I'm dreaming of a Bitches' Christmas

Halloween in Madison is one of the largest parties in the country, usually mentioned in the same breath as Mardi Gras and New Years. The past few years have resulted in riots, teargas and pepperspray. I didn't go out for most of the drunken revelry, but I did catch some of the fun near the end. I live about two blocks from the epicenter of last year's riots, and so on my way home I got to see all the police officers get the tear gas ready and load up the pepper spray squirt guns, and then followed the carnage, laughing at drunk people. It was a good thing.

I brought along my camera, but very few pictures turned out. And no, no pictures of me dressed up as a sexy devil. Sorry guys. It was very very gay costume: red jeans, a fitted black tshirt, a sparkly pitchfork and horns. I even had black fairy wings for part of the evening. No wonder that all the drunk out of towners called me faggot. In fact, I was probably called a faggot more this weekend than I have in my entire life. That's probably one of the reasons why my halloween was 'meh.'

It was too cold out for as much male skin as I would have liked, anyway. Fortunately, I was able to find pictures online from this years halloween festivies, and some from years past. Two years ago, when the weather was nicer, one of the frats all dressed in thongs. MMMhmm. Click for larger.

Most of these pictures are relatively not safe for workish, but they're still fun.

HeartBreak

OHGODOHGODOHGODOHGODOHGODOHGOD

For those of you just joining us, Heart was the name of the guy I dated last spring. He had just undergone surgery, and was having problems with his meds. Those problems made him unruly and emotionally abusive. He later decided to cheat on me and then call me and tell me about it while my dad was having openheart surgery. Intermittently throughout the summer he'd say something mean about me in the gay.com forums.

So imagine my surprise when, on Friday night, he IMs me.

«Heart» hello, enemy mine.
«Me» um, hey
«Heart» in the spirit of halloween, i'd like to offer a truce
«Heart» i know i'm an asshole
«Heart» but
«Heart» well
«Heart» you're a worthy friend


Which begs the eternal question:

Just how many Us are there, exactly, in FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCKKK!

More roommate molestation shit.

On closer examination, it would appear as if the wart on his penis wasn't as big of a deal as I made it out to be. I had a chance to study it a little better in better lighting (same circumstances: he annoyed me, I goodnaturedly started wrestling, and in the course of events, his sweatpants and CKbriefs somehow made their way to his knees) and it's at best a discolored little bulge underneath the head. It didn't seem nearly as disgusting as the first time I saw it.

Also, remember to set your Tivos for the Price is Right tomorrow. He'll be with a group of four or five guys, all wearing white tshirts encouraging people to spay and neuter their pets. He'll have the biggest nose in the audience.

His Little Fella.

It's about average, or maybe a little thinner than average. He obviously trims usually, but it looks like it's been a while, or he did a rush job the last time he trimmed them. Very hairy balls. It comes to an torpedo head, he's cut but doesn't have a mushroom head.

Yeah, I got a look. Yay for goodnatured wrestling that results in his sweatpants around his knees!

You know what? Yay for wrestling, period. Yum

Unfortunately, I got too much of a look.

On the front of his penis he has something that looks like a wart. A pea-sized wart. I asked him about it. It was a chicken pox scar that became infected. He's seen a doctor about it, and apparently it's no big deal.

Except, you know, I'm a shallow type of person and I find warts on penes unattractive.

Oh well.


I still molest him, don't worry. Only now it's mostly tweaking his nipples and slapping his ass.

For those of you without jobs, Shirtless Roommate will be appearing on the Price is Right this Friday. He'll just be in the audience. If you see a guy in a white, homemade tshirt asking people to spay and neuter their pets, and if he has a big nose, well, I've seen his penis. Touched it even, too.

I want to call it Mine.

So. I returned from a super long, boring weekend. I tried to resume sexually harassing my roommate, just like the good old days, but my molestation seemed to have hit a dry patch.

However, we were joking around, and I asked him if the little guy (pointing to his penis) missed me. He asked me not to refer to it as little, and so I asked if it had a name. It doesn't.

