I was out back having a cig when my co-worker Rosie came out.
"Oh, there you are. There’s an old couple who wants to talk to you. They say they have something for you." she said as she got distracted by a seagull choking on a chicken bone in the dumpster.
"Oh shit. Tell those old fucks that I’ve left. I don’t wanna see them." I said blowing smoke into her face.
I have these regulars, two 70-year old Jews, who have been trying to hook me up with this other server at their OTHER favorite restaurant. Don’t they ever eat at home? Fuck.
They mentioned her about a month ago. I should have told them from the get-go that I was gay, but I saw hope in their blood shot, watery eyes. So I just tried to make excuses.
"She’s too young for me." I said. "I don’t date anyone younger than me."
"She may be young, but she’s very mature for her age. She migrated from Poland 12 years ago with her mother and they started a new life." the old man said as a piece of parmesan cheese sat on his chin.
O.K. Old Man, if you’re gonna set me up with a chick I’d appreciate it if they were 1) legal and had papers 2) Not escaping from a Nazi occupied country and 3) had a dick.
His wife pipes in, “You can, like, what is it called?” she looks at her husband. “What is Judith on?” He’s already forgotten what we’re talking about and continues eating his caesar salad. “Oh, yeah, Facebox. Or Facebook?” I don’t know what it’s called. But you can send her a message on Facebox and see where it takes you.” she says smiling.
"We’ll see." I say as I smile and walk off.
So today they brought in a piece of paper, which I can only imagine is her Facebox address.
10 years ago when the whole scandal broke out, my childhood priest got accused of molesting some of the alter boys back in the 70’s. Like Jesse and Tiger, he must have been annoyed that all these lovers are coming out of the woodwork. Father Ashwell, or Father Touchwell as we referred to him, was always weird. He gave a lot of strange gifts to some of the other boys— like a snowboard. Was it hush gifts? I would have let him touch me for a new bike.
I’m going to the Hardware store to buy some paint. I am praying that Louis isn’t there. Every time I go, he flirts with me and says weird things. Last time he said, “To know the true color of the paint (it was a little sample) you should go outside and look at it in the day light. Here, follow me.” He took me through the back of the store, past the employee bathroom and out a silver door to the alley where the laoding dock was. No one was in sight. I thought it was gonna turn into one of the Lifetime movies where the girl gets rapped at a hardware store and her cries are muffled by the sound of a jackhammer working on the next street. He said, “Wow, there’s no on around.” and raised his eyebrows, insinuating that I could give him a blow job or… I don’t know what… “Don’t be a pervert,” I said and then went back inside.
Hardware stores in West Hollywood are way different than the ones I used to go to with my Dad. In my small town, there was one hardware store and it was called Lumber Jacks. Every man in there was the tall and thick and wore jeans and had callused hands. If you looked one of them in the eye longer than 2 seconds, they’d turn their head in disgust. There was no way I was getting rapped there, although I did fantasize about it a lot. Having one of them take me in the nail room and well, NAIL me!
Now that I have the option of actually hooking up at a hardware store, I don’t want to! Classic case of we only want what we can’t have.
Things must continue, I return to school tomorrow and I can seriously say that this has been the best spring break to date. I hanged with my best friend for the most part, I love her to death. I also saw many familiar faces. I had fun with someone in particular, but I don’t really know how…
The best relationships I’ve ever been in involved great sex. And the ones that died before they even started, the sex was crap. I’ve tried to get to know someone first (going on a few dates before fisting) but that bombed. Because once we sex for the first time and it was shit, we realized tht all that time spent getting to know each other was a waste of time! From all this, I’ve learned that sex is first, and then you see if you wanna go on a date. But I haven’t had sex in a while, so I’d settle for a date. Or just a fist.
OMG I F*CKING HATE MY FAMILY! I ONLY LIKE ONE OF MY BROTHERS. I HAVE 2 BROTHERS AND I ONLY LIKE ONE. My ‘mother’ just walked into my room and goes “DID YOU KNOW LADY GAGA’S GAY?!” (she knows i’m going to her concert), so I said “yeah, so what?” and she says “yuck!”. OMFG! She’s a f*cking…
I remember telling my Mom that I was gay. I had just gotten back from Spain and was determined to tell her. I kept her up one night as she folded clothes. She was yawning but knew something was up. So after talking about my sister, who’s also a lesbian but has never officially come out, I looked at her and said, “Mom…” It sat at the top of my throat. I couldn’t say it. She then cocked her head and smiled and said, “Ohhh, I know..” and gave me a hug.
