Zoo!

Two nights ago, Initials had a poor night's rest, and I think you can infer why (ba da bum). When his alarm went off at 7, he grumbled, turned off the alarm, and went into the other room. He didn't get enough sleep and so he called in sick to work, and by 7:15 he was back in bed snoring.

By 10 AM he was awake and well-rested, and after watching the View (we'll miss you Rosie!) and brunch (strawberry shortcakes) we decided to gay it up (in the fun-loving sense of the word). And what could be gayer in a fun-loving sense of the word than going to the zoo?

We got to see the monkeys! and polar bears! and penguins! and rhinos! and zebra! and giant tortoises! and fish! and birds! and ostriches! and bison! and all kinds of animals that call for the use of exclamation points.

Unfortunately, there were two schools there on a field trip, and the 7 and 8 year olds running around, making noises, disgruntling the animals, and getting in our way. The little bastards.

They were really on our nerves by the time we got to the lions. Both lions were lounging in the midday April sun (those lazy beasts), the female on top of a boulder, and the male under the tree. As we watched the two from behind the glass, five 8 or 9 year old boys bounded up from behind us and went directly in front, pressing their little snot noses against the window, trying to get a better look, followed by an exasperated father/chaperone who stood in back, arms crossed.

And as we watched, the male lion got up from his resting spot, stretched regally, and walked over to the boulder, jumping on the smaller one and then climbing up to where his mate was relaxing. He readied into position and then mounted her.

As soon as he was in position, a blond boy turned to the chaperone and yelled, "I think he's going to POOP on her!"

Which made the chaperone, Initials and me laugh hysterically while the young boys switched between watching the lion "poop" and at our laughter, not understanding just what was so funny.

Eventually, the chaperone gained his composure, and yelled something about tigers, and the boys ran off.

Asshole

I fully admit I was an asshole at Initials birthday party. There are three reasons why.

1. We went to a German restaurant/bar type thing for dinner. The word 'Haus' was in the name. While it wouldn't have been one of the places I would have chosen to go for my birthday, Initials studied abroad in Germany in high school, and the place does have its own brewery out in the suburbs and has an unusually large selection of good beers on tap. Unfortunately, since his birthday was on a weekend, he didn't realize that there would be a polka band entertaining the crowd the entire night.

2. His friends are all lesbians and Dungeons & Dragons players.

3. Dinner was supposed to be at 7. That's what the email invitation said. How many people do you think were there at 7:45? Three. Out of twelve confirmed guests. Really, there was only one person there, since the guest of honor, Initials, doesn't really count as a guest, and since he drove me, I don't fully count either.

At 7:50 another person showed up, and we were finally shown to our table. At 8:15 someone else showed up (to be fair, he had called Initials at 6:45 saying that he had missed the bus and would be about a half hour late, which puts him at 7:30, but whatever). At 8:30 the lesbian couple showed up. One of them is a vegan, so on the way they realized that the German Haus probably wouldn't have anything for her to eat, so the two stopped off and ate dinner elsewhere, though being overweight lesbians they did split three appetizers between the two of them. More people showed up, with similarly bad/rude/unbelievable excuses for being late. Traffic was bad? Traffic was so bad as to be over an hour and a half late? You couldn't find a parking spot? It took you almost two hours to find a parking spot? Wanted to finish something at the office? Who's at the office until 8 at night?

Initials was pretty sauced by the time that everyone had shown up, and so he didn't seem to mind, but I was sitting next to him, annoyed at everyone's tardiness. I mean, for my birthday if no one had shown up after 30 minutes, I would have left, not sit and drank more at the bar.

This was my first time meeting most of his friends, and I ended up being rude and indignant on Initials behalf. They were pretty rude to me back, but at least I had a good excuse.

4. Oh, and I was the designated driver. So I was rude, indignant, and bitter.

Happy Birthday

Initials' birthday is Saturday. I bought him some geek DVDs and tickets to Urinetown.

Is it weird that my mom called me yesterday asking for his address so she can send him a birthday card?

I think its weird.

Sometimes I'm Goody-Goody...

...Right now I'm naughty-naughty.


Everyone likes posts about sex, and everyone likes giving advice, so here goes.

• Initials and I are in need of some good sex music. I tend to like things with a more of a harder edge, like The Faint while he enjoys Jazz. The Faint can get a little, well, violent-sounding, which isn't always a good thing, and I think jazz is incredibly boring.
  
  
• I think kissing after analingus is gross, and I don't like to do that. Initials, on the other hand, sees nothing wrong with it. His lips are on my good parts, so he says I'm only getting it secondhand or whatever, but I still say it's gross.
  
  
• Should I tell you guys about the threesome Initials and I had, or should I respect his privacy? He did find the blog about a week ago, and wasn't entirely pleased with what he saw.
  
  On the other hand, he did say he wouldn't read the blog again without my permission, and I was about an inch away from fisting for the first time.

NB--

I realized this weekend that I hadn't updated the list of blogs in the sidebar in the dropbox in, well, forever. And after going through them all, I had to delete almost half due to blogs being deleted, forgotten about, or switched over to a podcast format (which I tend not to like).

And now my sidebar links look all puny and 98 lb weakling like. And we can't have that. I want them big and strong, like my imaginary boyfriend.



Leave links in the commentbox for suggestions to blogs to add to the list. Thanks.

