't understand why people put down other people by calling them a dick or an asshole. Don't homos use those very things to reach heights of unbelievable pleasure? Like, when you call someone a dick, does that mean you want to put them in your mouth and move them in and out in an aggressive manner, while moaning, 'Goddamn, that feels good. I'm 'bout to deliver you a facial cream pie, bitch!'"

"Uh, usually not. But, wow -- never really thought of it like that before. Very good point. I guess it would be a compliment if used by a gay guy towards another gay gay. Thanks, Maleek -- now when someone calls me a dick or asshole or prick or cumdump, I'll just imagine they think of me as a sexual object that they would like to use to achieve divine ecstasy. So if I accidentally bump into a bitterbear at a Holiday Inn Bear Pool Party, and he says, 'Hey watch where you're going, you fucking asshole!' I'll just wink at him and say with a smile, 'thank you, I'm very flattered.' I learned something of value from you today, Maleek. I'm touched."

"So why did you call me a dick?"

"I was just taken aback by your brutal honesty. You're far too young to be so judgmental and sassy. Come to think of it, this could be a sign that you might turn out gay, or maybe Catholic. Too soon to tell, of course. But let's try something -- who's your favorite Muppet?"

"Muppet? What's a Muppet?"

"Cut the shit, Maleek."

"Ha ha --I'm just playin' witchu. I know what Muppets are. I used to watch Sesame Street and old, dusty, beta tapes of Muppet Show episodes my stepdad left for us while he was in prison, back in '04 when I was young and still living in a home with a roof. I just like to play on your age insecurities, Professor T."

"That kinda sass means you're going to marry a dude."

"No, I'm not!"

"Okay, then tell me which Muppet you like best: Miss Piggy, Kermit, Animal, Beaker, Fozzy Bear, Brettcajun, Big Bird or Oscar the Grouch?"

"Oh, I don't know. I like them all except for Big Bird. Hmm...I guess Beaker is my favorite."

"You're going to be a fag. Always wear a condom. Be 'prepared'. Avoid Meth."

"No, I'm not! My mommy says gay people eat poop and use Mary Kay lotions on their face. She also says gay people go to hell when they die and burn for all eternity."

"Isn't your mom a crack whore with jewel teeth?"

"Yeah. But she's a Christian now."

"It's impossible to burn for all eternity if you're a fucking spirit. There is nothing to burn, Maleek. Use your brain and think rationally. And do you honestly think I eat poop?"

"Well, you told me you ate dinner at a TGIFriday's last week."

"That was an emergency because we were stuck in Leesberg, Virginia with a flat tire and my partner's blood-sugar-level was in the single digits. We had no other choice. It was either eat there or watch a man explode from rage like that dude in Scanners. For the record, their potato skins are actually digestable."

"Professor TJ, can you please get back to my Manhunt question? It's taking forever and no one is reading this far anyway."

"Okay, okay -- I guess I'll beat a dead horse even deader just for you. And since this particular dead horse involves a company that specializes in making sodomy more accessible, how can I not talk about it?!?" We high-fived and did the hip-hop hug.

"Not sure what you want me to say about the matter that hasn't already been said. One thing I've learned from this whole soap opera is, if the Census Bureau ever wants an accurate count of the number of gay men living in this country, they just need to ask Manhunt to fax over their member list.

"I'm amazed at the number of guys I never would have suspected of having a profile on there, who came out of their Manhunt closet and exposed their piggy little secret by loudly protesting, because they felt their rights were being threatened and abused by one of their own. This caused them to admit to an audience of their whore peers, that they too, are human and require some down-low dick from time to time, despite their hypocritical scorn and judgment they've unleashed on others in the past.

"I just hope someone is filming the shit going down at Manhunt headquarters right now so Bravo can turn it into a reality series to air later this year."

"My mom won't let me watch that network, Professor T. She says Tim Gunn and that crazy guy who has hissy-fits when renovating homes are really creepy and not good for children to look at. And she says Michael Kors belongs to a perverted cult that's mean to little boys like me. I think the cult is called BAMBLA or maybe MANBLA."

"Maleek! Michael Kors does not belong to...BAMBLA! Your mom is spreading vicious lies! Stop repeating that. Is your mom's last name Hannity by any chance?"

"No, it's O'Reilly. But now she uses my real daddy's last name, Dowd."

"Look, none of those guys would be featured on this reality show. It would focus on Manhunt employees, like the profile-approver boy, who is probably having a nervous breakdown right now responding to all the angry messages.

"I imagine in his confessional for the Bravo documentary, the profile-approver boy would sip his can of Tab through a straw and say:

"'Look, sweetie -- I only took this gig to make a few bucks to fund my DJ career, and now I have to deal with this political shitstorm. Stop sending me this shit. I've received five emails in the past 15 minutes from some guy in Tucson who refers to us as "Ayatollah McCainnies." I mean, my job is only to make sure there are no references to PNP and vaginas in the profiles.

"'I'm so overwhelmed with emotions right now, but I stay strong by thinking 'How did Natalie Maines handle this kind of situation?' Then again, if I were her -- and some say I am the gay Natalie Maines now -- I would handle it by boning the hell out of my hot husband, Adrian Pasdar, until the torches were extinguished and the death threats ceased. That's what keeps me sane -- Natalie's bravery and grace during a dark and ugly period in American history. Love her.

"'I, too, am not ready to make nice. I totally get that song now. She showed them all who's queen by coming back from the depths of hell and winning multiple Grammys. I wonder what award I'll win to rub in their pious faces. A coveted cover photo on BUTT magazine would surely make them eat crow. I'm gonna send in some artistic photos I had professionally done at Sears last April. They would choose me, fer sure. I'd go up to the mike at the BUTT magazine new issue launch party and be all 'HA HA,' just like Natalie did at the Grammys in that Simpsons' character's voice, followed by my own unique touch -- a Z snap, finished with the launch of a juicy phlegm globber.'"

"Professor TJ, that might be fun to watch, I guess, but my mom might think I'm gay and spank me. Do straight people have online hook-up sites?"

"Hmmm...good question, Maleek. I'm not aware of any web sites they use for that. I think they just use wine coolers, co-ed dorm rooms and state fairs.

"Y'see, Maleek, the problem is it's mainly men who need to scratch their itch often, and preferably with many, so I'm not sure a hook-up site would work as well with women. If a site like that existed, it would be 90% men and 10% women. And the 10% female members would be branded as sluts by the 90% male slut members, causing them to be shunned in their churches. It's a lose-lose for them, sadly. But it's a treasure trove for men who dig men."

"I wonder if I'll be slutty when I reach puberty."

"Do you have a dick, Maleek?"

"I guess, but my mom calls it a pee-wee."

"It was a rhetorical question, Maleek. I didn't need to know that. If you have a dick, you will be a slut in some form. It's inevitable. It's all about how you channel your inner slut in a healthy manner."

"I wonder if I'll be on Manhunt when my pee-wee grows bigger and I become a slut."

"Chances are you will not have any interest to be on that site. You will likely drink wine coolers at state fairs in Branson, Missouri instead. Just remember to be respectful of all sluts, regardless of where they stick their pee-wees. And if you amass a fortune someday, don't forget where you came from and piss on the little guy. Money and sex are extremely powerful forces and will always trump common sense and the greater good, regardless of political affiliation."

"You mean like John Edwards, the Manhunt founder, and the Manhunt members who canceled their memberships but will be back on the site in a month because the power of the penis cannot be contained?"

"Exactly, son. You will make for a wise slut."

"Cool beans. Did you delete your Manhunt account in protest, Professor TJ?"

"What makes you think I have a Manhunt account?!?"

"Because you have a long-term boyfriend."

"Maleek, that's a terrible generalization! I am way different from the rest. I have self-respect and will-power!"

"But you also have a dick; therefore you're a goddamn slut, too."

"Drop it, Maleek. And watch your mouth. I'm an angel. End of story. You need to stop reading blogs. They will only rot your brain and make you feel worse about our current culture. Now it's your turn to practice reading to me. Focus."

I picked up the Dr. Suess book and asked him to continue where I left off. Slowly and softly, with a slight speech impedement, he read the next sentence with ease:

"So the writer who breeds more words than he needs is making a chore for the reader who reads."

Indeed.

Posted by durban bud at 12:07 AM | Comments (23)

July 8, 2008

Leaving New York Part 1

Never easy.

The first person I came out to was my high school friend Pam. Actually, that's not true -- I came out to the guy who was sucking my dick, but I think he already kinda knew.

I secretly started dating that cocksucker. When we started having problems -- as all first-time gay relationships do within the first month, cuz we never had the luxury of really dating anyone in high school -- I had no one to talk to about it. So I called Pam.

She and I would always drive to our spot in a parking lot near Burger King. We would get some coffee (with cream and sweet n' low) and just sit for hours listening to music, talking and insulting each other. We were so fucking cool.

Anyway, I brought her there that day to come clean.

Y'know how most people say they already had a suspicion that you were gay? Not Pam. Of course I never used the word gay, so it took about an hour for her to understand. I kept saying, something happened between me and this guy, and she's like, "OMG -- are you guys taking drugs?" And I was all, "Hell no! I'm waiting until my late twenties to begin my rock bottom descent." Then she thought I was having some torrid affair with a married woman or something. Eventually I had to use my fingers to simulate two dicks rubbing together, which only led to her asking, "OMG -- are you taking up fencing and are embarrassed about it?"

When it finally sunk in, she was more than happy to experience this forbidden world with me. She took me to my first gay club, Carpe Diem, in Rochester, NY back in '92. It has since closed but remains one of the best clubs I've ever been to. I was a wallflower, but anyone who resembled Garth Brooks (shut up! he was cute!) was approached by her and led over to me. She was my pimp daddy. Sadly, I wasn't a slut then, so the Garths were completely bored with me. I was all, "I just want to talk and get to know you." Such a naive boy, I was.

This is what once was Carpe Diem. The picture is deceiving. The entire place was huge. I think it's a burger joint or something now:

This was the view on the side deck of Carpe Diem. There were several rooms in the club for every type of mood or fetish. I suppose this one was considered "the escape":

Obviously I had ended things with the guy who led to my coming out. We remained friends, even though he was a douchebag. He eventually introduced me to his hometown of Washington DC. I loved it, so I started looking into colleges I could transfer to. The main reason, though, was so I could be my big gay self without anyone knowing my bizness. And the gay world in DC was way bigger than Rochester's. Kid in a candy store, I guess.

I still see that douchebag occasionally. He's still a douchebag. I can say that to his face with no problem. He would agree. But if it weren't for that douchebag, I wouldn't be here today. Douchebags are put into your life for the purpose of shaking things up. Friends and family keep you grounded, but douchebags challenge you and steer you into waters that may seem uncomfortable at first. Have you hugged and thanked a douchebag today? You should.

Pam, on the other hand, remains one of my closest friends. Every gay boy has a Pam in his life -- or at least, he should.

Sometimes we forget that we're not 15 anymore. Ah, well.

Posted by durban bud at 11:52 AM | Comments (19)

June 19, 2008

Let's Fub it Out

I got caught in the pouring rain yesterday when I was walking errands. The sun was shining the entire time. It was the second time in less than a week I got blindsided by rain in the sunshine.

The weather has been very bizarre lately, like The Rapture is near or something, or maybe a Lindsay Lohan CD is about to "drop" soon.

Is this weirdness all a direct result of climate change? Hmm. Then I saw a large rainbow in the sky and figured The Almighty was just a bit late decorating for Pride month up there. He made a rainbow for us. Awww. Such a sweet furball, He is.

Sometimes during Pride (do I capitalize it?) month, people stop me on the treadmill and say:

"Hey TJ. Happy Pride, man."
"Awww, thanks. Happy Pride to you too!"
"I'm not gay, bro."
"Oh."
"Anyway, I was wondering how YOU are going to celebrate your homosexuality-ness this Pride month?"
"That's easy," I say. "A group of us gather at sunrise every Saturday morning in front of Annie's Steakhouse on 17th Street and sing "Seasons of Love" from Rent. We hold hands. We bond. We love. We sang."

Five hundred twenty-five thousand Six hundred minutes,
Five hundred twenty-five thousand Moments so dear.
Five hundred twenty-five thousand Six hundred minutes
How do you measure, measure a year?

It's quite beautiful and empowering, actually.

Then we hold a Paul-off, where we all do Paul Lynde impressions. Carl always wins. He would make a great center square. Ask him to do it sometime at Nellie's.

The neighborhood seems to be getting more...proud lately. I think someone is helping decorate the 'hood for these businesses.

Check out some local establishments (Adams National Bank, grAnnie's, Cobalt, The Video Rack (great porn!), Picasso Gallery Custom Framing and Dupont Italian Kitchen) that are high-fiving the gays. The pics are small but the colors speak volumes.

Hmm. Safeway doesn't have any rainbow love:

Neither does McDonald's:

Or this liquor store. But with that name, they are celebrating Pride year round:

I don't mind the rainbow "design" so much; I just think the Consortium on Gay Symbolism & Meaning -- not to be confused with The Consortium of Gay Flag Creators -- should tone down the colors a bit for the new millennium. Redesigns are important to keep it fresh and with the times. Otherwise the bright colors just seem like something Mr. Furley would have as a bed sheet. Know what I mean?

Anyway, we went to the festival on an absolutely gorgeous Sunday. I introduced "fubbing" to a friend and snapped a photo. As a reminder, fubbing is a non-sexual greeting where two guys rub their facial fur together when they meet up. I fubbed two dudes during Pride (still capitalized? I dunno.). Fubbing always makes me smile. Pay it forward:

I even did my once a year hand-holding task specifically for Pride. Awwww...

