Food Poisoning/Stomach Bug-The New Model's Diet?

Okay...First off, sorry about the delay in writing. Tuesday night, after darts, I had a bad case of the stomach bug or food poisoning. BRUTAL.

To start it all off, I walked into darts on Tuesday (at our home bar, we were playing away that night), to greetings of, "Heya spunk drinker...Everyone stand back, he drinks spunk fluidly..."

Of course, I had to reply, "It was fluently...I drink spunk...fluently." To make things worse, I have a case of the ole cold sore... So now I'm a spunk drinker who has a blistering case of herpes on his lip (nice huh?).

Anyway, we (Seth and I) left earlier than usual that night. Something was not settling well with my stomach. Long story short...exploding at both ends (food poisoning or a stomach bug).

It's been two days since my incident, and I have lost about 7 pounds (Stef says nothing to worry about, probably water weight mostly). In one of my more twisted moments I thought, "Hey, what a great diet idea. Models would love it...7 pounds in 2 days. I should open a cafe..."

Now most of you would leave well enough alone with that thought. Not me. Always pushing the boundries here. As my still unsettled stomach gurgles from the Gatorade that I'm drinking, my mind focuses on my idea of the Salmonella Cafe or better yet, The Botulism Bar & Grill.

It would be quaint with very minimal lines and models everywhere, wanting to shed weight at the drop of a hat. They would order with a cigarette dangling from their pouty lips, "Yes, I'm on Atkins too, so I'll have ONE piece of sushi. Hold the rice; just give me the piece of yellowtail. How long has it been in the sun? 3 hours? Great, I have to lose 4 pounds before Friday; I only need a mild case. The acid in my diet coke won't affect anything right?"

Another would ask, "Yes...your cook hasn't washed his hands recently has he? I just got back from vacation, and I need to lose 10 pounds in 3 days. Will the E Coli tossed salad (hehehe) take care of that? It will? Grreeeeeeaat, I'll have that with the thousand island that's been sitting out for 2 days. Could I get the dressing on the side? You're a lamb. You have to come to our next party."

All would flock to my cafe to shed those pounds and tighten those abs up (trust me...mine are tight as a virgin). There would be brown bags with the plastic lining (you know, the ones like on the airlines that you can roll up) for those that get hit fast. Toilets would be immaculately clean, and the attendants would make so much money that kids leaving college would want to work there (once they got used to the smell of vomit).

I think that this might be a money maker kids; look for my grand opening in NY or LA soon!

Oh yeah, don't forget to order the creme brulee sprinkled with tapeworm eggs...you want to stay thin right?

deutschmarc

P.S. Looks like I'm not going down to that college town this weekend. I'll have to hunt for MH05 another time!

Martinis Make You Drunk and Say Stupid Things

So there I was, at this party with my roommate Seth. Robbie had thrown out his back again (wonder what, or who, he was doing..hehe), so he didn't make it to the party.

Seth was the Martini Master for the evening, and before I knew it I had 3, then 4, then 5, then 6. I was pretty much in the bag, and was chatting with everyone (knowing in my drunken mind that I was good party guest...right...). Anyway before I know it I am on my 8th martini (Hello, Betty Ford, this is deutschmarc. Do you have anything open next week?). Of course, I had to spill some of it on the guy I had just met that evening and more of it on myself...Party Foul alert.


The party had moved to the kitchen, and everyone was laughing and having a good time, when one of the guests stumbled in and slurred something that no one understood. It happened then... It was that ~Golden Moment~ (you know the one, where everyone is kinda silent, waiting for the next thing to be said.), and I jumped on it. I was going to be the wittiest one there. In that brief drunken instant, I was going to be the funniest guy on earth...hell the universe. I saw it; all would love my humor. I would be king, with one small statement that I had used in the past, and would use now.

What I was going to say was, "Everyone stand back, I SPEAK DRUNK fluently." Commenting on the guy who just had slurred something inconsequential.

After 8 martinis, my oral dyslexia kicked in something fierce, and what I said, will live in the annals of verbal diarrhea for the rest of my days...and then probably longer.

