- Uncle Stan: He was wearing a boot, which I find very erotic.
- Me: A boot?
- Uncle Stan: Yeah, he twisted his ankle and had to wear one of those brace/boot thingies. I think it's erotic when guys wear those because it they can't run away from you. A cast is even better!
- NOTE: You know how I love my Latinos, well there's something erotic about when one is digging through a dumpster looking for recyclables. Earth friendly, hard working, resourceful and not afraid to get dirty. Sexxxy! What I find erotic isn't always erotic to the next guy.
My friend is dog/house-sitting. She’s convinced that Ted, the curly haired ball of white fluff, is gay. I asked her why she thinks this and she said, “For several reasons. One is that he squats when he pees.” At first I was like, “That doesn’t mean shit,” but then I remembered that I also sit when I pee. It’s a habit I’ve picked up from living alone. Not only is it more comfortable but it also prevents dripping/splattering (which means less cleaning). I won’t sit in public to pee like Ted but I’ll definitely do it in the privacy of my own home.
Besides the whole squatting thing, Ted is infatuated with men. He’ll hump and lick any guy that’s in the house, unless it’s a minority. You see, Ted’s not only gay but he’s also racist. He’ll bark and growl at anyone who’s not white. It’s definitely not a learned behavior from his owners so I’m really curious where he gets it from. I’m sure if he could speak he’d totally quote his hero and say, “I was born this way.”
Nice try, Ted! You can use that for being gay but not for being racist. Now knock it off because it’s not very becoming.
So the other night when I was out, there was a friend of a friend trying to lay it on thick with me. He was younger and shorter and sassier than me. His 22 year-old olive skin was wrinkle free and every time he asked me a question he’d bite his lower pink-ribbon lip. He was being very obvious. So after a few drinks he asked me, “So what do you think my type is?” Oh sweet Baby Jesus, I hate stupid questions like that. I’m honest and say, “That’s ridiculous. I don’t even know you. How am I supposed to know what your type is?” He smiled and said in a seductive voice, “Come on, what do you think my type is?” Well, he was obviously attracted to me so I just went ahead and described myself. “Tall. Blond. Blue eyes. Slim but not skinny. Possibly balding but looks good in a hat… Me.” He put his hand on my arm and said, “Not bad. Now what’s your type?” I looked him in the eyes and said, “A guy between the ages of 30 and 35” and then continued to describe someone the complete opposite of him. He didn’t take this too well. He accused me of being some sort of mind-game-playing-fucker or something like that. I can’t really remember because I had stopped listening to him. The point is don’t ask stupid fucking questions like that. It’s annoying and ugly— and NOBODY wants to date those two adjectives.
A few years ago I hosted my brother’s bachelor party. He and some close friends flew down and stayed with me in Venice for “The Final Fling Before The Ring.” His friends are my friends and my friends are his friends but I was a little anxious because this was one of the first times we were all gonna hang out since I had come out of the closet and I didn’t want things to be different. I didn’t want them to feel uncomfortable, which is a common concern for anyone who’s coming out of the closet.
One morning as we all sat in the living room with massive hangovers talking about the night before, one of our frriends disappeared into my room. I could tell something was up. Now, this guy is no bigger than a gnome. He’s got hairy legs and sweats a lot. Shaking his hand is like grabbing a wet towel. His voice is deep and his laugh sounds like a cannon firing. After about 10 minutes he came bursting out of my room. He had rummaged through my closet and found an outfit. He was wearing a pair of cut-off jean shorts (that I had made out of curiosity), a wife beater, and over sized sneakers. All he needed was a pair of dog tags and his outfit would have been complete. “Do you mind if I borrow your shorts?” he asked and then burst out laughing. He stood there for 10 minutes as we all rolled on the floor holding our stomachs from laughing so hard.
That’s when I realized that I can’t waste time worrying about how friendships are gonna change because of my sexuality. The reality is they’re not gonna change. True friends don’t give a fuck about your lifestyle choices, they’re gonna love and make fun of you no matter what you choose to do.