For the record, no one hugged me -- except for an HRC volunteer soliciting a donation.

Where's the love from your own kind, kids? Where's the Pride?

Posted by durban bud at 11:17 AM | Comments (22)

June 17, 2008

Hit Me Up

During the past few years I've received a couple emails about this site from men who included their Manhunt usernames with their e-mail signatures. I know, I thought it was odd too, until I thought, "Ooooooh, reader butts and penises! Let's take a looksy!"

But when I plugged them into Manhunt, I was told I needed an account to view member profiles. So I set up a limited free account just to see some reader dick -- which were nice, by the way.

Anyway, I received an email from Manhunt last week telling me I was in violation of their rules for not having a profile pic on a free account. Meee-owww. At first I was all, I don't care; delete my account, pig. Then I thought, hmmm, I should hold onto it...just in case...I need it sometime.

So I added a faceless pic and wrote an innocuous profile that said something like, "I have a boyfriend, so I'm ONLY looking to make FRIENDS who will let me piston-fuck them from time to time, cuz that's what friends are for." What? I was just being ironic. Geez.

Then the strangest thing happened, something that has never happened the last couple of years I've had an account: I started getting emails -- lots of emails!

Apparently piston-fucking brings all the boys to the yard.

I now totally understand the Manhunt phenomenon. Totally understand. It's like going to a gay bar, only without the beer breath and CeCe Peniston song blaring in the background. Also, no one is wearing much clothing. And you can leave whenever you want!

I've made more friends on Manhunt in five days than I made in five years on Friendster!

There are several hot guys from DC on the site. I am aware, however, that pics don't always tell the whole truth. Some guys I know have "masculine" listed in their profile stats. MmmHmm. There are also several couples and partnered guys looking around on the site. *giggles*

The only problem is everyone at my gym is on Manhunt, I have now learned. So when I see a guy, he gives me that knowing Manhunt glare. His eyes say, "Hey, what's up?" And I look back with, "Unlock?" Or I look at them with, "How's it going?" And he kinda grins and mentally shoots "horned" back at me. It's now very distracting.

Plus I know what they're all into -- which, again, is fantastic. It helps to enhance friendships to know these things. It really does.

But some of the labels confuse me. What is a Top/Vers or Bottom/Vers? Pick a side for Christ's sake. If you like both then you're versatile, no? I thought Top/vers meant that you top, but you're versatile orally. But some say it means you prefer to top, but will "flip" for the "right guy." Hmm. A glossary on Manhunt would be helpful.

I would totally enjoy having a part-time gig as the profile approver. I've always enjoyed knowing about other people's sex lives. I seriously considered becoming a sex therapist in college. It's fascinating! I am very inquisitive with my friends about sex, but am usually reprimanded by some with, "That's not appropriate, TJ." Perhaps not, but I think people would be less uptight if they would freely discuss sex. Try it. Ask the guy in the cubicle next to you if he's top/vers or bottom/vers.

I do realize there are some crazies on Manhunt, and some really rude ones as well. Most people email "hi" or something equally inoffensive, but some people just write, "Are you hung?" I know -- rude, right? Have some goddamn respect. When guys write that, it goes something like this:

Pig: are you hung?
Me: I am not William
Pig: no, how HUNG are you?
Me: two inches or a yard, rock hard or if it's saggin'
Pig: ???
Me: it ain't like I'm braggin' just join the paddywagon

RIP, Left Eye. One love.

Anyway, I've made several new friends who just want to go on bike rides with me! It's fantastic.

So if you see me online, hit me up and buddy me, bro. But unlock first. ;)

Posted by durban bud at 5:15 PM | Comments (18)

March 18, 2008

The Other Bowlin' Gurl

A good friend said the following to me the other day:

"I think joining a gay bowling league would be good for you."

What the hell?

I only bowl like once every five years. And I enjoy it, sure, but a league? Is it the way I walk?

My initial reaction was to knee him in the groin. Then I thought, he's older and wiser (and Jewish), maybe he's prepping me for the next phase of my life. He knows we're supposed to do this once we gays enter our mid-late thirties, right? We bowl. We join leagues. We join GAY leagues. We GAY bond. "We connect, when we're together it's so per-fect." Right?

I guess it's the natural progression of a homosexual's life path. I mean, I've covered a lot of the gay basics (aka gaysics) in my 20's and early 30's -- y'know, pretended to be straight, moved to a gayborhood, came out, went through a slut phase, went through a clubbing phasE, endured the token psycho boyfriend, held Oscar parties, bought a pair of G-Star Jeans, went on a gay cruise, questioned my religious upbringing, successfully completed a stint in rehab, bought a condo and renovated it with straight lines, muted colors and ubatuba, and settled down with another dude -- I think that's most of the gaysics. Now, at this age, my elders are leading me into the gay league phase -- which, I have to say, is way better than the other phase some have selected in their thirties, and y'all know what I'm talkin' about: whether or not to use steroids phase.

I'm totally considering it -- joining a gay league, that is. Steroids will only lead to anger issues and moobs in your 40's and who wants that? Apparently some do. And we do know, big boy. No judgments, of course. "Just sayin'". Smooch.

I still have a lot of time before adhering to all the customs of our gay 40's (adopting a Vietnamese or Guatemalan baby, buying a convertible, getting gender-reassignment surgery*, regularly attending tuxedo-only fundraisers for gay rights organizations, becoming a "foodie") and our gay 50's (singing in a choir, international bath housing, using hankies, making that big move to Lauderdale or P-town, and, for the husky guys, blossoming into a hot daddy and/or going through leatherpause). Simply exhausting. We really need to respect our elders.

Of course none of this is set in stone. Gay societal life rules are much more fluid than heterosexual rules, thanks to neoteny and whether or not you were influenced by talented homosexual role-models, like Rip Taylor, C3PO and Jo from The Facts of Life. Basically some of us behave a lot younger than we really are, which keeps us interesting and even, some might say, fierce. Others might say annoying and douchebaggy. We ignore those people.

Joining a gay league would be about regaining that camaraderie we all once shared bar-hopping. It makes sense, now that most of us lead hectic adult lives in the straight world and rarely get to bond with others who enjoy banging the same-sex. I'm all about it -- especially the thought of patting the other players on the butt when they get a ssssstrike and, of course, the post-game locker room action.

Sadly, becoming less judgmental toward others and more secure with ourselves doesn't occur on the gay life continuum for most of us until we enter our late 60's -- unless you're Mr. Blackwell. But luckily for all of us homos, as I said, it's fluid.

But bowling?

*if applicable

Posted by durban bud at 11:05 PM | Comments (27)

January 6, 2008

The Happy Hour Bears

A very exasperated Jimbo just called my cell. I answered:

"Hello?"

"Ahhhhhhhhhh! OMG! OMG! Oh. My. God!"

"Jimbo? What's wrong?"

"The bears! The bears! Oooooooh. We...no place...it's ovah."

"What? Slow down. I can't understand you."

"IT'S THE BEARS! [inaudible] closed! Nowhere to go. [inaudible]...oh God...Wrangler Jeans...hurts so bad."

"You're not making sense. Slow down. Grab hold of yourself."

"But...[whimpering]...but...oooooh....Jessssus, Mary and Josssseph....whyyyy?"

"Jimbo, smack yourself in the face."

"What?"

"Smack yourself in the face, hard. You need to snap out of this. Pretend your smackin' Carl's Swedish ass."

"Okay. Hold on." PSSHT! "Ow."

"Now take a deep breath. Just breathe. Breathe like Anna Nalick. Raise your hands to heaven...and just breathe. Now, again, slowly -- what did you say?"

"Ooooooh, God...it's the bears. The bears. We...we have no place to go for happy hour on Friday. No...where! Titan closed without warning! No more Woof! It's created chaos in our community. Chaos! The bears are moping aimlessly down the street, like furbots, mumbling to themselves, slowly walking in circles, drooling all over their beards. Their faces are blank, no emotion, just...empty. It's gotten ugly. Some displaced bears and otters are protesting the closure in front of the Just For Men aisle at CVS; and the polar bears are holding a candlelight vigil at the all-you-can-eat buffet at the Sizzler in Sterling. Some are even...shaving, while repeating, 'It's over, man. Game over.' It's madness! Poor li'l Clickboo was found in the fetal position in a booth at Annie's, dry heaving and threatening to put cologne on if a new bear happy hour location was not announced immediately. Dr. Phil was flown in to negotiate. It's spinning out of control. I'm so...so...so...worried about the future of our bear community. Oh dear God. Why? Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?"

"Jimbo, I'm sure you all can find another place to congregate. How 'bout the Applebee's in Silver Spring?"

"That's not even fucking funny. It's all a big joke to you, isn't it? Well it's not funny to us, the Happy Hour Bears. These tears are real. This pain in my heart is real. This empty mug of Miller Genuine Draft is real. The fur on my taint is real, okay? I am 100% bear beef with feelings. It affects so....many....bears like me. Don't you get it? I'm sorry, I just can't even talk about this right now. It's much...too painful."

"Simmer down now and stop crying. It will all work itself out. The bears are a resilient group. You will find another Woof."

"TJ?"

"Yes."

"Do you think this is our Stonewall?"

"Um, yes, Jimbo. As a matter of fact, I do."

"TJ?"

"Yes."

"Do you think Danny Pintauro from 'Who's the Boss' reads my blog?"

"Uhhhhh, I have no idea."

"OMG, I know! I should start a Happy Hour Bear group on Facebook! We could meet there in the interim, maybe use webcams to show ourselves drinking drafts of Miller Lite, checking for ticks, and saying "Woof" to each other as we gently poke one another online! Are you on Facebook yet? OMG, are you? You must join! So many widgets, so many ways to connect with other Happy Hour Bears. It's our future! I must go to Facebook now and start the revolution! OMG, I'm totally a hairy Rosa Parks! We Happy Hour Bears will NOT be left behind, ever!

"Oh, and don't forget to come to our benefit tonight. Bob Mould is performing in front of Titan at the corner of 14th and Rhode Island to raise awareness of its demise. He's gonna debut a song he wrote about it called, 'Sound the Alarm, Bro -- It's a Fur-mergency.' Get it? Can't wait! Make sure you wear flannel for solidarity. Well, I'm off to Facebook now. Dilemma solved...Bear Power on Facebook! Vive le Résistance! BIG BAD BEAR SNAPS TO ME! K, thanks. Bye."

Anyway. So yeah, I'm on Facebook now. I have no idea why, but Jimbo raves about it. I'm also on MySpace, Friendster, Manhunt, and Connexion. I rarely use any of them unless someone sends me a message. Plus, I have this blog. Do I really need to belong to another online social networking craze? I mean, at some point, I should interact with real live people in person, right? Y'know, someone I can actually poke?

I do think Facebook is much more attractive and user-friendly than that awful MySpace design. And there are no spam sluts harrassing me as of yet. Plus, it has the wackiest widgets to waste your time with. Someone tipped me off to an application that lets people compare your friends with each other. For example, it shows pictures of two of your friends and asks, who's smarter or who's hotter or who's more trustworthy? It's so mean! Download it now! By the way, which one of you "friends" felt I was unworthy to be trapped alone with on a desert island? Hmmm?

I was just hanging out with my friend G. He doesn't like Facebook. He doesn't think people over 30 should be playing on these sites. I reminded him that we homosexuals are suffering from neoteny, so we're given a waiver to engage in childish trends when we're older. So it's totally okay. He also thinks it's dangerous to put a lot of personal info out there for anyone to access (full name, employer, neighborhood, where you currently are, what you are doing, etc.). He may be right. I'm pretty careful not to divulge too much information. I use my blog name for most of these sites. He doesn't understand blogs either. He said he read my blog a couple times and thought, "Why would he take the time to write about this and then make it available for everyone to see?" Hmm, good point. I'm not sure. But I have met some really cool people from all over on these sites. And some people even send me unsolicited photos of themselves in various states of undress! That alone is reason to continue, no?

So when G left, I did a search for his name on Facebook. I found his profile.

Posted by durban bud at 1:18 AM | Comments (20)

January 2, 2008

GaySpace

Whenever I travel I realize how un-gay the world really is. During my entire trip I saw maybe five homos (outside of the token gay neighborhoods). And I have awesome gaydar. I should work at a state fair guessing people's sexual orientation instead of their weight.

Granted, we did hit a lot of "family" touristy spots, but if we are truly 10% of the population, I would expect to have seen that represented by -- at least -- a couple men or a couple women traveling together.

We made sure to get one night of GaySpace away from the family. It's healthy. Seriously, I live in such a gay bubble that when I deviate from it for a few days, I get the chills, tremble, and cough up blood.

So we got a hotel in Amsterdam for a night. We spent the majority of that evening hanging out with some Dutch friends of ours. They're straight, but they don't get all pissy or freaked out when I talk about buttsex, like my parents do. So very refreshing.

I was surprised and disappointed the hotel didn't have any gay porn channels. They, of course, did have two channels of straight porn -- so -- in a moment of extreme weakness, curiosity, and the need to see some mullet meat -- we ordered a movie.

Gross. Never doing that again.

Straight porn hasn't changed since I last watched it in my closeted days. So, so contrived. It's not the man/woman thing that skeeves me out so much; it's the huge fake tits, man mullets and totally fake lesbian action that make it unwatchable. Those poor women/girls do not want to be gnawing on each other's ginger roots. It's so obvious. If a woman resembles a baby tasting a lemon for the first time, she's just not that into your vagina.