Right at that ~Golden Moment~, I said, "Everyone stand back, I DRINK SPUNK...fluently." (F'n Hell)

I clapped my hands over my mouth (hoping that I had snatched my statement out of the air, shoving it back in my piehole), and immediately started laughing, trying to explain what I meant to say...

Needless to say, it didn't matter; the Golden Moment was tarnished with the filthy statement that came out of my mouth...an instant classic, that I know I'll never live down.

I can't help but laugh, and dial Betty Ford...

Enjoy your cocktails kids,

deutschmarc

Partying Like It's 1999 or Australians Have More Fun

Hope everyone had a good weekend...mine had highs and LOWS...

Friday night I went out with Stef and her husband to a Lacrosse game. I had never been to one, and figured it would be cool. The game was too fast for my attention span, and I would be checking out the guys in the stands when one of the teams would score a goal. I was lost to what was happening.

After the game we went to a straight meat market to have cocktails and just take it easy. The place was packed with drunken women and men looking for that magical event that would last one night. I was bored, so started drinking these huge glasses of Guiness (love that stuff, man). After my 3rd, I decided that I was Australian for the rest of the evening.

So there I was, at the bar, wearing a sensible white ringer (body huggingly tight), and dark blue low-rise Levis (they have become my calling card). My friends had all disappeared to the bathroom and I was just hanging out when this girl walked up to me and started chatting me up.
"G'day, how's it going," utilizing my Australian accent.
"OH MY GOD, you're Australian?"

After that she began mercilessly throwing herself at me, and invited me over to her place to "hang out" for the night...I told her that I came with friends, as I was drinking, so I didn't have a ride home. She said that she would drop me off in the morning. I said that it sounded like fun, but would have to give my boyfriend a call so he wouldn't be worried.

She looked confused and said, "Is boyfriend in Australia like roommate or guy friend?"
"No it's pretty much like here. He blows me, I blow him, and from there it's all downhill...Hey there are my friends; I better catch up with them before I lose them again, but I'll call my boyfriend and get back to you later. It would be really fun to hang out." With that I dashed off into the crowd completely amused.

We left the bar, and I got home around 3:30 in the morning. I slept like the dead, waking to prepare for the party I was going to later. There could have been no way that I could prepare for the embarrassment that would happen...

More coming today; Oh, Australians do have more fun.

deutschmarc

No Means No, Man--No Means No

Okay, so I've been living in the past on these new entries, but I want to get them down before they get lost in brain cells that I know are gonna die from alcohol intake...

We're moving back in time, to that Diner I used to work at, where my character was Chip the Cheerless Cheerleader...

To earn extra money, and make the experience of dining more enjoyable to our patrons, I always used to interact with the server in the section next to me. On one particular night, I worked with a guy named Chet. His character was the "BMOC" (Big Man On Campus). He had to been about 6'4'' and 235 (at least) and was blondish (typical americana type), and he thought he was the funniest/wittiest guy in the restaurant. We used to always have contests to see who would retain the title...

(A Little Background)
The social climate at the time was charged with all of the date rapes that were occuring on college campuses across the country. The most notable being the rape at Antioch where the buzz line "no-means no" was born from and was being chanted over every stream of media. Continuing story...

That night, Chet and I had bantered back and forth, much to the entertainment of our "guests" that we served artery hardening foodstuffs to as a meal. I can't remember what I had verbally stung him with, but before I knew it, he was behind me and grabbed me (both of us facing the same direction).

He pinned my arms to my side as he squeezed me in a bear hug that I couldn't have broken if I tried (which I did). He was thrashing back and forth, and I could feel my face reddening as EVERYONE in the restaurant turned to see what was going on with us "zany" servers (ooh, I'm sorry "Entertainers Extraordinaire"). As Chet was rocking back and forth he was yelling, "Oh yeah, Chip..How do you like that, huh? You're not the funny guy now are you? Are you? Huh?"

My face became a burning shade of scarlet (Hey, I knew how this was looking, and we weren't even in prison). I had to find a way out of the situation. His brute strength was immasculating me, so I turned to the only thing I could do, as the patrons of the diner were pointing and laughing at my situation and as Chet was continuing to ask me how I liked it...

