One time…

Personal Bits

…my brother yelled at me for eating all the cheese and mayonnaise in the apartment.

…my sister caught me ripping the head off one of her Barbies.

…I peed myself where I sat because I didn’t want to haul myself over to the bathroom. I had a broken leg.

…I told someone I didn’t actually like them that way and three days later, I got a letter in the mail, torn up, chock full of laughably hateful comments about my person.

…I told someone I liked them that way and he ran like a Japanese bullet train to Osaka.

…I handled my brother’s coveted KISS ARMY album by the grooves and not the label, and then played it fast, slow and backwards, just because he was a jerk to me.

…I was accosted by one of my other brother’s ex-flings because I was his brother. (chew on that a moment)

…I barfed so violently while I was on the stairs on the way to the bathroom, that it shot out between my fingers and painted the walls like a Jackson Pollock painting.

…I told a boyfriend that the crabs I got was from sleeping at his best friend’s house.

My Trip To San Fran

Personal Bits, Queer stuff

I was speaking to Richard online yesterday and he reminded me of the trip we took to San Fran back in ’93. Set the Wayback machine, Mr Peabody…! (Oh, and the following isn’t all that great for nervous heterosexuals at the office or immediate family members – somewhat TMI content.)

I got to San Francisco two days before Richard and spend the first morning wandering the beautiful streets. Well some of them. The Tenderloin was to be avoided back then, according to the front desk. But I did manage to walk through during the day without any trouble. One guy stopped me and asked for a dollar and I said I only had a twenty (like the STUPID dumb tourista I am) and he insisted that I go get a package of gum or a donut to make change. I got out of there fast.

While walking around with bags of shopping I stopped in at The Gauntlet. I don’t know how I knew that this was San Fran’s premier body modification shop at the time, I just did. I had dated a guy who had a nipple ring and I was impressed how he would writhe whenever I touched it so I was intrigued. I entered The Gauntlet and asked the bejeweled woman behind the counter for a big ol’ nipple ring. She took one look at me and my tourist shopping and said “Come back tomorrow”. I relented. She said “Really think about it and come back in an hour.” I walked around the block and was back in the shop in 20 minutes. Ka-CHUNK. Painless, really. Small at 12g (the smallest) but I vowed to “grow” into something larger.

I showed it off to Richard the next day in our hotel room much to his disgust. In the morning, I had to spin the ring to clean in behind it and after sleeping the night, it got kind of… stuck. So I twisted it without thought (or lubricating soap). I fell to my knees in pain. Richard just shook his head and laughed.

We did all the touristy things. It was fun. Then came the night and we wandered in and out of clubs on Castro like good homos making homage to homomecca. After the posing, we decide to do something naughty. We chose to go to a safe sex club. “The 101” boasted its “jack off only” policy and that seemed interesting and yet tame for a firsts timer. Don’t get me wrong, I had been to bath houses before, just not a full on “sex club”. We get into a cab and go.

At the door we were ordered to get naked and were given the house rules: no towels like a bath house, no underwear allowed. Shoes only. No heads below the bellybutton. No penetration. Pure masturbation. We enter the club and it’s pretty open and full of guys milling about. At this point, I realize that my snazzy black dress shoes and black socks make me stick out like a shaved cat in a beaver convention. Guys are wearing construction boots, sports runners, sandals, even a cowboy or two. I’m the only dressy nerd. Richard pees himself laughing. I barely get noticed and blame my shoes completely, not my chubby body.

One guy did notice me though. He was good looking and smiled as he worked his junk, walking towards me. He didn’t notice my footwear! I was gonna get some! I smile and we face each other. He cocks his head (ha!) to one side and then grabs my less-than-24hr-old nipple ring and gives it a manly tug.

Extreme long shot of the exterior of The 101. A shriek blares from the club and echoes into the cool San Francisco night.