We also managed to score some GaySpace during our last day in Paris. We explored the gayborhoods. The first sign we were in the right area was when we spotted the Bears' Den. It was like The Ssssecret was in effect and offering me a reward! The entire place was decked out in the bear flag colors. They describe themselves as "A honey pot in the center of Marais." I love that! Each town should have a honey pot for traveling bears.

Because we took advantage of our GaySpace, we got along swimmingly with the whole family the entire trip. No arguments, no resentments, no annoyances -- just shiny, happy, straight and gay people.

The next time we go back, we will hit Germany as our side trip. My honey pot is looking forward to that, based on my search of German bears on dudesnude dot com. I will enjoy lots of GaySpace there. MmmmMmmm Mmmm.

Posted by durban bud at 12:57 PM | Comments (8)

November 26, 2007

America's Next Top Power Bottom

Posted by durban bud at 10:13 PM | Comments (16)

November 9, 2007

Johnny is a Pig

Check out this sweet hilarity. Johnny channels Miss Piggy to wish his boyfriend a happy birthday. Awwww, I'm impressed! And slightly disturbed he owns a Miss Piggy head, but whatever, that can be overlooked cuz he's sex-ay.

Ask yourself this today, would your boyfriend do a muppet impression for you and post it on YouTube? If not, then perhaps he's just not that into you.

Posted by durban bud at 10:07 AM | Comments (8)

October 30, 2007

Honoring Our Heroes

Y'all know what today is, right? Lest we forget.

Take a little time today to pay tribute.

Posted by durban bud at 8:58 AM | Comments (11)

August 28, 2007

Tap Twice to Teabag

I swear, I learn more about kinky gay sex rituals from married Republicans than I do from Geekslut.

So there is a toe tapping mating call? Has anyone heard of this before? Anyone?

When rumors about Ms. Craig's affection for lavatory lewdness at Union Station were revealed last year, I took a photo of the restroom he frequented. I was with my mom at the time, and she's like, "What in the hell (pronounced: hail) are you a-doin'? I raised you better than that." I said, "I'm educating the masses." Now she understands.

First off - if I can tell someone is taking a dump in a stall, I move as far away from the stall as possible or leave. It makes me very uncomfortable. And all I wanna do is urinate. Who shits next to each other? Oh yeah - Republicans.

Secondly - how is it even remotely sexy to fuck around in a public bathroom? E-coli is everywhere! And there are no pillows!

Having anonymous sex is so not a turn-on for me. I need passion! Or, I need to have at least seen your work in a Raging Stallion film.

If mug shots are any indication, I'm not missing out on anything.

Makes you kinda wonder what George and Laura do for kinks. Okay, maybe not -- but think about it anyway.

Posted by durban bud at 5:14 PM | Comments (18)

August 27, 2007

Blue Velvet

I dated a guy back in 1995 who told me he "loves" to give massages. I thought for sure I had won the lottery: cute, smart, funny, and he loves to rub my sore, tender, tight muscles. Let's get gay married!

That myth lasted a couple months. I'm convinced he just said that so he could ease me into sodomy. And it totally worked.

Anyway - even though I'm still not getting massages from him - we did celebrate our latest anniversary this past weekend. Apparently there's more to relationships than just back rubs.

Last week I watched a movie called Disturbia on DVD. About halfway through the movie, I thought to myself, what is in a Red Velvet cake that makes it red? So I googled it. Turns out it's just red food coloring.

I have an idea! I'll change it up and make a Blue Velvet cake in honor of our impending analversary.

So I did my best Homer and baked a cake. Truthfully I don't recall ever eating a Red Velvet cake, so I had no idea what to expect. At first, the batter was vomit green. So I alternated putting purple, pink and blue food coloring into it, and I finally got it to turn blue(ish).

We went back to the restaurant where we had our first date, Cafe Luna (which used to be a nice, cozy and clean place - not sure what the hell happened), for half-price pizza night. It's relatively cheap. And I was always a cheap date. Still am. However, if you take me out for some high-priced quality sushi AND give me a massage, I will totally patty-cake your prostate.

Afterwards, we sampled my smurf cake. Rob said, "I think cakes are supposed to be moist." So we have plenty left over if you want some.

Ugh.

Posted by durban bud at 6:18 PM | Comments (24)

August 14, 2007

Sloppy Mistake

I rented a few adult DVDs of the homosexual persuasion yesterday. I returned them today (on time!).

Until...

I received a phone call from The Video Rack.

"One of the DVDs doesn't have the DVD in the case."

Ugh. So I checked my DVD player.

"I don't see it here. What's the name?"

He whispers, "Ummm. It's a Treasure Island video."

"Okay, but what's the name?"

There was a lot of noise in the background. I heard a baby crying. Softly, he says, "Cummmm shoppy buuuu hoes."

"I'm sorry - I couldn't hear you."

Ever so delicately, "Cummm shoppy buuuu hoes."

"I'm sorry. I can't understand you. It's too loud in your store. What's the name again?"

"CUM SLOPPY BUTTHOLES!!!" It got very quiet in the background.

"Ahhh yes, the Merchant-Ivory flick. I see it. I'll return it tomorrow. Sorry about that."

Classy.

Posted by durban bud at 12:23 AM | Comments (20)

August 10, 2007

LGBT

I watched the presidential debate on Logo. Not sure what Peppermint Patty is doing these days, but Marcie is apparently a moderator.

Who came up with the ridiculous title Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender? It's eleven syllables and cringe-worthy. Lesbian is Gay - is it not? Bisexual is kinda gay. Let's condense it, or come up with a term that we all can fit under, like Misfits or Hobbits or The Brooding.

And LGBT is just a BLT with gouda. Mmmmm...I'm totally gonna make myself an LGBT for lunch.

Posted by durban bud at 1:21 PM | Comments (19)

August 8, 2007

Super Catastrophic Fragmentation

In celebration of bear week, I've been eating lots of salmon and shopping for bear toilet paper holders. It's exhausting being a bear. Although I'm not really a bear; I'm more of a meerkat. But there are no Moonlight Madness Parties at Holiday Inns for meerkats. So I'm a bear. But not really. I'm also a liar and a thief.

Jamy pointed out a link to Big Bear Cafe -- which is only about 16 blocks from me. I'm intrigued. I think I'll stop by. I would love to get my paws on a cup of pennyroyal tea. Plus, they have wireless!

While sipping my tea at Big Bear Cafe, I'll probably read through a copy of A Bear's Life. The tag line for that magazine is "Celebrating The Masculine Community." I have no comment.

And I'm a young bear, cuz according to the Real Age Calculator (found via Sarah, who is not a bear), I'm only 22. So I guess I'm a cub.

What type of animal I'm labeled will be irrelevant, though, once a large asteroid hits our planet. And it will happen, eventually. And we'll have to start all over again.

Posted by durban bud at 6:03 PM | Comments (19)

May 2, 2007

The Perfect Wedding Gift

I don't usually buy wedding presents. That's probably why I'm rarely invited to such events. The fact that I'm wearing a suit is a present in itself, I think. Wedding gifts should be given with a probationary period of time rule. If the marriage lasts for five years, then you can keep the Crate and Barrel gift card. If not, you must return it immediately when your divorce is finalized.

But that's now going to change.

A delicious dessert spotted by the blog blog via Dan Savage will be my customary wedding gift from now on. Nothing says congratulations on your lifetime commitment better than a chocolate anus. It's memorable, original and appropriate.

It's too late to get this for the wedding I'm attending on Saturday -- the store says they are not taking any more orders until October -- but I'm told I have a year from the wedding date to get them their present.

I'm bummed I didn't think of this idea first. I suppose I could still do my own variation and call it Butt Munch. I could add a creamy caramel center, or maybe some crushed nuts along the delicate folds, or maybe some tiny fruit balls to simulate hemmorhoids or something. The possibilities are endless!

I wonder whose hole was molded to create the design. I could probably get plaster casts from some popular bloggers to help drive my sales. You could choose a hole to your liking: the Copperred hole, the Bob Mould hole, the Homer hole, and, of course, the Jimbo hole -- although one bite into that chocolate produces a burst of bitter flavors, yet still very tasty. Sales would go through the roof!

If any venture capitalists are interested, please email me.

Posted by durban bud at 12:49 AM | Comments (19)

March 29, 2007

Open Thread Thursday

What are you masturbating to these days?

Posted by durban bud at 12:38 AM | Comments (31)

January 20, 2007

Tight Holes and BitterBears

I was supposed to go to the Baltimore Aquarium with some sexy bears today, but then I realized I don't have a car to get there. They offered to pick me up, but that's like way out of the way for them, and I really didn't want to feel like Miss Daisy.

Then I considered going out to some gay bars tonight to act all slutty and shit, but then I realized I'm a pussy, cuz it's too fucking cold to leave my home, now that winter has finally hit DC -- I'm supposed to be hibernating anyway. I probably won't show my face again until my birthday next month. I'll walk out, do a quick wave, and run back in -- and I'm cool with that.

So instead, I watched a marathon of "To Catch a Predator" on MSNBC. I'm still not sure how I feel about that show. The only reason, really, people watch is to see the humiliation when the men get caught. It's a lot like American Idol in some ways, innit?

After that nonsense, I searched the men of Big Muscle Bears looking for new mandies in the area, and seeing if I recognized any holes. I did notice a few acquaintances of mine. One of these guys had a profile informing us that he has a "tight hole." I didn't really need to know that, but I suppose it's good to know he doesn't have to wear diapers. But really, who doesn't have a tight hole? I mean, isn't that fairly standard? It's kinda like saying, I have really wet saliva. I would hope your hole is tight. If not, I would expect you to use a colostomy bag, and mention that in your profile.

There are some really sexy men on that site. Not everyone is hot like a porn star, but at least they have the guts to put themselves out there, especially if they're looking for a date. And some guys have some really well-written profiles.

Other guys bitch too much on their profiles, listing a bunch of things they don't like about guys or complaining about some guy who did them wrong, and then wondering why they can't meet anyone of quality. Um, I know a few reasons, and one of them is cuz you're a BitterBear (new word!).

A BitterBear is a furry, athletic, gay man ranging in age from his late 20's to mid 50's, who believes the world now owes him something, since he has finally gotten into moderate to great shape, after years of neglect -- and if he feels these accolades are not bestowed upon him, he throws hissy fits and constantly bitches. He thinks he is the shit now, but his maturity level has been at a standstill since high school. Steroid users, guys who came out late in life, and aging club kids tend to be BitterBears.

And I think we all know a few of those.

Please add it to your vocabulary. Remember, I'm here to educate.

Posted by durban bud at 9:51 PM | Comments (11)

December 29, 2006

Another Awful Gay Movie

[begin bitch]

I rented "Another Gay Movie" yesterday. That's another hour and a half of my life I won't get back. I should have known better, since I've already mentioned my dilemma with gay cinema.

I'm all for gross humor, but it should be somewhat clever. I watched it based on a certain birthday blogger's post that said:

"...it was raunchy and silly and good for some gut laughs....Hilarity ensues, with lots of penis and butt gags."

He must have been inebriated when he saw it, or text messaging potential BMB playmates. That would explain the gut laughs. I wish he had mentioned we would see Richard Hatch's repulsive penis. I nearly upchucked my spaghetti-o's with meatballs when I saw that, but luckily, I swallowed them back down.

This could have been a funny movie. I get that they were playing on extreme stereotypes and whatnot, but suggesting that fingering a guy's asshole feels like a spinach quiche is simply not true; it's much closer to a bundt cake with cream frosting. And no one masterbates with a condom on a cucumber! Except my ex.

Dumb.

And I was all excited to get Logo when we upgraded to digital cable. I have yet to watch anything on it. Every time I want to see what's on, it's fucking Queer as Folk, again. That was bad enough the first time around. Are there no other shows? If they're gonna keep playing the same old shit, they should just loop Tales of the City.

And what's up with John Mayer's hair?!?

[end bitch]

For now.

Posted by durban bud at 12:34 AM | Comments (8)

December 13, 2006

The First Date

Dating can be so awkward, as I witnessed today at the Health Bar. It's like acting; you have to pick the right clothing, remember your best lines, manscape, and put in the nicest hair product.

Apparently these two attractive men met at JRs a few nights before. I would not have known anything about them if one of them was not a loud Chatty Patty. Patty works for one of the local news stations. I'm not sure if he's an anchor, or a writer or producer, or a weatherman, though he's probably a weatherman since 90% of them are gay.

Unfortunately this budding romance is not gonna last; Patty didn't allow the Other Guy to speak very much, he ordered a glass of wine, which is a telling sign since it was noontime, and he was bossy with the waiter. And he didn't know what Blowoff or the 9:30 Club were! The Other Guy said, "It's an interesting party, with a cool mix of guys from JRs and Remington's, and they play industrial music." Not sure I would describe it like that but whatever. I could tell the Other Guy wished he were somewhere else.

It's hard to size someone up when you meet him at a bar late at night, drunk and horny. You finally see the person in the daylight; you get to see how they carry themselves while sober; and you are ready to judge all of their little idiosynchrisies. And who pays the bill?

It's so nerve-wracking. I was nervous for them just by observing. It's like a job interview. You close with, "I'll give you a call." Doubt it.

I guess it's the nature of the business. You only become more comfortable the more dates you have, though after having so many, you become jaded.

For the record, Patty paid.

Posted by durban bud at 3:02 PM | Comments (7)

December 8, 2006

Morning View

Posted by durban bud at 1:11 PM | Comments (20)

December 7, 2006

Make the Yuletide Gay

So begins the time of year when we're aurally pounded by "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas".

This is the most dreaded song for paranoid closet cases. They think everyone will stop, point, and shame them when the word gay is uttered. At least I did.