He said I could name it, though.

Any suggestions?

Especially yesterday's post about the webcam

I've mentioned in the past my love for a softer world, but I don't think I've mentioned my love for his blog.


Also, due to my mom's controlling bitchiness, I was forced home for the weekend. This means that I miss homecoming, and had to postpone a date yet again. Of course, the real shame is that my roommate will live in a sexual harassment free zone for the next few days. I'll have to start all over on Monday.

Who knows how far I could have gotten with him?

It's a real shame.

Parents: The Ultimate CockBlock.

Can I Touch You There?

I'll have you know that the molestation of my roommate is going swimmingly. I've gone from verbal sexual harassment to awkward footsie to sneaking up behind him and giving him shoulder rubs to tweaking his nipples when he's walking around shirtless to slapping his ass to grabbing his ass to giving him a peck on the cheek.

And last night, through some good natured jocular wrestling, I was able to unbutton his pants, slip my hands down, and brush my hand against the goods, running my fingers along the side of his flacid penis. I was about as surprised as he was.

Actually, I was probably more surprised when he didn't leave the room afterward, choosing to stay in my room and finish watching the movie.

I wonder if the Bait Bus is hiring.


POST SCRIPT: After I posted this, shirtless roommate came over and watched some bad talk show with me. I continued the gropings from last night, standing in front of him as he sat, pulling his legs towards me, and tilting his hips and thrusted. We were both still wearing clothing.

As I reluctantly let him go, I quick copped another feel through his sleep pants. I got him erect. And he was really embarassed.

He totally wants me.

Lonely Bibliobibuli

Don't you just love it when you wake up at 10 and realize that you have to write a poem with a narrative and a conceit by 11?


Lonely Bibliobibuli

I was looking for a fun way
to pass my Saturday night
so I went to this place down the street.
I picked you out and took you home
because you looked interesting—
I hate it when clichés are true:
you can’t judge a book by its cover.
I should have known by the stares of mild annoyance
as I checked you out
picked you out
and took you home.
I thought you could hold my attention
and keep me enthralled
even if it was just for an evening.
I was so eager to get you
when I got home I jumped into bed
and laid your spine in front of me
and opened you up.
I started to lap you up
soak you in
and almost instantly got bored.
I tried. I really tried.
But I just couldn’t go through with it.
I tried rationalizing it. I tried reasoning it.
It wasn’t you; it was me. I was in the mood
for something Russian and decadent.
It had nothing to do with you, honest.
And in a moment of frustration
(I couldn’t stand you just staring at me like that)
I tossed you off the bed
onto the floor
hoped to never see you again
and hoped you got the message.
But no. I’m a good guy at heart
I got back in my car
and drove you back
I even walked you to the door
before shoving you back inside.
I got back in my car and waited five minutes
before I went back in
and tried finding someone else.
After all, I was lonely
and it was a Saturday night.

The Sky Is Always Falling

A friend of mine died this weekend. She starved herself to death. She was not allowed to go to school for the past two weeks, after her lung collapsed. The doctors pulled her out of school since her BMI was 12. No, that's not a typo.

Her roommates tried talking to her, and getting help for her, but were unsuccessful. Her parents were on vacation for the past month and didn't return until Monday. Her roommates, who lived a floor below me last year and one of them dated my roommate, had planned to call them yesterday morning. Her parents still have the legal power to keep her in the hospital for treatment.

Unfortunately, she fell asleep watching tv sometime Saturday night. Her roommates walked downstairs and found her dead on the couch.

gay.com proposal.

«Him» what are you studying?
«Me» I'm an English major
«Him» i love you
«Him» thats cool
«Me» you what?
«Him» i'm in social work
«Him» english is so importent (sic)
«Him» are you going to be a teacher?
«Me» well, I hope to write, but teaching is my backup
«Him» i love that
«Him» i'd love to marry a writer
«Me» um.....

Dirge

It's about 4:30 Saturday morning, and I can't sleep. I'm just feeling too alone.

