mmmmmm. cryptic.

My ears spent the better part of the day burning.

It wasn't as bad as, say, a burning sensation when I pee, or when you get cum in your eye (it BURRRRNS) but it wasn't a pleasant feeling.

I tend to think that most anonymous bitch-slaps are all about me, that's just the way I am; this time I had a pretty good inkling that it was about me, if only residually. I don't know why I feel the need for a mea culpa of sorts.

Was it wrong for me to say it? Probably. Will I say something similar anytime soon? Probably not. Do I still feel the same way? Yeah.

I'm sure a large part of this is location and logistics. The things about which he spends his times ranting have little to no connection to my life. I live in one of those square states in the middle (the one with all the cows), and when I mentioned the problem with youth and tina at a GSA meeting last year, people thought I was referring to the new interim chancellor. I don't think I've ever met anyone with AIDS or HIV. Since I don't really relate to anything he says, his blog sometimes comes across as diatribic against all who don't agree with him, and is therefore not my exact cup of tea. Not an "eewww" but a 'meh.'

I don't mind when people fuck and share (provided, of course, that they are not overweight housewifes with food between their teeth). In fact, you'll find more than a few guys in the sidebar with some interesting stories to tell. I may be celibate, but I still have a working right forearm and a 20-year-old male libido.

Some people say that one of the main perks of being gay is that all the sexual repression and norms no longer have to apply. (Sex with horses, anyone?) Some people go through that stage and decide that it's not for them. Whatever. I still say that some social norms are there for a reason.

I've deified sex with love to the point where even my favorite porn is lovey-dovey. I want that. I want a closed relationship, even though I've never tried an open one and don't want to. There are guys with open relationships in my sidebar, and if it works for them, that's fine. Open relationships are fine and dandy if that's what you want, but they're not for me. I want all that stupid old shit like letters and sodas; I don't want to fuck and run I want to fuck and cuddle. If given the choice between hooking up on a daily basis or having sex with one person, whom I loved, for the rest of my life, well, chain me to those bars of the bed I'm staying at home.

This may, of course, be 20 year old idealism talking, and once I grow up and have gone around the block a few times I might change my tune, but you know what? You don't get romantic ideals from 20-year-olds. That's because they're mocked. So much for not being judgemental. I mean, with ideals such as these, is it any wonder that his blog isn't on my list of favorites? Not all bloggers need to be friends, or need to agree.

I'm sorry, even though I don't think he cares. He's a big boy, with skin thicker than, well, I am. I assume that he gets enought hate mail that a sentence-long blog post agreeing with someone that I don't find his blog sexy doesn't really push any of his buttons. As soon as I write that sentence, the less I think that it's all about me, but it never hurts to completely make a fool of yourself by spilling the guts of your heart in one cathartic mess of a blog post.

I'm a gay boy from Wisconsin with a blog who doesn't get nearly as many hits as you might think. I had no idea that what I say mattered in the slightest.

Anal Carts

At the large, dehumanizing company for which I work there is a multitude of carts available for customers. Two foyers filled with metal carts with red trim. Usually, we have strong, silent, white-trashy guys to bring carts back from their parking lot corrals. Today, however, after one guy told the boss, in not quite so many words, to "take this job and shove it," I had to substitute for a hour.

"You want me to what?"
"It's not hard. Just bring the carts back to the foyer and make sure they're not filled with flyers or anything"
"How butch do you think I am?"
"What?"
"I don't know if you know this about me, but I like boys. Moving large objects across parking lots is not something my people do well."

Fortunately, a few days prior, my friend Anna turned me on to the greatest game when we were stuck in traffic. Yes, we get traffic jams, even in those square states in the middle (the one with all the cows).

You take the name of the car, and add the prefix "anal." It works best with SUVs, but it's usually amusing for all cars.

Anal Odyssey
Anal Explorer
Anal Cruiser
Anal Avalanche
Anal Trailblazer
Anal Firebird
Anal Magnum
Anal Viper
Anal Canyon
Anal Safari
Anal Rodeo
Anal Wrangler
Anal Probe
Anal Discovery
Anal Eclipse
Anal Frontier
Anal Legacy
Anal Outback
Anal Phantom
Anal Hummer

All right. I admit it--I used cars.com for help with coming up with some of these. I didn't have a pen nor paper on me to keep a list, and talking about cars leaves me drowsy. But there still is a great deal of fun to be had with 'anal'. Heh. This game had me giggling the whole time, even while I was moving carts (though usually only four or five at a time).