It's funny how gay is now solely synonymous with homosexual. I don't know anyone who has ever used the word to mean happy. That's why it makes hearing those songs a bit awkward cuz you know everyone is thinking of homosexuality, however briefly, in a Christmas song.

I remember hearing that damn song the Christmas before I came out. My mom invited a number of relatives over for dinner. I was in charge of playing the background music. The kids were clamoring for some John Denver with the Muppets, so I obliged. Of course, the gay song came on during one of the quiet moments at the table. I deliberately started a conversation when it got close to that one line, to avoid any uncomfortableness. But it didn't go as planned.

John Denver sang, "Have yourself a merry little Christmas, make the yuletide--." And that's when it happened; the CD started to skip: "ga-ga-ga-ga-ga-ga-ga-ga-ga-ga-ga..." I got up, ran over to the CD player and tapped it on its side. The music stopped. It got very quiet, then resumed: "gay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay." Avoiding any awkwardness was now replaced by awkwardness times twenty.

Nervous smiles came in my direction. The gay verse did not signify "happy"; it signified "TJ doesn't have a girlfriend and probably likes man butt." I was aware people were speculating.

Deck the Halls was always a pisser too, but the "Don we now our gay apparel" verse goes by nice and quick, unlike HYAMLC, which is slow and lingers.

Anyway, I look forward to watching the new HD version of Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer on my new bitchin' plasma this Friday. Rock! On!

UPDATE: The way they remastered this for high definition was incredible! The colors and details were so crisp. It was so crisp you could make out the li'l bulge in Yukon Cornelius's pants. btw- He's a total bear.

Posted by durban bud at 12:13 AM | Comments (6)

November 10, 2006

The Joy of Poppers

There is a relatively new gay bookstore down the street from me. It's sandwiched between quaint, little restaurants and boutique shops. There's a tacky billboard in front of the store with cut-out photos of half naked men from porn magazines.

The man who owns and runs the store is Asian, and speaks very broken English.

I went in tonight to buy a book. The store is littered with new and used books, magazines, DVDs, dildos and lube. It is the size of my kitchen, and extremely uncomfortable if more than two people are in there at the same time.

As he was ringing up my purchase, I noticed a clear, rather large dildo on the counter. "What's that?" I asked. "Iz a dildo." "I know, but is that glass?" "Yes, iza made uh glass. It feels uh vedy good." Ew. "Is that safe?" "Yes, vedy safe. I think you would like it." Huh? Why would you think that? "No, thanks." The idea of broken glass up my ass is not all that appealing.

There was also a DVD on the counter with Jake Dakota on the cover. Naturally, I said, "I met him." "Oh, he uh so hot. He get fucked so hod." He then became very animated, demonstrating how Jake gets fucked. Then, he says:

"You uh have a porn star look."

What does that mean? "You're crazy." Wait a second, "Do I look slutty or something?"

"Not really." Huh??? "But you uh look like trouble, like uh bad boys." I'm not sure if I should be flattered or insulted by all of this. "I know uh Michael Brandons. I give him your name."

"That's funny. I don't think so."

"I write down your info in case you change mind. What's your uh name?"

"Um, my name is Jimbo, but I'm not interested. At all. Thanks though."

I pay for my Aidan Shaw autobiography. He puts it in a bag along with a small bottle. "I give you for free." I pull it out; it's a small bottle of poppers. One of the bonuses of going to this store is the free shit he gives us.

He informs me that he has gotten a better quality version of Jungle Juice in stock. He pulls it out, opens the bottle, shoves it under my nose, and says, "Try it! Iz so strong. I think you would like."

I push his hand away. "Noooooo! I'm not sniffing that. I'll get all flushed and naseous. Plus, aren't I supposed to be engaged in sexual activity when doing that?" Geez.

He's a nice guy, but a pushy salesman. I put the free sample bottle in my pocket. As I leave, he says, "Bye, Jimbos."

I get to my building, open the front door, and take my key out to check my mail. As I pull the key out, the bottle of poppers decides to come out as well. It falls to the floor. I freak out. Luckily, it didn't shatter, but I notice liquid coming down the outer protective plastic. Oh, shit. I instantly become flushed and naseous.

The foyer of our building has now become the backroom at the Eagle. I throw the bottle in my bag and make a mad dash for my apartment. As I'm running down the hall, I can hear the two college chicks who live upstairs coming down the stairs. I open my door, and quickly close it.

I peer out the peephole to watch them. They're blabbing away to one another, when one of them says, "OMG, what is that smell?" The other one says, "OMG, that's terrible! What is that?" College Chick #1 puts her sweatshirt up over her nose and mutters, "I think I'm gonna be sick. What the fuck is it? Smells like paint thinner or something." Indeed.

As they open the front door to the foyer, the freshly poppered air hits them hard. I hear screaming and gagging.

This happened about four hours ago. And the hallway still smells awful. I can only imagine what the foyer smells like. I feel bad for the straight couple who live in the front of the building.

Almost every gay boy has a popper horror story, and I guess this is mine.

Damn gay bookstore salesman.

Posted by durban bud at 1:08 AM | Comments (15)

October 30, 2006

Power Bottom Appreciation Day!

Some people refer to the day before Halloween as Halloween Eve, but it also happens to be "Power Bottom Appreciation Day!" I had no idea.

It's the one day of the year that we recognize those Power Bottoms who continue to astonish us with their mad skillz. This is not to be confused with "Bubble Butt Bonanza Day," which occurs on the last Friday of April.

In case you've been living under a rock, a Power Bottom is a man who enthusiastically takes it up the butt. He enjoys it, never winces, is an aggressive participant, and usually begs for more. They are a national treasure and must be shown proper gratitude. Take the poll at the bottom (har har) to let us know what position you enjoy the most. Don't lie!

Power Bottoms set themselves apart from lazy bottoms (yawn), dirty bottoms (ew), and insecure tops masquerading as bottoms to try and impress a partner they are secretly in love with (stop, it hurts).

Do you have a special Power Bottom in your life, perhaps a friend, lover, co-worker, priest or parent? Be sure to wish him a "Happy Power Bottom Appreciation Day!" and tell him how impressed you are with the man he has become today. Then give him a li'l wink!

According to a Martha Stewart magazine article, we're supposed to treat Power Bottoms with the utmost respect on this day by gifting them with flowers (preferably rosebuds), fancy non-spicy dinners, easily digestible chocolates (with NO almonds) and, of course, constant verbal praise followed by light fanny pats.

If you have the money and want to go all out, Martha suggests purchasing loose diamonds and then wrapping them in a handmade gift box with a copy of Maya Angelou's award-winning poem, "My Precious Power Bottom, I'm So Thankful I Got 'Im."

Unfortunately, 1-800-Flowers doesn't seem to have this special day listed among their holiday bouquet offerings (discrimination!) so I believe this occasion would fall under the "thank you" category. I'm including the link for easy access (har har), so here you go: Happy Power Bottom Appreciation Day!

Ironically, today is also National Candy Corn Day.

And don't forget: Friday is "Take Your Top to Work Day!" It's a wonderful week to celebrate all the amazing men in our lives!

So it seems apropos to have this month's catty online poll cover this intriguing topic:

My preferred position is:
	Top
	Versatile
	Bottom
	Ew, I don't do that!
	I'm straight
	I'm a woman

Posted by durban bud at 12:11 AM | Comments (13)

October 19, 2006

Clerk of the House

We spoke with this guy during Folsom weekend last month. He just testified for more than four hours before the House Ethics Committee in the Mark Foley matter. He was the House Clerk from 1999-2005.

We were working out at the big gay Gold's Gym in San Fran when Rob recognized him. He didn't look familiar to me; I'm pretty clueless with faces. Rob said he works out at our gym here in DC, and that I've met him before. Since 80% of people at our gym work in the government, it means nothing to me.

We struck up a conversation with him and his partner, who is HOT by the way (at least, I assume it was his partner). I didn't chat for long as I was too busy scoping out the place for porn stars. For the record, I noticed three.

Once the whole scandal broke, we knew he would have to testify.

He was an out republican during his years in government. I'm starting to believe there are more gay repubs than any other party.

And the majority of those in government are raunchy motherfuckers, apparently. It makes sense since Manhunt is more popular than Google here in DC.

It is now apparent that I can never work in the government. My ass would get dragged up on Capitol Hill regularly to testify. I know too many things. ;-)

Posted by durban bud at 5:01 PM | Comments (16)

October 18, 2006

Michael's Thing

This NYC bar rag was recently found in Rob's deceased great uncle's belongings. It's from 1975. I guess it's similar to Metro Weekly here in DC or HX in NYC, only it cost 75 cents.

That cover shot is so sex-ay, and proves that gayface existed back then as well.

I have the utmost respect for people who were out in the 70's and even the 80's; and people out before the 70's deserve to have their own star on the Stonewall Walk of Fame.

Living in my own contemporary secluded gay world, it's hard to imagine what life was like during that time. Judging from the documentaries and movies I've seen, it still was a good time; but the homophobia must have been even more difficult to deal with than it is now-a-days.

My first gay experience happened in 1991. I put a personal ad in one of these types of bar rags in Rochester, NY. I remember that day specifically cuz Terminator 2 was just opening, and I was all excited about it.

I made a date with some guy who answered my ad. I was not out so I was extremely nervous. I agreed to meet him in the parking lot of a McDonald's. That should have been a foreshadowing of what was to come.

I drove into the lot to find a really skinny guy who resembled Alan Jackson, complete with a mullet. I was mortified. He certainly was no Happy Meal. Ba-da-boom.

I was such a scared little closet case; I wouldn't get out of the car. I noticed he had an earring! This was certain to identify him as gay, and me by association. I told him to get in my car, and we would decide what to do as we drove around. I knew I would not be seen in public with this guy, for fear of being discovered.

We drove and drove and drove. Poor guy. He suggested a number of places to go, but I wouldn't budge.

Despite not being attracted to him, I wanted to experience being with another guy. I drove to a secluded golf course parking lot. We talked for a long time, and got along very well.

It was getting dark, so I had to make my move. I drove down an even more secluded dirt road by the golf course, way, way back near the woods. That's where we messed around. For the record, the experience was very vanilla; there were no butts involved.

As we finished the deal, I noticed some flashing lights in the rear view mirror. Oh. My. God! Here we are in the middle of nowhere, and a fucking cop car is pulling up behind us. This does not look good.

The cop shines the light in the car, obviously looking for drugs. "What's going on here?" "Um, we're just talking." "Well, you're not supposed to be back here. Find somewhere else to talk." "Yes, sir. Sorry." Ugh. I was shaking.

The cop left, and we followed him. I drove fast, and dumped Alan Jackson off at the McDonald's.

Being in the closet sucks, and luckily I came out not too much longer after this incident, and graduated from dirty sex in cars.

Anyway, this bar rag got me thinking about all that. It's definitely a collector's item. The ads are priceless. Check out the price for this meal in 1975:

Posted by durban bud at 8:48 AM | Comments (11)

October 2, 2006

Thruples Are The New Black

We met a nice guy on the plane coming back from San Fran. We chit-chatted with him as we were waiting for our rides to pick us up from the airport. He told us his partner was coming to pick him up. Our ride showed up; we said goodbye and left.

The other evening we attended a lovely party hosted by a couple we have become good friends with. There were several cute mandies in attendance. As we were mingling with some of them, the guy we met at the airport enters with two other guys. We say:

"Hey, how are you? Good to see you again."

"Hi. This is my partner."

"Hi, nice to meet you."

"And this is my other partner."

"Oh hi, nice to meet you too."

I had never met a thruple before, at least, in person. My brief knowledge of thruples usually involved the dissolution of friendships, bitterness, rage, and in one case profiled on Forensic Files, murder. So naturally I asked:

"How long have you all been together?"

"Five years."

Wow, that's like 15 in gay years, and 30 since three are involved.

Color me fascinated. I need to read up on this shit. I wanted to ask several questions, but didn't think that would be quite appropriate. Yet.

Full disclosure: I was almost involved in thrupledom, although no labels were ever attached to it. My pathetic experience resulted in me having a breakdown and entering rehab.

How ever do they do it...successfully?

I could never do it; I require too much attention. Why do you think I have a blog? I need more than one person to hear me out. Actually, that sounds like I do need to have more than one mate, but, you get my point.

Sexual threesomes or foursomes are difficult enough, but at least you have the luxury of sending the individual(s) on their way when all is said and done. And I have very limited experience in this area as well, cuz again, I require full attention. So I usually spent my time waving and saying, "Hey, I'm over here. Don't forget about me or I'm gonna throw a hissy fit," which is always so very attractive.

And all of these experiences occurred while I was heavily intoxicated. Since I no longer indulge like that, you will need to be far more creative to get me in the sack, unless, of course you are Jake Dakota; then all you need to do is show up and squat.

Anyway...

As we were getting ready to leave the party, we say our goodbyes to the hosts. One half of the couple introduces me to another of their friends and adds, "We're dating him."

I look at Rob who is smiling. The only thing I could think to say was, "Am I on Candid Camera?" No response. Realizing he was not kidding, I say, "Nice to meet you."

So there you have it. One party. Two thruples.

I say to Rob, "Why didn't they tell me earlier?"

"They probably didn't want you to mention it on your blog."

"As if!"

Posted by durban bud at 12:37 PM | Comments (18)

September 6, 2006

Trick

We all have our share of bad hook up stories. I have tons of them. I've erased most of them from my memory, but one memory resurfaced the other day when I went to a party to see a bunch of friends I hadn't seen in a long time. I was introduced to one of those awful tricks I had a one night stand with a long time ago. A really bad one night stand. Ew.