I'm tempted to log into gay.com and hook up with someone, just for the brief pleasure of body contact. I'd have to work it so that I could stay overnight at his place, just because falling asleep with a guy is wonderful and I could really use some cuddling right about now.

I mean, I won't. But I'm tempted.

The body pillow just isn't working for me, anymore.

I almost grew a set.

At the bar last night, I almost grew a set and talked to a guy. Red shirts were very in last night at the Plaza, but my guy had a little goatee thing, and I'm pretty sure he was making eyes with me all night. I was like, 87% ready to go up and start talking to him. I was even feeling fairly butch since I played a game of beer pong earlier in the night. I could totally do this.

However, I hate my friends for two reasons.

1. I was chewing gum last night, and one drunk friend returned from the restrooms she snuck up behind me, reached around, and grabbed my pectorals (or rather, where my pectorals should be). I was so surprised I bit my tongue, hard, and I spoke with a lisp for the rest of the night. (I'm better now, honethst.)

2. Even with the lisp, I was still thinking about heading over there. $2 Long Island Iced Teas can do wonders to a person. However, the Long Islands did wonders to another one of my friends, who tapped my shoulders, whispered in my ear "I think it's time to go home" then turned around and vomitted on the table behind us.

I then decided that maybe it was time to take that bitch home.


You know, whoever came up with the phrase "bros before hos" needs a good solid punch in the face.

Why Bother with PostSecret?

I am secretly slightly pleased when people ask me to hook up with them online. I always say no, but it's always nice to be asked. In real life guys no one ever seems to be interested.

Oh Wikipedia I love you.

The first National Coming Out Day was kicked off by Adam's "coming out" speech that some remember as a little over the top. With such subtle phrases such as "been suckin em for years" and "miss that feelin only an ultra-erect penis in my ass can give me," [National Coming Out Day] won't soon be forgotten.

Since yesterday was, in fact, National Coming Out Day, I spent a bulk of my spare time trying to convince my shirtless roommate to come out of the closet and make out with me.

I mean, sure, he's a Republican, but considering my track record (someone emotionally abusive, a giant eight year old, someone taken, someone who doesn't like me, and someone who plays Magic) he'd probably fit right in.

Unfortunately, I spent so much time trying to get him to come out (I was thiiiiiiis close to taking a shower with him), eventually the clock struck midnight and I was stuck writing my 5 page paper on Newton until the wee hours of the morning.

The event for the most part has been a success. I say "for the most part" because many remember that fateful day 4 years ago, when Adam [the founder] or "Rocket" as collegues know him as, allegedly tried to "service" over 37 men in one sitting prior to his yearly speech. Apparently they were too much for him and he was unable to attend the ceremony... "He was going strong one minute and the next thing we knew he was unconscious and covered in various mens DNA. It was horrifying"

I've been a bad, bad girl

Last night, I hung out with a friend of Dorothy Parker Boy, a guy whom I've chatted with online fairly regularly, and met for coffee a week ago. The friend's advice was banal as best (just go for friendship first, take things slow), but he started calling me things like 'cutie' and 'Bobby Sweetie.' He and I watched a movie, but he kept cuddling up next to me and his hands got busier and busier.

It was so hesitant and awkward I don't even know if it even counted as sex.

And for those of you who've been reading the blog for a while, it should come as no suprise to you that I am now, in fact, a giant ball of angst.

It's not so much guilt that I hooked up with a guy, because it didn't feel like a hookup. All I could think of is of how I thought he said he was seeing someone, or how he was a nice guy but not my type, or how I went over there asking advice for Dorothy Parker Boy, or how the friend said he'd call and maybe we could hang out tonight.

Ugh.

oh wait, that's right

I gave up overly whiny, pseudo poeticky posts like, a year and a half ago. Sorry bout that.

Anyways, Friday night wasn't so bad, really. My uncle had some photographs in a gallery downtown, so I went to the opening reception for that, and hung out with some lovely Japanese people from Madison's sister city. It was a dual show, with local artists and artists from Obihiro. And, I might add, that the Japanese have a wonderful use of color. Everything was a lot more vibrant and lush than I would have thought.