As I drove down Bower street, I looked at the Hollywood sign in my rear view mirror. It was framed by a large tree that had been cut into a tunnel so that cars could pass under. I turned onto Santa Monica Blvd. I passed the car dealerships and their sparkling tassel that reflected the sun. I passe the cheap restaurant that a guy took to me on a first date. It’s the type of restaurant you go to on a hungover day for a cheap hamburger, not the type of restaurant you go to on a first date. As I sat in my car waiting for the light to turn green, throwing daggers with my eyes at the restaurant, I see a homeless woman digging through the trash. She’s wearing a Davy Crocketthat in the 90 degree weather. She pulls out a banana and nibbles the last bit. She washes it down with the remains of someones Starbucks machiato. Then I think, “What would I do if the big quake hit?” Still shaken up from the little tremor that happened earlier in the week, I envision the street opening and sucking me up.
Order: 4 strawberry lemonades, Orange Chicken, Cajun Chicken Littles, Alfredo Chicken, Lemon Herb Chicken, a cesar salad and a coke.
Tip: $14.55 (17%)
Tip From the Rooster: If you’re fucking loaded and the service was good (as in your strawberry lemonade was never empty) then leave at least 20%, otherwise get the fuck out of my face you gold toothed mother fucker. Muah!
In Korea, marriage is viewed as a joke. It’s nonsense. If a man can marry a pillow, why can’t I make it real and marry a man? Marriage has become a joke in many countries. Why can’t it become a joke here? Let men marry. I want to be part of the joke!
I was sitting in Peets Coffee when a homeless man swung open the door and made his presence known. He was mumbling and spotted the L.A. Times on the ground, next to the door. On the cover is Jonny Depp as the Mad Hatter. The loony picks up the paper and scoffs. “Jonny Depp used to be an actor. Now he’s just a clown!” He throws the paper down and gives the trash bin a once over before leaving in a hurry.
In an interview with Esquire magazine, Tracy Morgan said the following:
“Jay-Z is our modern-day Marvin Gaye. Marvin Gaye had “What’s Going On.” Jay-Z’s got a song on his new album — “What We Talkin’ About.” What do we talk about on TV? What is the music saying to us? Nothing. There was a time when shit was happening in this country. There was a movement. What’s the movement now? Do you feel anything?
Yes, I do. It’s like an earthquake. It’s ANOTHER movement in civil rights: the legalization of gay marriage. Tracy Morgan doesn’t know shit and the fact that Esquire is treating him like he does makes me want to wipe my ass with this article. In fact, I’m going to. Excuse me.
All I want is a baby. I envy Breeders for that reason. Sure it’s possible to GET a child: Adoption. Surrogates. Stealing. But they all come with complications. Adopting isn’t spreading my gene and the possibility of getting a Baby Trigg is frightening. I babysat for a guy who adopted a baby from Russia and she turned out having turrets syndrome. With surrogate mothers there’s the concern that they’ll take the baby back or not want to give it up once it passes the canal. Stealing a baby seems simple, but how do you distract the mother long enough to put the baby in your gunny sack? So these concerns make me toss and turn at night. It’ll all work out, though, somehow.
I had my mom wake me up 30 minutes earlier than my brothers. My brothers rolled out of bed just in time to brush their teeth and eat a bowl of cereal before heading out the door to school. I, on the other, needed time to go through my list of “things to do.” First was make a cup of tea. Then I’d wash my hair in the tub (I showered the night before, so all i needed was a quick splash of water to wet the fro). I’d then eat my bowl of cornflakes and water (I stopped drinking milk after I found out that my teacher, who we called Gorilla Belly, was once skinny but thanks to milk, fattened up). Meanwhile, the iron was preheating. After breakfast, I picked out my clothes for the day. This was 1997 and I was cool, so I matched a pair of Jnco stovepipes with a Villanova Jersey. It took me a long time to iron all the wrinkles out of the Jnco’s; they were 22” legs, so a lot of fabric to get through. I’d put on my gold necklace (that I shined the night before with toothpaste) and head out the door. Always the first to get up but last in the car. “Jeez, what took so long,” my little brother asked. I thought, “Fuck off. I don’t just roll out of bed looking this pretty.”