I met this guy when I first moved to DC at some trashy bar called the Frat House. I have since learned that Men + Frat House = Automatic Booty Tang. At the time, I was all, "I don't have one night stands. I need to get to know the person first before we engage in any sexual activty." I was, after all, severely naive with like moral values and shit.

For some reason, he's always been kind of a dick to me since our original evening of doom. I'm really not sure why. Was he expecting more? Did I somehow offend him? Is his penis still bleeding? Who knows. All I know is the sex was horrific. I think he wanted anal, but this was in my innocent pre-anal days, so maybe he was really bored.

Whenever I would see him in a bar thereafter, he would ignore me, give me dirty looks, or throw napkins at me. Fuh Reek.

I noticed him early on in the evening at the party. I was caught by surprise cuz I had never seen my friends hanging out with him before. He looked awful. He definitely has let himself go. I thought he was hot when I tricked with him. Then again, I was probably wasted. Another reason to stop drinking! Anyway, he is now troll-like.

One of my friends introduced me to a number of guys. Rumpelstiltskin was one of them. My friend is like, "Do you know TJ?" He said, "Nope." I'm like, "Uh, yeah ya do. Your tongue was up my mangina* for like half an hour, lie bag!" But I didn't say that. Instead I said nothing and shook his troll hand. This was followed by an uncomfortable silence. I excused myself from the group and vomited in the kitchen sink.

Maybe I was totally forgettable to him, or maybe he considers me a troll too. I don't care.

One night stands aren't really one-night stands anymore. They always rear their ugly heads one more time in your life. Eventually.

* Gay Glossary

Posted by durban bud at 1:01 PM | Comments (8)

August 28, 2006

I Am Not My Back Hair

There are so many subcategories in life.

Human Beings > Men > Gay Men > Furry Gay Men & Their Admirers > Furry Gay Men & Their Admirers Who Write About Their Lives On The Internet > Furry Gay Men & Their Admirers Who Write About Their Lives On The Internet & Want To Float On A Tube On The Potomac.

That last category is the one Jimbo & I assembled on Saturday. Actually there were more non-bloggers that came along, but you get the point.

Knowing that I would be shirtless on this excursion, I faced the dilemma that all gay men and women face when exposing their torso to the world, "Should I shave my back hair?"

I don't have much back hair at all, but there is a small tuft of it, mostly on my upper back. Oddly, it's becoming more blonde as I age through my thirties.

When I used to go clubbing on a regular basis, I would always present myself as freshly manscaped without a hint of fur in unsavory places. Those days are over; I have accepted my furriness, and I am at peace with that.

Anyway, a fine group of handsome men came along for the tubing trip. I had a blast. The two hour ride ended up taking four hours. The day was absolutely beautiful. Pics are here.

It's amazing how comforting it is to be amongst your fellow "subcategories".

Posted by durban bud at 9:39 AM | Comments (16)

August 9, 2006

Homo Cinema

Are there any good gay movies?

Yeah, yeah, there is Brokeback Mountain and Longtime Companion but they were both depressing. Excellent, but depressing. And Trick was cute. But, are those the only ones?

Tos told me to rent Gay Sex in the 70's. It was okay. Nothing spectacular. I felt kinda dirty after it, so I took a shower.

I love documentaries. I would like to make one about gay men who constantly stroke their coarse eyebrow hair as they age, but I don't think anyone would want to see it.

I've been to the gay film festivals, but the majority of the films are crap. Sorry, but it's true.

I want to see a thriller or something with gay main characters, like Single White Female or the Bourne Supremacy. In fact, it'd be cool to see Jimbo in a Bourne Supremacy type role, or maybe We, Like Sheep as the gay roommate with a moustache terrorizing poor Bridget Fonda in a Single White Female remake. I can see the tag line now, "Living with a neurotic gay roommate can be murder." I would totally see that.

Maybe someday.

Posted by durban bud at 7:03 PM | Comments (11)

August 2, 2006

Jewel's Teeth

I could never be an escort. I don't know how those guys do it. I walked by a man yesterday who was taking out his trash. He had his shirt off, and I remember thinking, I totally could not have sex with that guy.

I need to be able to see the person well before I would engage in any kind of intimate contact, and a simple photo won't do. I did manage to seal the deal with some scurry guys back in my slut phase, but I was always piss drunk. Always. But if I were an escort, I couldn't be piss drunk, so how do they do it? I'd like to think I could, so I could make a few bucks on the side, but it's just not in my nature. I would dry heave uncontrollably, and that might be seen as a turn-off to some paying customers.

When I first moved to DC, I answered a personal ad (this was well before Manhunt or gay.com or BMB or bravotv.com). I chatted on the phone with this guy for a couple hours. He seemed pretty cool. He lived close by so I invited him over to hang out. He kept saying he was good looking, but "good looking" is relative, isn't it?

I opened the door to find a decent looking man, but not exactly my type. One of my many faults is my shallow tendency to focus on specific details in a person, and this is not always a good thing. As he entered my little studio apartment, he put on a big smile, and that's when my focusing skillz went into overdrive. He had teeth like Jewel. Exactly like Jewel, in fact. My earlier meal of spaghetti-o's quickly returned to my throat. A few spaghetti-o's made it into my mouth. I nervously smiled back at him, and forced the spaghetti-o's back into my belly.

I offered him a beer. He accepted, and as I walked to the fridge, I said to myself, "Who will say-eee-ave your soul if you won't save your own."

What do you do when you've invited someone over to your place and you find out you're not attracted to him? Ugh, I don't know. You make the best of it, I guess, but I certainly wasn't about to get all naked with this dude. I was hoping he felt the same about me.

I turned on the TV. That's a good way to avoid uncomfortable silence. We were sitting on the couch watching Saturday Night Live and eating cheesy poofs. The cheesy poofs were a bad idea cuz they got all stuck in his snaggleteef. I did my best to avoid staring at it. At one point, I think he became aware of my dilemma. He started speaking with a mumble, so as to avoid fully opening his mouth.

He put his arm around me. Ew. And then he climbed on top of me. Double ew. He was a big guy, very muscular. I couldn't breathe. I kept thinking, Oh my god, I'm gonna be featured on Forensic Files. He's going to kill me with his dagger toofs cuz I'm not attracted to him.

He kissed my neck and looked directly down on me. We were face to face. It got very quiet. He looked me in the eyes for what seemed like an eternity. Time was standing still. As I stared into his eyes, all I could think was, "My hands are small I know, but their my hands, not yours." I swallowed another gulp of spaghetti-o's. He seemed to read my mind, and raised up off of me. Relief. Maybe it was his intuition.

We chatted a little more, and he said he needed to get going. Great! Thanks for your order, please drive through. You weren't meant for me, and I wasn't meant for you.

I felt kinda bad after, but I shouldn't have. I never suggested we would hook up, but then again, I was pretty naive.

We all have our little quirks and turn-offs. I just think it's best to know exactly what you're in for before you decide to fool around with someone. Attraction is key. You can't force it.

I still don't know how escorts do it. How can you fake attraction?

Posted by durban bud at 8:08 AM | Comments (10)

July 14, 2006

Webster's Gay Edition

So about 100 new words are being entered in the 2006 version of the Merriam-Webster's Collegiate® Dictionary. Some of them are gay-oriented: drama queen, polyamory, soul patch and, of course, unibrow.

There are a number of gay terms that I believe should also be added. Let this serve as a guide for my straight readers.

Top
A man who enjoys placing his penis in another man's bum.

Bottom
A man who enjoys receiving a man's penis in his bum.

Versatile
A man who enjoys receiving a man's penis in his bum.

The Crew Club
A "gym" where men are allowed to pair up and make love

Manhunt
An online version of the Crew Club

PnP
A term used by a person who will be entering rehab in about 2 years

Thruple
A couple that invite a third into their relationship, usually followed by the dissolution of the relationship

Uh Wrong Ansa
Means "wrong answer". If your boss gives you a project at 3:00pm to finish by 5:00pm on a Friday, you simply reply, "Uh wrong ansssssa." Or, if one of your tricks tries to place his penis in your bum after you've eaten Thai food for dinner, you simply reply, "Uh wrong ansssssa."

Mangina
A man's anus

Skidmarks
A straight man

June Bugs
A new term for lesbians

Ann Coulter
A botched male to female transsexual operation

Bears
Big, burly hairy gay men that Stephen Colbert is frequently afraid of.

Twinks
Thin, hairless, young gay men

Musclebears
Men who should call me

Susser
A feminine gay man who uses a lot of s's when he sssspeaks. Twinks are usually good examples, and Michael Moloney from Extreme Makeover: Home Edition.

Sussin' Susser
A really feminine gay man who overuses a lot of s's when he sssspeaks. Michael Kors from Project Runway would be an example of a sussin' susser.

Ira
A term applied to an individual who packs their entire wardrobe and toiletries for a relatively short vacation

Am I missing any?

And...

This baby is a metaphor for the world:

Posted by durban bud at 10:41 AM | Comments (7)

July 7, 2006

How to Make a Straight Guy Squirm

I had a meeting last night with a couple straight guys. They are very affable, and I do not judge them by their lifestyle choice. I treat everyone equally.

One of the guys asked me, "So how is your, uh, your, um, your, you know, boyfriend? I don't know the correct term."

"I prefer butt buddy, thanks," I said, which was followed by some uncomfortable silence.

So what is the correct term?

Boyfriend applies to someone you have been dating for a relatively short period of time. After about a year or so, you need to refer to them with another term.

Life partner and Longtime Companion sound too clinical, or too forced.

Lover sounds too 1970's. If you use that term, you are probably over 50 and really gay.

Significant Other sounds like you're trying to hide something. Plus, it's pretty vague.

My Bitch or My Fudge are just kinda rude.

Husband or Fiance don't apply.

Special Friend makes us sound retarded.

I prefer the term partner, for now, even though it makes us seem like we're lawyers or something.

At the 'hab, Rob and I participated in a group counseling session with a number of other couples, all heterosexual. We were asked to stand up and introduce our mates.

I introduced Rob as my partner. One of the other participants later told me his wife thought it was very nice of me to bring my business partner to such an occasion. As if! He told her we were gay. She said, "No, they're business partners; he introduced him as his partner. They're not gay." She did not believe it until we were forced to sit in opposing chairs in front of the entire group, and talk about our "feelings" for one another. Ugh, talk about uncomfortable. That was just one of the more surreal experiences of my life.

The first couple that sat in the hot seats were a poster couple for toxicity and divorce. They yelled at each other the entire time, and claimed the only reason they had not divorced was because they're Catholic and have six children. Then the wife dropped the G-Bomb. "And HE has issues because one of our sons is GAY!" Oh shit. And we have to follow this? Calgon, take me away.

Anyway...

It's all relative. In the grand scheme of things, it doesn't really matter what we're called. But it does matter.

Posted by durban bud at 8:21 AM | Comments (7)

June 20, 2006

The Fireman

Last night at dinner, while Manhattan Furball and Suitcase Sally were discussing whether Pam Cooking Spray could be substituted for Crisco for a certain naughty sexual practice, I was still dreaming about the firemen I had seen the previous evening.

I went to Maggie Moo's in Adams Morgan to satisfy my latest addiction. As I was waiting in line, a firetruck pulled up in front of the building. A number of very attractive firemen entered and stood behind me. I was giddy. I could swear at least one of them was family.

The hottest one actually spoke to me. He said, "What flavor is the blue one?" I said, "Cotton Candy." My heart melted as he undressed me with his eyes.

Many people have asked me throughout the years when I knew I was gay, or more specifically, when I knew I liked guys' butts. I always say, when I was five.

I don't remember a whole lot during my really young years, but I do remember this. Lightning had struck a tree at our neighbors across the street. The tree had fallen onto their house. Nobody was home. A fire truck arrived at the scene. A few minutes later, a fireman knocked on our door and asked to use our phone. I didn't know who he had to call or why he couldn't just use his own radio transmission, but it didn't matter, he came into our home, and I was happy.

He used our phone in the hallway. I remember just staring at him for a long time. He was very handsome, or at least, what I considered handsome at five-years-old. I seem to recall he looked like Eddie Cibrian from Third Watch. I wanted him to take me into his firetruck, hold me on his lap, and read me some Aesop's Fables. I wanted him to take care of me.

The next morning I was at the church nursery while my parents were taking their Bible class. I played with a toy phone, pretending to be talking to the fireman. I don't remember what the hell I was saying on the phone, but I do recall the nursery "teacher" giving me weird looks, and telling me to play with other toys. Leave me alone bitch, I'm talking to my boyfriend. That's when I knew.

I got my ice cream and sat on a stool by the window. The firemen stood in front of their truck to eat theirs. I watched and watched as they took long licks. I looked to see if they had wedding rings on; they didn't. Each bite of my cotton candy ice cream got sweeter and sweeter. They were putting on a show for me; I just knew it.

The one who was undressing me with his eyes looked my way each time he took a long, slow lick. He was teasing me with his cold cream. I teased back, using both my lips to suck the cream into my mouth. He flexed his bicep as he lifted his arm to take another lick. My hot breath was causing the cotton candy to melt all over my lips. I lovingly scooped it all up with my tongue, making sure I didn't let any go to waste. I wanted to taste every drop. My ice cream was just about gone, so I slowed the pace of my licks, savoring every moment while keeping my eyes on the fireman. My heart was racing. My jaw was numb. It was inevitable, I climaxed. There was nothing left to lick. I took a deep breath and exhaled. The fireman, too, had finished. He looked flushed and sweaty. I imagined Eddie Cibrian winking at me as he boarded the truck. His job was done here. He was going to put out someone else's fire.