Included in the thought that everything was vibrant and lush included me after the Japanese beer I had at the open bar. MMMMmmmm.

Actually, no. I didn't get drunk, but it was a very good beer with a name that I could never pronounce.

And then, after the reception, just when the long speeches were starting, Dorothy Parker boy and his friend picked me up and took me to the concert. It was a good concert, except for the massive amounts of smelly lesbians at the concert. (Is that redundant?) We were like five rows from the stage during most of the show, but by the encore I had made my way up against the stage and almost got my hand stepped on by Carrie, who is, in fact, a guitar machine.

Though, you know, the whole thing with Dorothy Parker boy was a bust. His friend ended up positioning herself inbetween us the entire time, and she actively ignored me, or would repeat my quips to Dorothy Parker boy and pretend they were her own. DPB might have asked her to interlope, since going on a date with someone who's already admitted to not 'digging' you as much as you 'dig' him is going to be mighty awkward, but I would have much rather not been a third wheel on my own date.

Oh, and he hasn't called or IMed me since.

After the concert they dropped me off and then went out to the bars, not including me in their plans. I went to my roommate's from last year's house party and danced for like, 3 hours and won a 'drop it like it's hot' contest and worked off a lot of my frustrations on the dance floor.

Not enough, but a lot.

Barrymore Theatre Presents: Sleater Kinney, with opening act The Ponys

So it was nice and all, for you to offer to take us to the concert; what wasn’t so nice and all was that you kept with us at the concert. I thought you just hopped out of your car to share a smoke with us, but my eye cocked when you took out your Parliments, your lighter, and the fourteen fifty. And then when your ticket came, you were always the fulcrum, always butting between the middle of me and my date for the concert.

You went on about the most banal things and seemed to almost actively ignore me and deny me my place in the conversation.

That time when he leaned in, his lips grazing your ear and said "this song rocks" that should have been me and that time when he made a little face at you, then did a little eighties dance jig thing, that should have been my face and when you borrowed his hoodie when we went outside for a collective smoke it should have been me whom he gallantly offered his sweatshirt, it should have been mine and when you offered to take him out to the bars after dropping me off, I should have said something. I was going to the bars, anyway. I could have tagged along.

Stupid bitch.


Of course, there does exist the very possible possibility that he wanted someone else there to buffer the night, since he made it clear that I like him more than he likes me.

However, I'm still choosing to blame the interloper.


Fuck I’m a frustrated man of action
he should have gone with me
Fuck I’m a frustrated man of action
he should have gone home with me

Too lazy to find the link

I went out to the bars with my roommate from last year. I'd forgotten how much I love him. In a totally fraternal, platonic sort of way, of course, like his love for me.

I'm not exactly sure how it happened (redbull and vodka will be the death of me), but I do remember his asking to be a member of my wedding party.

Which is of course, a really sweet thing to offer.

It's not like I was anywhere near about thinking about it, but in a slightly related note a slightly tipsy Dorothy Parker Boy talked with me online when we got back from the bars and let it slip that he thinks I "dig" him more than he "digs" me. Which is, in fact, probably true, and, in fact, a big surprize, since I thought he dug me to the approximate amount to which I dug him.

Booooo.

And a related booo in that the two of us are still going to the sleater kinney concert tonight.


Yay awkwardness!

Assignment.

The Greatest Minds of the Modern Era Club decided to hold their annual meeting here in Madison. Two of the most notable attendees at this year's meeting are the great theologian Karl Barth and the eminent philosopher Bertrand Russell. During the hotel's happy hour, Barth and Russell eye one another warily. Puffing on one of his favorite Baccarat cigars, Barth moves toward Russell, who is lighting up his expensive Bjarne pipe. As the two finally stand face to face, enshrouded in smoke, Barth speaks. "You, sir, are naïve," he says calmly, to which Russell responds by saying "and you, sir, are even more so!" It is reported that this was the only meeting between the two thinkers, who never exchanged another word. What did each man mean by charging the other with naivete? How can we understand their charge in the historical context (the 1920s) in which they wrote?