PART DEUX.

I still work for a large, dehumanizing company, but I haven't been blogging about my hatred of customers lately. Here are two little tidbits about customers from the weekend to entertain/annoy.

The first customer, an overweight middle-aged woman, comes to my lane to check out. It's store policy to greet everyone with a smile and ask how they are.

Me: Hi. How are you?
Middle-Aged Woman: I'm fat and sassy.
Me: I can see that.


The next day, another fat middle-aged woman comes to my lane to check out her purchases. (There have been many rotund woman since the previous story, but they were all normal and complacent.) This woman, I should mention, was fat. There is no pleasant euphemism for this woman. She wasn't big-boned. She wasn't pleasantly plump. She wasn't jolly. She was fat.

She buys about $40 of condoms and KY Jelly. Disgusting, but easy to divert my eyes from the packages and check out the semi-attractive father in aisle 8. Again, it's store policy (and good manners) to wish people a good day as they leave the store. As she was loading the bags into her cart, I said "Have a nice night."

Her eyes get wide and she smiles, chunks of bread in her teeth which I haven't noticed before.

"Oh I will. Trust me. I've got the whole night planned. I've already got it set up so that..."

It was at that point of the conversation where I left my register and walked away to aisle 8, where I offered my assistance.

While I may not have any plans in the near future to have sex, I would still like the ability to have an erection, and I'm sure that the conclusion of that woman's sentence would have caused my penis to shrivel up inside my body, and if I ever wanted to have sex, I would have to put my thumb in my mouth, blow, and hope that the pressure would cause my penis to pop outside my body.

There may or may not be an established fetish, complete with online community, for that sort of thing, but I don't want to hear about it. I like my sex fairly vanilla (when I get it, at least).

Have you ever...

...written a blog post, then, while rereading it for spelling errors/grammatical atrocities, experience déjà vu? And, searching through your archives, you find that not only did you write a similar post, but it was much better than the one you just wrote?


If I drank, I'd be taking a shot right about now.


For those of you too lazy to click the first link and peruse the archives:

My back hurts. I sleep dry-humping spooning a body pillow, onto which I occasionally spray the ex's deodorant.

Yes, I really am that pathetic, and yes, I really do need a boyfriend.

A confession

I swear, even after I write this sentence, I will still try and maintain my status as a gay blogger. I don't think that writing this sentence will make any profound change, but I still feel the need to preface this, lest the gay blogging fairy (HAHAHA) comes down with his magic wand (no, it's not what you're thinking) and poof! (heh heh) I become a boring journal of food and angst.

It's not so much a norm against which I'm rebelling, but a more. (Brush up on your sociology terms here.) Not every gay blogger in the sidebar has expressed this sentiment, but enough so that I feel a need to establish my break away from the crowds, in case people think that I too feel that way.

I don't find Michael Phelps attractive.

There. I've said it. It feels good to get that off my chest.

I suppose, if pressured by the gay blogging mafia, I could use one of Sissy's terms. He's a prawn: I'd rip off the head and eat the body. But only under extreme duress would I make such a statement. My heart still belongs to Jake, even if he doesn't go shirtless nearly as often as he should.

Contest time!

There's a meme going around livejournal. You write down a sentence or two, anonymously describing everyone on your buddy list. Then, people leave guesses as to which anonymous comment they are. Here are what people are saying about me.

You say exactly what you're thinking, which is usually awesome even though sometimes it gets me worked up a little (which is good for me). I wish I could be as open about stuff as you are. And no matter how hard you try and hide it, you do write good poetry.

If I were a man, I'd poke you with my dick on a regular basis. I mean that in the fondest way possible, because that's what you deserve. Someday the world is going to wake up and realize that it actually is your bitch. I hope I'm around when that happens.

If I was ever going to make a shopping krew, I would want you on it. You’re the first male ever that I brought into Victoria’s Secret and didn’t complain. You’re really fun to shop and hang out with, but I think if I had to listen to the music in your car for too long I would go batshit insane. I hope you have a better year in college this year.

You need to get laid. You also need to write shitloads of poems about me.

Very few people can be good-natured elitists. You manage to pull it off nicely.