I Want: A Poem

When I wake up tomorrow I want your forehead resting on my sternum.
I want you to absentmindedly take your pencil in class
And write my name on your notebook cover. I want your sweat to taste

Like rock candy. When I wake up tomorrow I want your breath
To smell like nothing and your teeth not to have that awkward film on them.
I want your hand draped on my chest but not in a way

that makes me feel bad about my chest hair. I want your
Stubble to be as soft as a pair of cat pajamas. I want you to suggest
We sit in the back row at the movie theatre. When I wake up tomorrow

I want you to be already awake and watching me sleep, but not at all
Creepy about it. I want you to write poems about me that are good but
Not as good as mine are about you. I want you to want me when I wake up tomorrow.

---

I wrote that poem last semester and included it in my senior thesis/manuscript. A while ago, I let Initials read the manuscript, and he was impressed with it. Unfortunately, he took the last two lines of this poem to heart, and has since written me two poems in the past week. He didn't seem to catch on the fact that I want the poems to be good, just not as good as mine.

At least I don't have to worry. Mine are better.

Casanova

I was reading an essay on Casanova's memoirs by Clive James when I realized something: I have, by the age of 22, had almost as many sexual conquests as Casanova had. I haven't kept exact count, mind you, but if memory serves me correctly, and my estimation isn't off, it's up there. It's close enough. And I'm not even that slutty, in the grand scheme of things. (I'm also keeping the definition of sex wide open, including oral, mutal j/o, and other 'not quite sex but close enough' types of intimacy, which has bumped up my number considerably.)

I mean, if I'm sluttier than Casanova, where does that leave every single dirty gay blog out there? There's a fair amount; I wouldn't venture a guess as to how many, but while searching around I've stumbled on at least two dozen blogs dedicated to the butt-thumping, cock sucking adventures of cumsluts across the country, and around the world. I bet if I logged into gay.com, or manhunt, the chat rooms would be filled with people who have had as many sexual partners, if not more, than Casanova. And what about all those slutty gay men who don't have blogs?

And perhaps I'm giving this Casanova character too much credit. I mean, he did live over 200 years ago, when sex wasn't nearly as available as it is today; today for gay men it almost amounts to ordering a pizza--putting in all the flavorings you want, make the phone call or email, and within 30 minutes or less you've got sex. Or a pepperoni pizza. But still. Casanova's name has been entered into the English lexicon, alongside words like lothario (which comes from a name of a character in a play), Don Juan (also comes from literature), wolf (which presumably comes from fairy tales) and Playboy (no explanation necessary).

All I know is that I feel like a slut at the moment.

EDIT:: Ok, so maybe my math skills aren't quite as hardcore as I thought. I feel moderately less like a slut.

Boys! Boys! Boys!

I'm a bad cruiser, both in the sense that I do it all the time and because I am about as subtle as Rosie O'Donnell at a buffet. (Sorry for the metaphor, all you Rosie-lovers. I'm actually a pretty devout watcher of the View since she's joined the cast. It was just the first fat celebrity I could think of. I know--since the Sopranos just started its last season the other night, and what's-her-face is cohosting the View today). So yeah. About as subtle as James Gandolfini at a buffet.

I do it all the time. While walking down the street, I note which guys walking I would sleep with, and which ones I wouldnn't, and which ones I wouldn't necessarily say no to, but wouldn't bend myself backwards trying to seduce. While walking, I look into restaurants and look for cute guys, and if two are sitting next to each other, I imagine that they are a couple. Even when driving, I look out the window and hope for DILFs driving their children to school in minivans, or in their first real car that wasn't inherited from their parents.

Fortuntely, Initials is a cruiser, too. Not as bad as I am, but we've developed a way of identifying and communicating cuties coming our way, spicing our conversations with inadvertant "yes" or "no" or, if the situation dictates silence, we talk in sign language: a rocking of the closed fist for yes, the first and middle finger snap shut for a no.

Of course, nothing has ever come of it. Sure, a few guys have cruised me back, not as many as I would like, but some. A few have even cruised Initials and me when we are walking together, which is proming. (We're thinking about finding someone for a threesome.)

Errata

While working on today's post, I received an email from UW-Wisconsin, stating that all of my school accounts have been deleted since I graduated X number of days ago, with no warning. Unfortunately, all of the pictures on the blog were hosted on the University's servers, and have disappeared. Of course, the email address through the University is the one on my resumes and all official business, putting me in a tailspin. Please stay tuned while I try and reload all of the pretty pretty pictures onto blogger's servers.

Long live our Google Overlords.


NB--It appears that the rotating bannerhead doesn't like being uploaded using the blogger system. I haven't quite figured out what I'm going to do yet. Also, I've updated the bio link in the sidebar.

The Boys All Want To Sex Me

Yes, by now I'm assuming that everyone has seen this video of Alanis Morisette covering the Black Eyed Peas and has been thoroughly amused by it.

But does anyone know why? Is her new album going to be an ironic covers album, a la Paul Anka's Rock Swings? Because that would be tres awesome. Or did Alanis just get bored one day and decide to have some fun with what is arguably the stupidest yet fun song ever to top the charts. I mean, if I were a multi-million selling recoring artist, I would do shit like this all the time.

Since user participation is all the rage these days, if this is leading to an ironic covers album, what other songs would you like to see parodied? Personally, I'd like to hear some Bon Jovi, Paula Abdul, and Pat Benetar done Alanis-style.