My History 514 (Europrean Intellectual and Cultural History Since 1890) professor is such a goof.

Awkward laughter.

It figures that the only guy who even remotely passes for attractive in my creative writing class is also, by far, the worst poet. In an almost amusing way.

Normally I try and respect other people's art, but this was just too much.

The assignment was to write an ode, and he chose to write an ode to the cross on the necklace of this one girl he hooked up with. (Yes, I know it's bad to assume that the author is the protagonist in the poem, but bite me.)

My favorite stanza:

I wanted to grab her arms and rip them off her sadistic body,
pin her down until she died from my penetration.
That sun golden figure flapped about as I pounded her,
offering anything short of redemption and rebirth.

Well, so much for developing a crush on him.

Oh, Billy

What? Dorothy Parker Boy? Whatever happened to Billy?

Well, Friday night there was this big dance sponsored by one of the gay organizations oncampus. I wasn't really planning to go, because I don't really have any friends who were up to going to the dance with me, and I won't know anyone there, and I'm terrible at going to things like that alone. (Dancing with myself is something best done alone in my room, thank you very much.)

But Billy talked me into it. I know him, so you wouldn't be totally alone he said. It wouldn't be so bad. The bastard.

We walked to the union, and after we paid the cover and went in, he said "oh my god, is that..." and then ran into the middle of the dance crowd. I was still walking in, and didn't realize that he had run off, I just saw the back of his head disappearing into the crowd.

I wasn't really sure where he went, but once I found him I found that he was making out with someone, and so I felt awkward about going up there and dancing with them. I held up the wall for a bit and made small talk with someone who looked like one of Billy's friends but I couldn't be sure. Billy's friend wasn't in the mood to dance, he was just there for the eye candy and to swoop in when people got too drunk. I did not enjoy Billy's friend.

And then I left and bumped into a very intoxicated Dorothy Parker Boy coming back from a cigarette break, and made a little drunken small talk with him while he tried to walk up the stairs. While I was helping him up the stairs, I got a text message from Billy, asking where I was, complete with sad face. I helped Dorothy Parker Boy back to the dance, and left him in the hands of one of his friends.

I then made my way back to the dance floor, only to see Billy making out with a different guy. I continued to watch from the wall, half festering with bitterness and the other half bobbing to the beat, hoping someone would notice me and ask me to dance. (No one did.)

I went to the bathroom, and resolved to leave and say to hell with him. As I was walking past the floor, I noticed that Billy was making out with yet another person. Well, I couldn't be sure if that was Billy since it was from a distance, but I wouldn't put it past him.

So you'd think that my Friday night would be ruined, right?

Wrong. Well, yeah it was, but not so bad as you might think.

About two hours later, after watching some tv and pouting, I get a phone call from Dorothy Parker Boy. He was drunkenly stumbling home and decided to call me, saying "I was almost a bad boy and almost hooked up with this guy, even though I've never ever ever hooked up with anyone before, but then he took off my pants and I was like 'NO!! I'm going to Sleater Kinney with [Bob].' And I was a good boy and I thought you should know oh shit I just bumped into something."

Now, that's no Shakespeare, but after dating emotionally abusive Heart and the emotionally stunted Billy, that sure was poetry to my ears.

(And yes, even I wanted to throw up a little bit in my mouth after rereading that last paragraph.)

I had a wonderful time with Dorothy Parker Boy yesterday.

Even the Chinese restaurant where we met for lunch thought so; my fortune cookie read: Your present plans are going to succeed. His said something to a similar effect, though I don't remember.

Then he went to the library for the afternoon because he still believes in doing homework for some odd reason while I went home and sexually harassed my shirtless republican roommate.

Dorothy Parker Boy came over after dinner and we went for a walk, spending a couple of hours laying on the docks, holding hands and finding objects in the clouds like a rorschach test.

(Yeah I saw you roll your eyes, mister, and the baby jesus cries at your cynicism.)


And when he mentioned that he was majoring in Russian Literature I didn't cream my pants on the spot, as I would have thought.

I did, however, get a semi.