I wonder what happened to the fireman who made me gay. I wish I could call him. We could reminisce about the old days, and maybe share some Maggie Moo's.

Firemen will always hold a special place in my heart. *sigh*

Posted by durban bud at 6:22 AM | Comments (11)

June 12, 2006

LGBT Agnostic Chickens

It was a beautiful weekend here in DC. Perfect weather. Perfect company. Perfect fun.

That said, I thought the parade was kinda lame this year:

The Running For DC Mayor Parade was disguised as the Pride Parade.

There were very few drag queens; usually we see Miss Gay Virginia or Miss Gay Thomas Circle or Miss Gay Church St. in Between 17th and 18th, but not this year. Where were they?

There was also a huge lull between some of the marchers, and none of the floats were all that unique. The parade is sadly in need of a durban bud float. Next year, baby. :)

We still had a great time. Our buds, Tim & Donn, came into town, so we grabbed a bite and headed to Blowoff. I was exhausted but still had fun. I don't think I've ever been to a club and had iced coffee as my main beverage. Times are definitely a-changin' for this big geek.

I did my "one, two, tap my foot, shift weight to the other leg, one, two, tap my foot" dance. It was all well and good for about one song. Then my dance changed to "one, two, tap my foot, inhale smoke, shift my weight to other leg, one, two, rub my burning eyes from insensitive out-of-town otter boy blowing smoke in my face." I can't wait until January when that shit is banned from these establishments.

The weather couldn't have been better for the festival. It was sunny and warm with NO humidity. That is a first in the 10+ years that I have been going. We saw lots of friends, but Tim & Donn appeared to run into a lot more people than we did, and they're from like, the Baltimore area.

Me: How do you know all these guys?
Donn: Manhunt.

At the Pride festival, there is a booth for every type of cause and company. HGTV had their own booth. I believe it was right next to the LGBT Agnostic Chickens booth. HGTV is Rob's favorite station. It was okay to watch the first few months after 9/11, but now I'm so sick of it. Watching people shopping for a new home or renovating one of their rooms is either incredibly boring or very stressful. I start to feel envious or annoyed like, "Why didn't we do that when we were renovating?" Rob would remind me, "Cuz we ran out of money." Oh, yeah. I wish they had a Gay Court TV booth instead. I could be the new narrator for Forensssssic Filessssss.

I think I have enough Pride to last me until next year.

Posted by durban bud at 2:06 PM | Comments (3)

June 9, 2006

Hello Frissssssco

Happy Pride! The gayest weekend of them all is upon us here in DC, and the neighborhood is all a-flutter with flags and streamers. Woo-hoo.

I actually like Pride. It's fun and silly and just a good time. I used to be one of those "the parade is over the top and makes us look bad to the straight world" people, but I ain't like that anymore. It's cool being around all my peeps, and not taking life too seriously.

I don't have anything against dance artists but it would be nice to get some big name rock musicians to perform once in awhile at the festival. It'd be cool to get Elton, Rufus, or Indigo Girls for a change, or even homo-friendly Green Day. I guess the venue is way too small for them, but a boy can dream.

Instead we'll get to see Thelma Houston (again!) perform her one hit, "Don't Leave Me This Way" (again!). And I can't wait to hear CeCe Peniston sing "Finally" for the umpteenth time. Whatever, it's nice of them to sign on to this event (again!), so I'll keep my bitching to a minimum. I'd prefer Pet Shop Boys or Erasure as the dance artists though.

I think next year I should have a durban bud float, complete with my DC blogger buds; it would be so rad! Did I just say rad? It would go sumthin' like this:

Tos would be our go-go boy and shake his thang like he used to do on the blocks at Nation. Bob and Rich would DJ. Carl, Crisafer, and Sean would dance shirtless in front of the DJ booth while wearing their leather chaps. Bubula & Mumi would perform their colorguard routine in their jockstraps. Dumbek and Dinger would throw candy, beads, Dixie Chicks CDs and anti-Scientology pamphlets to the crowd. Mr. Bartender would serve drinks and perform karaoke to Ani Defranco songs as he collected tips from everyone. Jimbo would hold up large cardboard cut-outs of Ben Cohen. Anger Hangover would recite her blog entries from a Live Journal megaphone. Tom would dress in drag as Ann Colter while the men in chaps flog her. Autoerratic would pull the float in one of his fancy new cars. And Sarah would photograph the whole event wearing only her teddy.

What do you think? Rad, huh? I think it could work! We would easily win best float, hands down.

In the meantime, I'll be hittin' the parade, Blowoff and the festival. See you there!

It would be nice if this guy could be there this weekend, but I doubt his wife would let him go. Whatever.

Posted by durban bud at 12:45 PM | Comments (6)

May 5, 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)

December 18, 2005

My Own Private Wyoming

Last night we went to see Brokeback Mountain. I thoroughly enjoyed it. A good movie to me is something that makes you actually think and usually stays with you well after the movie is over. This was/is definitely one of them. In fact, I found it disturbing and emotional on many levels. It had some elements that were reminiscent to me of "My Own Private Idaho," only much more intense.

If you have not seen the movie, avoid reading the rest cuz I will ruin it for you.

Most of those that did not like the film did not like it for one of the following reasons:

1). It is too slow-paced and there is no Hollywood ending
2). It's not "Too Wong Foo" with Cowboys
3). Nathan Lane did not provide catty voice-overs for any of the sheep
4). It was too depressing
5). The book was better
6). Mariah Carey didn't sing "Hero" over the end credits
7). It wasn't emotional enough
8). Movies with gay themes MUST have gay actors in them
9). Self-loathing

I think this film can have an impact on anyone but I especially believe that to be true of people that have grown up in small towns or witnessed these types of places on a regular basis.

My parents are from a place very similar to where Ennis (Heath Ledger) grew up. We would visit every year. There were windy roads and hills and trailers and "hollers" and no restaurants and lots of coal trucks and one A & P. The only thing to do is get married young and have babies and work hard labor (and/or be an alcoholic or have a heavy addiction to painkillers), rinse & repeat. They talk in an accent that is so southern it is almost unrecognizable.

I always imagined what my life would have been like if my parents did not choose to flee in the mid-60's. I believe I would have been a lot like Ennis. I would probably be married with kids in a pathetic relationship with an unsatisfied wife. God knows what kind of job I would have had down there. The majority work in the coal mines and, um, I just can't picture myself doing that. I could picture myself secretly getting away to meet some guy I actually liked spending time with. It would have been an awful existence. Yet, some people are forced to do it because they don't want to get killed or hurt. And I guarantee you, if I were raised there and "found out," one of those two things would have happened. Oh, and I probably wouldn't have a blog either. What a pity that would be.

I saw the movie with Rob, Joe, Ira (aka Suitcase Sally) and Randy (aka Manhattan Furball). Randy also knew people like those depicted in the film from his upbringing in Texas. I'm sure we all know people like this.

Heath Ledger was awesome (even if he did talk like Sling Blade). The scenes where he and Jack would fight and then kiss and cuddle were both devastating, brutal, tender and hot all at the same time.

There were several parts of the movie that I didn't understand and/or like though. For example:

* I think I know who is responsible for Jack's death but I did not understand his parents' reaction.

* Ennis's reaction towards Jack after 4 years of not seeing him seemed odd to me. I know he is a guy who keeps all his emotions inside but it did not feel right since, apparently, several of the intimate scenes between the two men on the mountain were not shown. This was evident in the flashback towards the end when Ennis puts his arms around Jack. Had they been shown, I think this may have "felt" more right. If he avoided him for 4 years, I think he also would have been much more careful trying to shelter his "greeting" of Jack from his wife.

* I wish they had shown more intimacy between the guys during their first duration on the mountain. They seemed to be always fighting or having rough sex.

* Why did they both punch each other (especially Jack since he seemed to be the more sensitive one)? He laid the first punch.

* Did they know each other were gay before they had sex? One of them made a comment that, "They don't like people like us." Was he referring to being gay?

* And lastly, and this needs to be said, it would take a lot more spit than what was used to have butt sex. If that is really all they used, Jack wouldn't have been able to walk the next day and definitely wouldn't have been able to ride a horse. That's a fact. 'Mmm'kay?

* I love Jake Gyllenhaal as an actor. Seems like a great guy and he was brave to take on this role. But I have to say it. Unfortunately, I don't think his acting was very good in this film.

* Heath Ledger is hot. I never noticed this before. Michelle Williams is a lucky girl. She was also fantastic in her role.

I definitely want to get the DVD and watch it with a group of people so we can debate some of these aspects together. Some of these things may have been obvious to others but I'm a little slower than most.

Oh, and the author of the book loved the movie.

Again, I thought this was a great, thought-provoking film. And, yes, I shed a few tears.

Posted by durban bud at 10:32 AM | Comments (4)

October 10, 2005

Days of Rain

It was a late night and it poured the rain but it was still crazy fun. Rob and I went to a BAR Friday evening before the show. Yes, an actual bar in DC. Seeing us at a bar in DC is similar to seeing the Loch Ness Monster or, perhaps, Big Foot, or, perhaps, George Bush saying something intelligent. It just never happens. It did happen though. And we had a blast.

Got to meet the handsome Dumbek and Dinger couple. Those are some good people (plus they have a hot tub and a pool). Maybe someday they will let us use it. I promise to keep my clothes on. Lots of fun. Also hung out with Joe and infamous hot-tubbers, Tim & Donn. Dumbek has a good rundown of the evening and all those bloggers in attendance so I won't give you a double dose. Met lots of nice guys. If there are any photos of the evening, please destroy them. Thanks.

Apparently, Bob's show was being filmed for a DVD. Sometimes I forgot I was at a Bob Mould show. I mean he does have a ton of straight fans. I hope they weren't offended by my accidental bear hugs and kisses to those that came into my vicinity. Despite my earlier post to the contrary, I was much more in a huggy type of mood that evening. And I was only drinking light beers. So if there are any crowd shots on the DVD and I am seen kissing someone, it is probably not me.

A great show so go see it! Bob is heading out to the west coast so all you west coast boys need to go see him at these places:

Oct 11: Neumo's - Seattle, WA
Oct 12: Doug Fir - Portland, OR
Oct 14: The Fillmore - San Francisco, CA
Oct 15: The El Rey - Los Angeles, CA

All the newspapers and magazines have been raving about his shows and his band's performance but a few have complained that he did not invite me on stage to play the triangle on one of his songs during his DC set. Whatever. I bet Liz Phair will. The media will appreciate that. And someday, he will play "Can't Fight It" for me. Someday.

Update 11/30: Yeah, well maybe I didn't get to show off my triangle skillz but I do believe I coaxed you into performing "Can't Fight It" at the past 2 shows AND "Days of Rain." And, did both audiences show their giddy appreciation for hearing both those songs; why yes, they did. Tell Ms. Phair I am also available if she needs some setlist tips. I rock. Ding. Ding.

Posted by durban bud at 10:23 AM | Comments (8)

October 5, 2005

Birds and Hugging Etiquette

This past weekend was gorgeous in DC. Sunny and 70's the whole time. I decided to take advantage of the outdoors since I didn't have much to do. I went to the Circle on Saturday to people watch. I brought my little blanket, a magazine and some music. I laid down in an area by a tree that had a good view of all the people walking through the park. I noticed right next to me a few booths set-up in which people were offering to give "Stress Tests" to unsuspecting passer-byers (e.g. poor people and tourists). I was surprised how many people fell for it. It's a great marketing tool for those scientologists. People sat down, were asked a few questions and then that Diuretics book (or whatever it's called) was shoved in their faces to purchase. I wanted to warn those that actually stopped for a "stress test" what they were really all about. But I was too relaxed in the sun to move. People need to learn on their own.

As I was enjoying the serenity of the afternoon some fuckhead decided to throw bread crumbs in front of my blanket. The man appeared to be homeless so I cut him some slack. I still gave him a dirty look. Not really sure what that would accomplish but it made me feel better. If he has no money, shouldn't he be eating those crumbs? After the 100 or so pigeons descended by my resting place, another fuckhead (who did not appear homeless) threw some crumbs on top of the other ones. Hi, I'll take "Rude Motherfuckers" for $200, Alex. Suddenly, I was Tippi Hedren in The Birds. I started swatting them with my magazine and screaming. I was looking for the nearest telephone booth. If you must feed the birds there are plenty of other spots in the park to do this. Do people not know how disgusting birds are? I mean anyone who would care for filthy birds has to have a few screws loose.

My buddy David joined me at the park. After watching this 22 year-old drunk boy stumble all over the park at 2:00 in the afternoon, we decided to leave.

As we walked down the street I saw a bunch of guys I had not seen in awhile. These were people I knew but never really hung out with. I felt this immediate uncomfortable feeling us gay guys sometimes get when we're not sure what form of affectionate acknowledgement to give. Should I hug them, hug them with a kiss on the cheek, shake hands, or just nod and say, Hey? It's always so odd for me. I'm usually just a hand shaker and, once in awhile, a hugger. Some people I hardly know kiss me on the cheek or, if they're drunk (or I am), on the mouth. Some people I know really well just wave and say hi. Gay guys have a whole unique way of greeting each other. I find the hugging thing very sweet even though I don't always practice it. I wish more people would do this. It's just weird when you don't really know the person so you're not sure what their level of comfort is yet. And it never fails when I give a gay guy a hug and THINK he probably is the kissing type I move in to plant him a kiss on the cheek only to realize he just wants to hug, starts to pull away and I end up kissing his ear. Ew. I end up having that bitter taste in my mouth for the next hour.