Of course I'll remember you. You have bright red jeans and listen to David Bowie. How could I ever forget you?

There is something to be learned here. I'm not sure what. Maybe I should stick this in when I update my biography next time.


I'm sorry guys, but I'm too lazy to write a sentence or two anonymously describing everyone in the sidebar. That'd get boring. Sixty-some sentences? What do I look like, some sort of punk kid with lots of free time and a penchant for Dostoevsky?


I will say, however, that I have developed crushes, at one time or another, on twelve bloggers in the sidebar, most of whom solely on the strength of their words. I've been reading blogs for a little over three years now, so I've had the time to develop and nurture these crushes. I don't think I would recognize any on the street if they walked past, and only one of them lives within a three-state radius. None of them are old enough to be my dad (I think) but less than half are within an acceptable dating radius (i.e. less than 25). But I still get/got a tingly feeling whenever they'd update.

You'll have to guess for which bloggers I had/have the hots. Everyone on the list (except one) has commented at least once, reads one of my blogs, or has added me to their own sidebar list, so chances are it's someone who's reading this right now. Possibly even you!

EDIT: (Responding to the comments)

Note: I'm sure that a few of you are in your mid-to-late thirties, and even though I technically could have been sired at age 15, I'm not into white trash. We're talking about forty-five here for the cutoff.


No, Kevin, it would not explain the erotic photos of me in your inbox. It would, however, explain the erotic photos of you in my dreams. You made the cut.

Sorry K. I promise though, that if lightning strikes me and I become a lesbian, I'll have a wet dream about you. Except I don't think ladies have wet dreams. Oh well. I'd try.

Sorry Frank. I guess you're not the 'crushable' type. You'll just have to settle at having a lot of sex. I sure that could get old after a while, but you're still having sex so don't complain.

Of *course* you're on the list, Faustus. Even though you're one of my blogparents and I'm not into incest, I'd still totally go to third base, if not all the way, with you.


I'll give the full list on Wednesday, or continue updating this post as guesses arrive.

post deleted.

There was a post here about my thoughts on the NJ Fey Governator, but I've heard conflicting reports and I don't want to jump the gun on what I've heard. I live in Wisconsin, so chances are, the stories are wrong.

He didn't resign because he was gay. He made some bad choices (possible sexual harassment, putting his lover on the payroll) which would have been bad even if he had been doinking his secretary or babysitter.

That being said, it takes a lot of courage to come out, and I hope he's doing okay. It's hard enough coming out of the closet, let alone on CNN, ABC, FOX, et all.

Talking to myself

Bob: So, what did you do yesterday since you had the day off?

Bob: Well, I spent the day watching a French pseudo-musical, then I read a little bit of poetry. I bought some flowers for my friend's mom for her birthday, and I drove my sisters to some classes because my mom was having a root canal. I did a load of laundry, cooked dinner (haddock, mashed potatoes and corn), and then I started reading a book on Benjamin Rush, the eternal footnote of the Founding Fathers.

Bob: Wow. That's a lot

Bob: Yeah, well I also went to the library, registered to vote, babysat for my neighbor for a few minutes when she found out her husband was in an accident (he's okay), called/talked to my Senator (the actual guy, not an intern), and started editing a short story I've been working on. I checked blogs throughout the day, too.

Bob: You do realize, of course, that you're probably not getting laid until you're at least thirty, right?

Bob: Oh yeah. Big time.

Bob: Well, at least you'll make one hell of a trophy husband someday.

Bob: Yeah I will. Too bad there aren't any 22 year old sugar daddies in the area.

Bob: Bastards.

Bob: You said it.

there goes the neighborhood.

Remember last month when I posted about my step-cousin who enlisted and was subsequently discharged from the army?

Guess where he's living.

Right across the hall from me.



Also, I talked to my roommate this afternoon.

He's got the "Deliverance" twang. I swear to god, I heard banjos in the background too. Looks like I might be having sex this semester, whether I want it or not.

Thank you cards

Dear Grandma,

Thank you for the lovely (used) phone card. The next time I need to place a phone call and my cell phone isn't working, my dad's government-subsidized phone card isn't working, and my dorm room's long distance package isn't installed properly, I'll make sure to use your gift. Provided, of course, that the call I need to place is less than 16 minutes and is before the expiration date of September 31, 2004.

Thanks again!
Bob.

PS- How's that onslaught of senility treating you?