I took a deep breath...and at the top of my lungs...I screamed, while he was still thrashing me like a rag doll:

NO MEANS NO, CHET!
NO...(whimpering)
MEANS... (sobbing a little)
NO... (whimpering again)

The entire restaurant erupted into laughter and clapping.

Chet dropped me, his face reddening more than mine ever could, and said, "You win forever man. You win forever."

That was just one of the nights I had in that place. I think it was my favorite job ever; you got paid for being kinda rude (okay, with my character...really rude).

Let me know if you want more funny diner stories, Kids...

DM

Hey, I Know You--That'll be 5 Long Islands

A friend of mine, Stef, reminded me that I needed to get this story down.

It starts in the crappy town of Alburquerque, where I was visiting a friend, Mario, who was in the Air Force. I was working at that 50's diner I have told you all about in previous posts... What I didn't tell you was my character: Chip the Cheerless Cheerleader. My snide sense of humor and constant hangovers earned me mega bucks and the adoration of many patrons (who got my sometimes crass banter). So there I was, in a new town, with endless possibilities. I wanted to get drunk and flirt my ass off, and maybe get a little action. With this in mind, let the story begin...

Mario and I were all set to go out on the town at 8 PM, which was really early in New Mexico time (I have to be honest...I could drink a helluva lot more then, so we went out early so I could be buzzed when the late comers started getting buzzed).

As we headed to the bar, I decide to make a complete bravado bet...

"Hey Mario, five long islands says that I know someone at this bar."
Mario looked at the clock on the dashboard as he drove, knowing that the bar would be dead and said, "You're on...you need to stop for cash?"
"Funny guy...I won't need it."

We get to the bar called The Pulse, and I noticed 3 cars in the parking lot. We rushed in only to find 2 other people in the bar. I looked them over...CRAP----Didn't know any of them.

Mario laughed as I busted out my wallet and headed to the bartender, who was washing glasses (with his head down). I made that little "ahem" noise to get his attention, annoyed at the fact that I would have to put out for 5 long islands. I turned to Mario as the bartender looked up, and asked him if he wanted the first of his long islands. Mario said "hell yeah" to my question, as I turned to face the bartender, really looking at him for the first time...

"Well hello there handsome, what brings you to this part of the world," the bartender asked?
"Well JR, I think 5 long islands did," I said as I turned to Mario, who's jaw had hit the floor and head was shaking in disbelief. "So JR what are you doing in Alburquerque?"
"Taking a break from _______, you know how it is. What are you doing here?"
"Visiting a friend," I said pointing a thumb at Mario, "who now owes me 5 long islands."

Mario and I nabbed our drinks (after he paid---HA) and hung out at a table until a couple of his friends arrived. One of them was really cool...the other sucked ass (and not in a good way).

Mario's hateful friend, LT (short for Little Troll--he was in the marines, short, ugly, and unthinkably pretentious) was one of those guys who thought he was a 10 and was realistically a 4. We did not get along at all, and after about 5 of his snide comments, I turned to Mario and said, "This little bitch is lucky he's your friend or I'd tear him apart."
Mario, loving a good bitchfest replied, "He's not that close of a friend. More of a mongrel that just follows us around." I smiled...He smiled. GAME ON

The club was getting really busy, and the male go-go dancers (who were straight--and off the military base, earning extra money) were shaking their scantily clad money makers. One of the dancers was a stunner, and LT had been hot for him for a long time. Much to my evil enjoyment, the dark gift was working something fierce that night, and the dancer came over to me and started to chat me up. LT looked like he was going to shit a buick.

I went to the bar to get more drinks with Mario...LT in tow (unfortunately--fortunately as you see what happens next). JR saw me and said, "There you are Deutschmarc. I thought you left without saying goodbye. Next rounds on me." ROCK ON...I was rocktailing it like the big dogs, and I was the beau of the ball. This made LT hate me even more, and I basked in it, as Mario chuckled behind his hand. Apparently LT had made advances on JR, who blew him off completely AND which made it worse when JR bought Mario and my drink but not his (hahahaha).