Straight guys used to be easier to greet. It was always a handshake which I have no problem with. In fact, I usually prefer it that way. Now it has turned into that rapper bump-chest hug like thing. I still don't know how to do it correctly. There should be classes on it. This one straight guy I'm friends with does this with me whenever I see him. He approaches me. I get nervous. I reach my hand out, he grabs it, pulls me in, we bump shoulders and I instinctively put my arm around him and pat his back as if to say, "There, there, ol' straight boy." Never fails. I can't help it. It's in my nature. Most people usually release after the shoulder bump. However, I don't. Whatever.

I should add, though, that I am a sucker for BIG BEAR HUGS for those that I know and, of course, really cute guys. Eddie Cibrian, Matthew Fox and Dean Coulter (see below) can give me a bear hug whenever they want. I will even kiss their ears.

Posted by durban bud at 11:22 AM | Comments (11)

September 16, 2005

Shake Your Love

I didn't realize how gay I've become until I went to a free Debbie Gibson concert on our cruise. Actually, now that I think about it, there were guys there who were way gayer than I. During a quiet moment in her show some guy yelled to Debbie, "Gurrrrrl, I get lost in YOUR eyes, mmm'kay?" Looking fierce and determined he then sashayed like a professional runway model up and down the orchestra aisle, turning it into a temporary catwalk of crazy. When he reached the end of the aisle, he spun back around and stopped for a moment. Using his arms he formed an S shape and rap-sung "I just can't sh-sh-sh-sh-sh-shake your love, boy," before resuming his imaginary catwalk duties, until his friends finally got a hold of him and escorted Miss Thing back to her seat away from the alluring spotlight.

Debbie performed a bunch of Broadway tunes for about an hour. I guess she's been doing pretty well in the theatre scene and wants to establish herself as a serious stage performer. Whatever. It totally put me to sleep. All the queens in the audience seemed to know all these songs. They kept clapping when she started the lyric. I really can't stand show tunes. Sorry, I did not get that particular gay gene. I am a sucker for eighties trivia and crappy music, though. If they come out with a Trivial Pursuit version focusing on eighties music, I will totally beat you.

After wrapping up the Broadway portion of her show she reemerged wearing jeans and launched into a greatest hits set. It must be weird being like 35 or so and singing "Electric Youth," a song you wrote when your hymen was still attached. I can't imagine reading things I wrote 20 years ago, much less reciting them in public. It would be very strange. But she seemed to be having a great time singing and dancing with various dudes in the audience.

Anyway, a few weeks earlier, Mike, our spin/cycling instructor at the gym, played a Debbie Gibson song during class. He usually plays one 80's song each session. This time it was Debbie's turn. Some woman chimed in rather loudly after he played the song, "If we didn't know you were gay before, we sure do now!" Everyone laughed. I could tell he was somewhat embarrassed. After class she kept going off on him for playing Debbie Gibson. It was weird, though, to try and get motivated by one of her songs.

"Shake your love; I just can't shake your love."

Um, no. That is not going to make me spin faster.

So because of this whole little Debbie Gibson controversy during his class, I thought it a perfect time to get my secret boyfriend spin instructor an autographed picture of her since he seemed to be a true fan (even though he's like 41 years old). Plus I figured my thoughtful gesture had the potential to score me some head behind Rob's back.

So after the show we stood in a huge homosexual line to meet her, just to get a little gag gift for a guy we have become friendly with but still hardly know well. Debbie Gibson t-shirts, CDs and photos were available for purchase while we waited. I was told I had to buy one of these items if I wanted her autograph. Mean! I was planning to have her sign an ATM receipt I found in my pocket. My little gag was becoming pricey. I decided to buy the cheapest thing they had -- a postcard. It was $7. Nice.

It was now our turn to say hi to Ms. Debbie Gibson. It was very awkward. There were lots of people around us taking pictures. The middle-aged men before us were saying things to her like, "You were so amazing tonight" and "You meant a lot to me when I was growing up. Your music helped me get through some difficult times." I'm thinking, "Only in My Dreams" was therapeutic for you? It never really spoke to me quite like that. A couple bong hits usually did the trick.

I didn't know what to say after hearing what those guys so passionately said, so I looked at her and just said, "My friend Pam has a nose similar to yours." She tilted her head as if confused and said, "Oh, that poor thing." "No, no, no -- your nose looks great,really. They just look similar." Okay, this has now gotten beyond weird.

I handed her the postcard, "Can you make this out to Mike?" "Of course," she said sweetly. She signed it and posed for the token photo. She handed me the signed postcard and we walked away. Uncomfortable mission accomplished.

I glanced down to read what she wrote.

Mike, so glad we met, Deborah Gibson.

GODDAMN YOU, DEBBIE GIBSON! I am NOT Mike.You did not meet Mike. You totally fucked up my gag gift, Debbie Gibson. I'm really pissed at you right now, Debbie Gibson.

I thought about going back to have her correct the mistake. But I had already invested too much time in this silly souvenir. It's the thought that counts anyway, right?

I have yet to give it to Mike. He better freakin' appreciate it.

What the hell am I doing here? Please kill me.

UPDATE: We gave him the postcard after class. He seemed genuinely flattered by our efforts. He has since had it framed. I confirmed this when he showed it to me one evening at his place.

Posted by durban bud at 7:15 AM | Comments (7)

September 11, 2005

Cruising

*Sigh*

I never thought I would ever enjoy a cruise, but I have to say it was pretty fucking awesome. I will definitely do another one.

I have tons of stories but, for now, here is what I know:

* Villefrance, Sorrento and, of course, Mykonos were beautiful and my favorites. Must spend more time at each one. Sitges is still one of my faves though. I would also like to have a beach house at either one of these locations. I need a sugar daddy to make this dream happen. Please apply for this position at this address sugardaddy@durbanbud.com. Thanks.

* We did not do one single excursion. Instead, we took our own transporation (trains, boats, walking, etc) and explored. So amazing.

* A party called "Mega Woof" was happening in Barcelona while we were in Sitges, so all these muscle bears were at the beach. It was a pleasant (and HOT) surprise. Our trip got off to a great start.

* Our friend Ira (aka Suitcase Sally) went with us on the entire trip. I have so many stories to tell about him. I could not stop laughing. He is the best traveling companion. We did not fight or bicker once. Total riot.

* We met so many people from all over the world. Guys from Chicago. Guys from LA. Guys from Indianapolis. Guys from Boston. And even some guys from Washington, DC! Seriously, we also met some Brits, a German, a Russian, a few Australians, a few Spaniards, etc.

* Capri pants were everywhere. I did not get the memo about this. I even saw some jean capri pants. That´s just wrong.

* The color orange is the hot color in the Mediterranean. Lime green is next. I am ahead of the curve on that one. ;-)

* The majority of European women are gorgeous.

* On the plane ride over we sat by this really cool Spanish woman. I couldn't help but notice that she spoke just like Charo. I also couldn't help but notice that her nipple was sticking out of her blouse. She didn't seem to mind though. She kept chatting away Charo-style. It was hard to have a conversation with this huge areola staring at me. I wanted to giggle. But I didn't.

* The Queer Eye culture guy, Jai Rodriguez, was on board for the entire trip. He said that 2 of the "straight" guys who got made over on the show have since come out. That´s pretty funny. And sad.

* Naples, Italy? Um, ew. I'll take my pizza to go, please. Thanks.

* Spanish guys are hot.

* If you want to piss off an Australian, keep asking him what part of England he is from. Works every time.

* There were 2000 people on the boat. 41 were women.

* The Brits like to par-tay. Hard.

* Greek guys are hot.

* For some strange reason, we kept hearing Lionel Richie songs all over the Mediterranean. It was very odd.

* Canadians are horny.

* My legs and butt look great from all the walking, but I seem to have accumulated a big belly. That buffet on the boat is pure evil. I prolly gained 10 pounds. Must go to gym. A lot.

* The smoking situation needs to seriously stop.

* We only were exposed to one anti-American comment on our whole trip. I was expecting a lot more. Not sure where this guy was from but it was on our first day of traveling over there and he accused us of cutting in front of him while boarding the plane. He called us "typical Americans." We told him to calm down, and kindly step in front of us if he was so bothered by it. So he did. We were in line to get on the plane. You know, when everyone rushes ahead and is everywhere. The funny thing is we got to sit directly behind him on the plane. I swear I didn't kick his seat.

* I realize wearing a baseball cap immediately identifies me as American (or maybe British or Canadian). I didn't wear one the first couple days cuz I just wanted to "blend" in, but a couple people approached me and asked if I was from America or Britain. I can't win, and I am at peace with that.

* I also totally learned from a Spanish guy that, like, saying the words, "totally" and "like" a lot also identify you as an American. Who, like, knew.

* Italian guys are hot.

* That Kelly Clarkson song, "Since You've Been Gone," is huge over there. Also, I kept hearing that song that goes, "Don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me. Don't you wish your girlfriend was a freak like me...." It was quite humorous watching the gays dance suggestively to that song. Guys were thrusting hard everytime she said "freak." Ew.

* We met this really funny cab driver in Barcelona who barely spoke a word of English. However, as soon as he found out we were American he went on this tirade against Bush. "Boosh is muy mal y muy stupido. Blech!" And then he would spit. It was hysterical. We told him we agreed and assured him not all Americans support the turd.

* I had a moment of sheer terror. It lasted about 8 minutes. When we finished the cruise and went to the airport to head to Madrid, we did a passport check. Mine was missing. I turned white and felt like throwing up. My passport, credit cards and driver's license were all missing. What the hell was I going to do? It was a Saturday. Then, as if we saw the baby jesus right before our eyes, our friendly Spanish cab driver came walking towards us in the airport (in slow motion), waving my passport in his hands. I'm pretty good about keeping my wallet in my front pocket. However, I had worn the same baggy shorts for about 3 days in a row so the pocket was pretty worn open, so it fell out in the cab when I got out. We hugged the man and praised him, and jumped up and down with him, and assured him that we still are not fans of Bush. This seemed to make him very giddy and exhuberant. "Gracias, senor."

* I prefer Europe's version of Diet Coke (Coca-Cola Light) compared to our version. We should import that.

* Debbie Gibson, I'm sorry, I mean Deborah Gibson was the special guest entertainment. I know, I rolled my eyes too. But I have to say she was pretty good and can poke fun of her former teeny bopper star status. She was "lovely" (as the Brits would say).

* If I hear that "Cha-Cha Heels" song one more time, I'm gonna pull a Michael Douglas from the movie, "Falling Down." I'm not kidding. Let's move on, people.

* I was disappointed to see how many toupees were on the boat. Gay guys should know better than this. Let Trent Lott and Tom Delay represent that faux pas. Let's embrace our baldness or get something realistic done. Seriously.

* I will definitely do this again. It was a blast. I highly recommend it.

* My lips are chapped.

I am exhausted. Will write more later and post some pics.

For now,
Must. Get. Rest.

Posted by durban bud at 9:09 AM | Comments (13)

August 22, 2005

Mango Was There

Went to the beach one last time this summer. We're gonna be gone for a long time starting this weekend so we wanted one last hoorah there.

Stayed at Tim & Donn's beautiful house in town. They are wonderful hosts and great guys.

Saturday morning we spent on the beach. Perfect weather. The water was nice. There were finally big waves we could play with. Spent about 4 hours out there.

We all left back to the house for a pre-happy hour party (or to take naps and shower). When we arrived back at the house we noticed a few more gentleman had joined us. I did not know them. Most of the men staying at the house were older and had facial hair (I guess it's a requirement to stay there) but there was one person who stuck out like a sore thumb and that, my friends, was Mango from Saturday Night Live (or, at least, that's who he resembled). Now, I don't care if you're nelly or twink-like. I don't care if you're masculine and brute-like. I DO care if you're ignorant. So if you are nelly AND ignorant, I WILL make fun of you.

Most people congregated in the kitchen while chatting so I went into the living room to start a new discussion area. It worked as a few people followed me. Rob immediately joined me when he found out Mango's boyfriend was an extreme-right wing republican. My partner is extremely knowledgeable regarding politics and history. If you debate him about any political/history issue, he will shoot you down and make you look foolish in front of your friends. And it will be funny. Go ahead and try it if you want. I'm always up for a good laugh. However, because he is thoughtful, he decided to just remove himself from the situation.

Again, I don't care what political party you belong to but if you are ignorant (e.g. extreme right AND gay), I will make fun of you.

Anyway, we were chatting with this other guy we had met. He seemed nice, very intelligent and articulate on political issues. Normally, when drinking is involved, I stay away from politics and religion. I've learned my lesson in the past. He began discussing his days in the military and how he killed someone. Thanks for the buzz kill, buddy. What do you say to something like that? I said, I think I need another drink(s). Excuse me for a moment.

I chugged about 3 beers and decided I could handle the conversation now so I went back. They were discussing how China will be the new super power in 10-20 years. I'm like, "Yeah, but has anyone seen the new Green Day video?"

Then the power went out. Apparently, the baby jesus was listening to our conversation and punished us. It was bad timing because Tim & Donn were getting ready to make a huge meal. The house music in the background was now gone. You could here a pin drop. Mango appeared sad because Deborah Cox and Kristine W. ceased to over sing their fierce anthems! Dear god, what was Mango to do! The worst part, however, was that Mango's voice was now audible from where I was sitting. Ironically, Mango's drink of choice was (or is it were) Mango-tini's. For the record, I did not have one single mixed drink during this "pre-happy hour" party. I learned my lesson the last time I was there. One mixed drink at their place is really equal to about 7 and a half normal sized mixed drinks one might find at, oh, let's say, the Olive Garden.