Summer is the only time of the year I’m able to add to my savings. It’s not a lot. It’s just enough to cover a security deposit or an emergency root canal or a quick trip to Savannah for Gay Pride. I guess those are the things I consider important right now. I wonder what other 30 year-olds savings accounts are like? Do they have enough to cover a down payment on a new home or to pay for the doctor bill when the baby is delivered? Well, at least I can dip into my savings to buy them a new plant for the house or a bag of diapers for the baby.
Yesterday when the manager came to me with a big favor and asked if I’d work a double, I was quick to say yes. I was already at 40 hours so that meant I’d be making overtime. Money, money, money. I’m all about taking advantage of business while it’s booming. I also agreed to do it because I felt bad for him. Earlier that day ol’ Eddie Haskell thought it’d be funny to hide behind the corner and scare the poor guy when he came out of the bathroom. He’s one of those gays that are big and tall and looks intimidating but is really just a softy who spooks easily and somehow always twists their ankle when going up stairs. When I jumped out he flailed his arms and screamed like a 4 year-old who’s not happy to sit on Santa’s lap. He later told me that his older sisters always tried to scare him when they were younger and that he hated it. I felt like an asshole. So I had no other option than to help him out and work a 16 hour day.
Normally by the time I get off work, I’m too exhausted to walk to the bank and deposit my earnings. At the end of the week I have a thick wad of cash in the apartment. It makes me nervous because I’m pretty sure one of my Glade Plug-Ins is going to start an electrical fire and burn the place down and I’ll be out all that money. I know it’s important to always have at least a little extra cash in the house, in case of The Rapture or something, but I don’t like having this much at home. Besides, you never know who’s gonna use one of the sets of spare keys you’ve loaned out throughout the year. That reminds me, I gotta get those back.
I know this guy who stepped in when he saw a dude punch a woman in the face. It turned into a big brawl and he ended up going to the hospital for stab wounds. The definition of a real man, he doesn’t tolerate physical abuse towards women. He’s been in a relationship with his girlfriend for the last 4 years and has never once thought of hurting her, physically anyway. The thing is I think he’s a closeted homosexual. All signs point towards yes. So it makes me wonder what’s more painful for a woman: getting smacked across the face or the sting of finding out that the man you thought you knew so well says that he’s been lying to you (and himself) for all these years and is gay? Women can tolerate physical pain just as well as men (Exhibit A: Sending a 9 lb. baby through their vagina) but when it comes to emotional pain they’re on a whole other level.
If indeed he’s gay then he’s just as guilty of abuse as the other monster who raises a fist. So to any guy who’s in the closet and dating a woman: END IT NOW! Stop the abuse!
It was 1:45 in the morning and I had just gotten home from a night in Boys Town. I plugged my phone into the charger and set it on the counter top. I was brushing my teeth when I heard the sound of my phone rattling across the tile. It was a text from an unknown number. It said, “You didn’t say hi tonight! LoL.” I wrote back, “I’m sorry, who is this?” Come to find out it’s a guy I went on a date with 3 years ago. He left his number on a receipt at work once. I normally don’t do that but he was pretty fucking hot, so I had to break the rules. We went on ONE great date. We talked here and there via text for about a week and then for some reason he just stopped. We never went on a second date. He contacted me 6 months later and tried to set up another date. It’s sad how pretty people get second chances. He flaked on me again. I deleted his number. He’s back again. This is how our text conversation went:
Him: Hmmm. I honestly don’t remember. It was a while ago.
HIM: I’m sure it was me. I was really busy with work and never being in town. I’m sure I didn’t want to start something I couldn’t finish.
HIM: Oh well. Well hit me up if you wanna get together sometime.
HIM: If not then I’ll see ya around.
ME: My gay 65 year old uncle is coming to town in 2 weeks… I don’t know what to do with him. I’m a little nervous. Wanna grab lunch with us?
HIM: Only if he’s a good kisser and puts out! LoL I’d love to! Keep me posted!
ME: Hahaha I’ll definitely hold u to ur word.
HIM: I’m serious. Let me know as soon as u do so I can make sure I’m free.
I’m not taking him very seriously. How can I? So we’ll see if he follows through. Hopefully he does because that would mean that I’ve got at least 1 of the 10 days planned for the “Big Uncle Stan Extravaganza.”