Black Eagle

Work

I got the call last night that the Eagle has acquired themselves a new Promotions manager that may or may not be able to update their website and create posters. I was finally (again, for the third time) cut loose from the bar.

I could see this coming a mile away.

Upset? No. I wish he had told me about it sooner, what with Disney coming up and all. But that’s par for course when it comes to the Eagle. They have a history of poor communication when it comes to staff. Ask andrew (if he still reads here…). When I had left three messages last week to see if there was any work to be done, as May came looming over the horizon, I sensed my time with them was up. It has been 10 solid years of on-again, off-again artistic employment.

That, my friend, is a lot of posters. I estimate somewhere over 1100. Not to mention folded calendars, magazine ads and other promotional items.

I have most of these posters on disk. My dream (which may become a reality if I can find a sponsor) is to hold a show of the best 50 or so posters, printed and mounted nicely and all proceeds go to Toronto PWA. After I come back from Disney, I will be approaching some people about this…

Stay ‘tuned!

Don’t Tell them About Their Name…

Celebs and Media, Toronto

…let them guess for themselves when the marketing material arrives at their office

MuchMusic has a long history of covering issues that are important and relevant to youth. Now, we’re delivering arguably the most important message of our time. We’re eager to use our multiple platforms to inspire Canadians to FLICK OFF and get serious about curbing their energy and natural resource consumption.

Now THAT’S how you write a press release. That last bit made me laugh like a naughty school kid.

Originally those French Connection United Kingdom t-shirts offended me a bit, I thought they were juvenile, but this campaign just makes me laugh for some reason.

Who Else Showers in their Gitch?

Celebs and Media

Remember my failed lyrical ode to underwear showering guys? You don’t? Was it that bad?

Anderson, baby! Anyway, apparently Anderson Cooper scrubs his nether regions while covered in boxer briefs.

But he neeeeds to, you understand. Because he’s a celebrity and those cell phone cameras are everywhere. Especially the shower.

As an update: we’ve encountered yet another underwear shower guy, but this one makes the words “peek a boo” his mantra. He ensures the waistband is purposely, exactly half way down across the crack of his ass. The same with his towel. This is no accident, people, he does this with intent. Like a geisha giving her client a glimpse of the nape of her neck, this guy wanders the locker room with his bum half out at every step of his travels.

Fun Facts I Bet You Didn’t Know

Distractions

Humans smelled with their tounges back in the 1800’s.

Han Solo was originally going to be a woman wearing two strategically placed phone books.

If you spin clockwise while looking up at the north star, the person closest to you will tell you to stop.

Passport photos are meant to look ugly.

Adobe Software does not come from Mexico, nor does it have a basement.

The CN Tower does not move 100ft due south in times of war, revealing a missile silo.

There are more diseases on public telephones than your average Hollywood celebrity. Just.

Dolphins actually have a second brain.

Airport codes were created to confuse terrorists.

Capital punishment works only when enforced.

Richard Thomas was told never to remove the mole.

In the opening titles of Coronation Street, the cat (and trainer) got more money than the man playing the theme song.

A Year Ago Today

Hobbies

…I was eager to get up to the campground.

Now I’m not so eager.

The partying late into the night, the inconsiderate drunks, the tire slashing, the bitchy comments sunk squarely and deeply into everyone’s back that thrive in a trailer park, the spiders, the non-recognition for cleaning the pool every morning*, the bitchy comments about how we “voluntarily” cleaned the pool every morning… all can go stuff themselves this year. Actually, I’m not bitter about the actual place, it is quite beautiful. It seemed a handful of people and their attitudes spoiled last year’s mood for me.

So, we’re not seasonals this year.

We cancelled our site mid-winter after a long talk about this summer and what we want to do. After a while into the conversation, we realized that the campground had no place in our plans, emotionally or financially. So we’ve returned our site back to the list and this weekend, are going up to sell the shed and bring home the personal stuff.

*We were compensated by the owners for our summer of pool-boyism, by way of a next year discount!