I heard discussions of rimming, vaginas, scat, queefing, more vaginas and then I heard Mango say the following, "I do not want to turn 30. When you turn 30, your life is over!" And then I think he smacked his own sassy 28-inch waif waist ass and snapped his fingers. It got deathly quiet.

Oh really, Mango? Please remember everybody in the room was over 30, if not 40. This queen is 27. 30 is just around the corner, bitch. Luckily, I was on the other side of the room (and I was at somebody else's house) so I kept my mouth shut and tried to be somewhat respectful. However, were I at a different place, I would have snapped his skimpy li'l Flashdance leotard and said,"You LIVE in Richmond, Virginia and are a dating a far-right republican, YOU ARE ALREADY DEAD!"

Mango left soon after. Whew! People started clapping from across the street. Angels wept. Marc, Tom and Tony began square-dancing. The power came back on. The sun came back out. A mini-marching high school band passed by our block playing Celine Dion's, "A New Day Has Come." It was all very surreal but cathartic. I guess the baby jesus didn't like Mango either.

We had a wonderful dinner and met some of Tim & Donn's awesome friends. Apparently, they didn't know Mango either. He was a friend of a friend or something.

We met Tim & Donn while naked in a hot tub. You can meet some real quality people this way I am learning. We sure did. You should try it sometime.

Posted by durban bud at 8:19 AM | Comments (6)

August 11, 2005

Take Me Out

We went to a play last night called "Take Me Out." Everyone has been raving about it. Hmmm. It was okay. It was about 7 hours too long. And it was about baseball.

There were lots of naked penises. I wasn't expecting that (especially since I was in the second row). It sorta made for some awkward moments.

I couldn't help but notice that a few of the guys looked very familiar. Perhaps, I tricked with them in my slutty days? I don't know. Not even sure they were gay. These guys were quite, um, large. I give them lots of credit for getting up there under the hot lights and showing off their bodies. Of course, they were flawless so I'm sure that helps. I wonder if any of the actors' parents were in the auditorium.

Not quite sure what the message of the play was supposed to be. There were some strange relationships between some of the characters that never seemed to be explained. Then again, I'm not the sharpest tool in the drawer so maybe the message was clear.

On a completely separate subject, I've been getting a lot of Christian themed spam lately. That seems very sinful and morally wrong to me.

Posted by durban bud at 10:46 AM | Comments (8)

July 20, 2005

Making Out

I like to make out. I enjoy it. Some people do not. I don't get this. I would rather kiss you than play with your manly cooter. I know that may seem odd. But I am odd.

Just for shits and giggles, I asked Rob if he wanted to make out this morning. He laughed at me. That wasn't very nice. I was kinda serious though. I would have done it if he seemed somewhat interested. Whatever, his loss. I give good tongue.

When we first started dating, that's all we would do. I remember listening to the Tears For Fears Greatest Hits CD TWICE while we were still doing the spit-swap. My jaw hurt so bad the next day.

I would not give up my cherry until I knew he was "the one" for me. I had given that up too many times before and to way too many trolls. Now that I think about it I do believe I made out with Rumpelstiltskin. Ugh, I wish there was a rewind button.

I was good and I was patient. It was well worth the wait. Every time Rob would try to cop a feel, I would put up my cock-block. I just wanted to be held and loved. Is that asking too much? I was such a dirty, little cock-tease. I still am. Whatever, it prevents scabies crabs.

We still kiss a lot but it's usually followed by sweaty, naughty, hot man sex. Sometimes, I just want some tongue action though. So, if you're at the Blue Moon in Rehoboth, I might accidentally kiss you. Please do not get mad at me. I just like it.

Posted by durban bud at 9:52 AM | Comments (8)

July 6, 2005

Halloween

My friend Matt has an unhealthy obsession with the movie "Halloween." I don't know what the hell is wrong with him. It's very strange and unnatural. Here's the funny part, I have the same obsession. And we're both very non-violent people.

We both can quote lines from the movie verbatim. When I was little, I used a tape recorder to tape the movie when it premiered on network TV. No video, just sound. I would play it over and over for my relatives and friends to listen to while I explained what was happening. They must have been so annoyed. The more I think about my childhood, the more I realize how, um, different I was. I now own the soundtrack. I have 2 DVD versions of the film. I have the vinyl of the sequel music.

My dad took me to see it when I was 8 years old. (I think that's a little odd too). However, I think Matt knows the film even better than me.

Anyway, Matt just spent the last two days with us. He is a wonderful guest. If you are low maintenance, you are welcome to stay with us. If you desire a lot of attention and need assistance to visit museums and clubs, please move on. I hear Marla has a sofa bed and a cool pair of pussies to hang with so you can call her to be your tour guide.

I met Matt back in 1999 through Todd (who you all know if you are a regular reader of my silly blog). We were big flirts but never became good friends until a couple years ago. He finally found a great guy. He dated for a long time but never settled (which is admirable cuz he could have).

Sometimes it is harder for a couple to be friends with a single person (especially if that person wants to go out to bars a lot of the time like Matt did at the time ;-). I just really can't do that much anymore. Not a big fan of the bar scene (and all the smoke). We will go out once in a great while (mostly at the beach) but it's usually for a purpose (e.g. someone's b-day get together). I think luck and timing play a huge role in how we end up with our lifetime partner. But then, I guess it's all relative.

The first guy I met/dated/fucked around with I met through a personal ad in a newspaper way back in 1991. I said I was bisexual in the ad. Please stop laughing. He actually introduced me to DC so if I had never placed that ad I wouldn't be here in DC and my life would have taken a completely different direction.

Anyway, Matt and I totally bonded. He's become a great friend and we love him very much.

I would like to add, however, that he purchased a DVD of Culture Club videos and made me watch them. That wasn't very nice. "War, war is stupid and people are stupid..."

Rob, Matt, me

Matt and me gettin' crazy

Matt & Rob are very photogenic. I am not. There is nothing I can do about it. Some people look great in pictures. Some do not. And that is me. Such is life.

Posted by durban bud at 11:33 PM | 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 8:54 AM | Comments (4)

June 9, 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.

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*Sometimes I do need an Ambien or two.

Posted by durban bud at 3:47 PM | Comments (10)

May 31, 2005

I Heart Ira

Rob and I don't usually go out and "par-tay" anymore. We went through our clubbing phase and what-not years ago. It was a fun time but it got old after awhile. Plus, it definitely takes its toll on the body. On weekends you can usually find the two of us at home, watching HGTV (not my choice but Rob won't watch 'Forensic Files' or as he calls them "death shows"), grooming each other's chest hair and going to bed by 9:00pm. This past holiday weekend we let loose at the beach like we were the Hilton Sisters or Tommy Lee or Lindsay Lohan or Todd Elmer. Luckily, we do not do this on a regular basis.

Saturday morning Rob and I realized we forgot to pack underwear. Great. We thought it was a good idea to buy some so as not to scare the kids. We go to one of those nice fancy-schmancy gay clothing stores. Rob buys a shirt. I get a baseball cap (of course) and we pick up a pair of boxer-briefs. It was a brand I had never heard of but I figure they're all the same. Get home. Shower. Put on my new pair of pretentious panties and realize they are awfully skimpy and...uh...tight. I'm not a fan of briefs and these kind of resembled them. Whatever. Nothing I can do. No one will see them anyway.

I noticed some sort of string with a loop attached to it in the front part inside the underwear. Hmmmm. What could this possibly be for? I thought maybe it was to hold your penis down if you wanted it to lay a particular way. I don't know. I'm not very bright. I show it to Rob who is suddenly an expert on naughtiness and he's like, "That's a cock ring." What? You've got to be kidding me. Rob informs me that guys like to use it so it makes their package look bigger. Wha-wha-what? Oh my god. I vomited. You mean I bought stripper underwear? Indeed, I had. Ew.

Ira insisted on going to some "White Party" that night. Rob and I refused to go. He bought some fancy white clothes just for the event. I took a picture of him before he went which you can see below. You can also listen to Ira's welcome message.

Sunday we all went to the beach. Hung out there for a few hours. Gorgeous weather. Tons of people.

The night before we were given an invite to a Bear-like house party tea dance thingie. I thought, wow this has got to be interesting and dangerous. We all decided to go (me, Rob, Shawn, and Ricardo Montalban Ira).

We arrive. The house was huge and beautiful. Everyone is very friendly. People are scantily clad. Oh no. They are serving kool-aid like drinks. Oh no again. Like Maya Angelou always says, "When someone tells you to beware of the blue colored kool-aid drink cause it's very potent, believe them...the first time."

Two hours later we are naked in a hot tub. Dear god. I look around and realize I'm in the movie "Caligula." Oh no. Time to go.

We left and went to some bar (cuz apparently we had to have more to drink). Had a good time. Went back to the house and I tried to get Bob to perform Cher's "The Shoop Shoop Song" accapella but he refused. It would have been so punk rock. I would have even played the triangle but he still said no. Whatever. Next time. Buy his CD here. In fact, buy two.

Ira took some pictures at the party. Apparently, I like to kiss people when I am photographed. This is also evident in the first picture on my "About" page. Not sure why. I realize I kiss too much. I will work on this. I may post some of these pictures from the tea dance but there are some I can't for legal reasons. ;-)

For some reason Ira took about 20 pictures of me and the infamous Clickboo (who I finally met). Nothing scandalous. Normal pictures. Good guy.

It was a wonderful weekend with wonderful people and I cannot wait to go back. Ira is a gracious host and I love him. And next time I will not forget my underwear.

Click here to listen to Ira's welcome message (this is a wav file. doesn't always work, sorry. bad recording. piece of shit).

Posted by durban bud at 8:41 AM | Comments (11)

May 18, 2005

Hash Pipe

Wanna hear somethin' funny? I studied for a summer in Amsterdam and got college credit for it. AU offered a study abroad program through the University of Amsterdam called "Sexuality & Culture in Society." Are you still laughing?

I was walking aimlessly around campus one day, and saw this little brochure posted to a wall that mentioned the program. I thought, hmmmm, I could go to Europe for the first time (more importantly, Amsterdam), get credits towards my degree AND have my parents PAY for it? Where do I sign up!?!

I scheduled an appointment with the head of the anthropology department (who the program was really meant for) to express my interest. He was a nice guy. I knew he was gay so I tried to work it (so I put my thang down, flip it and reverse it). He made sure to mention that if my motives to attend were for fucking and getting high (his exact words) that I should just forget it; this was serious study. Of course, sir. I wouldn't think otherwise. I found out later (after we became friends and went to leather bars together) that he thought I was some obnoxious frat boy. I could understand the obnoxious part but a frat boy! That's funny. Must be those baseball caps I'm always wearing. Men who wear baseball caps are routinely misjudged. I'm gonna start an awareness organization. Anyway, I had to apply to get into the program. I did and a few weeks later got my acceptance notice.

It was kind of a scary experience for me once it sunk in that I was going. I had never been to Europe. I didn't know a single person in the program. I didn't speak a foreign language. I had no idea what to expect.

The whole drug thing wasn't a big lure for me. I really wasn't that into pot. I always ended up coughing my brains out. I couldn't figure out what the big deal was. I also still kinda felt the stigma of drugs as a big no-no. I used to be very anti-drug (stop laughing).

Fast forward, I get there, take the tram to my temporary apartment, meet the professors, meet the students, get my class silly-bus and let the games begin.

I felt kinda weird though; I was not an anthropology major and most of these people were graduate students, so I got a few "what does HE think he is doing here" stares. I was surprised there were only about 25 students in the whole program. They were also mostly from different schools (only a few of us were from AU) but it was nice to see some foreign students in the program as well.

It was crazy fun though. We did tons of field trips (sex change clinics, condom stores, gay history tours, etc) and heard from some of the most unique people (sex workers, transsexuals, women who refer to themselves as "boys," etc).

Some of the difficult class assignments involved comparing and contrasting sex shops. A couple classmates and I took our notebooks to the Red Light District to do some serious research. It was very interesting; this store has a lot of scat videos; this one does not. This one has a lot of woman on dog videos; this one does not. This one has sounds; so does this one!

Each school day would usually close with a party involving lots of beer. I remember stumbling through the streets of Amsterdam with a straight Italian guy that I had somehow met, who did not speak a word of English. We played pool and just drank all night long.

I didn't smoke much pot but I did (like so many of the tourists) eat the space cakes. I did this mainly to avoid all the coughing. They have since banned space cakes because too many foreigners (read: Americans) were getting really sick on them. Eating marijuana can be somewhat potent to delicate tummies.

Me and this guy Andy also tried mushrooms one sunny day. We went to some pizza place, ate them and sat there 'til they kicked in. I remember hearing "The Girl is Mine" by Michael Jackson, looking at Andy and busting out laughing. We decided it would be best if we moved somewhere less confined. We went to Dam Square and sat on some steps and just people watched for 3 hours. It was incredibly intense, surreal and awesome at the same time. I have tried them a few times since, but nothing comes close to that time with Andy. I wonder where he is.

I met some amazing people on that trip and honestly learned a lot from them. A group of us would sit around and just shoot the shit after school. We were so completely different in every way. I think every type of person was represented. I learned all about S & M and B & D from lesbians. I learned all about the leather scene. I learned all about limits and safe words. I learned about darkrooms. I learned that straight people can be kinky motherfuckers. I learned about butch and femme. I learned about Gender Identity Disorder. I learned that we are all so freakin' different and not to judge so quickly (unless, of course it is something said or done by George W Bush).

I also learned that this experience raised my GPA a smidge. ;-)

Posted by durban bud at 1:23 PM | Comments (4)

May 7, 2005

Please Do Not Call Me At 4:00 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 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 chi 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 5:58 PM | Comments (3)