We finished up our drinks and went to the dance floor to rock it up a bit. Go-Go Boy immediately started dancing by me, then with me, asking me if I was a model in LT's earshot (HA). I said of course I was and was enjoying all that the city had to offer, especially the dance partner. I pulled out a 5 for a tip (hey the boy's gotta make his rent, right?), which he quickly pushed away after saying, "I should be paying you for the dance." (NO...REALLY...I should pay you 20 for making that comment in front of LT--HA-HA).

We sat back at our table after dancing, me with a huge grin on my face; LT sporting the scowl of all scowls. LT turned to me and said, in front of everyone, "You think you're hot shit don't you?"
"You know what LT...I have tried to be nice to you, since you're friends with my friend, but let me tell you, if my getting hit on by 2 guys who wouldn't give you the time of day because of your hideaous demeanor, makes me hot shit in your eyes...I guess I'm hot shit." I then turned to the other guys...
"Guys, does that make me hot shit?"
Mario, "Definitely hot shit."
Keith, "OOooh, I would say...hot shit."
"I thought so...guess we're all in agreement...even you LT...I'm hot shit, and I feel like dancing."

Mario's cool friend, Keith, and I hit the dance floor with a vengeance, while LT talked about me to Mario with daggers shooting from his eyes. After awhile, LT and Mario joined us on the dance floor. We were tearing it up when I heard this yell, "CHIiiiiiiiiiIIIIIIIIIIiiiiiiiiiiiiip!"

I turn around to see the 6 hot gay guys that I had waited on the week before in my hometown. I yell, "Shut the fuck up you guys! (so Brooklyn--I know) How's it going? What are you doing here?"
"We're passing through on vacation," come party with us.

LT'S BRAIN WAS GOING TO EXPLODE-- if he would have been Stephen King's Carrie--I would have been so dead...

So then I'm on the dance floor, grinding with 6 hot guys that all became my buds after waiting on them. Before I knew it, rounds of drinks were bought for me and Mario (because anyone cool enough to hang out with the Chipster deserved a drink). I made introductions, of course skipping over LT, and we proceeded to get hammered with the boys.

LT turned to Mario and said, not unloudly, "What the fuck, did he fly in his own entourage."

Mario replied, "Nope, that's deutschmarc, and if you weren't such a dick, you would be having the time of your life and meeting all of his really cool friends. I'm going to dance. Hey guys, let's hit the floor."

The rest of the night was spent drinking, dancing and laughing our asses off...as we rocktailed it in New Mexico...

One of the best times I've had...and it started with a bet.

deutschmarc

Love Lost or Grow a Set, Deutschmarc

So I went down to a little city where a friend of mine lives (he was in the rolling down the river post), for the weekend to get away from any embarassing antics in my home town.

We went out to dinner at a sushi place after dropping off my taxes (last day of course, who wants to get audited?). We ate so much sushi, because we had to get our money's worth, then dashed (like two horses foundering) to his place to get ready.

I shimmied into a tight shirt, and was miserable from all of the food we ate (but we had to go out--new town--new boys).

We stop off at one bar that was so boring that we almost fell asleep, until I noticed the volleyball court with grass instead of sand. I tell my friend that I've never seen a volleyball court with a grass turf, and he told me that's because it's not a volleyball court; it's a badminton court!

My eyes lit up with joyfull glee, with the thought of both of us with rackets in hand playing badminton. He immediately noticed my grin of exuberance and shot down the idea before I could even sputter it out. There would be no, "Good shot Chap... That slice was top drawer ... Did I tell you Buffy is coming down from the Hamptons next weekend?" in a nasally drawl that the nouveax riche are known for when they play Old Money.

He saw that I was bummed and countered with, "Next time you come down...We'll dress for the occasion." I smiled, thinking that I would need to go shopping for sensible, white pleated shorts, matching white Keds, and a v-neck, long sleeve, light, cable-knit sweater (with the dress shirt tails peeking from under the sweater). I would need a visor to keep the sun from blinding me-- Oh, and socks that get scrunched down (a la the 80's). I turned to him with the image I painted emblazened on my mind and said, "Next time...Definitely."

We motored to another bar that I was well acquainted with from days of yore (or should I say... Days of Whore--hehehe). We get to the bar and spot someone I know from the town I live in... The weird thing is that I always see my hometown friend when I'm in the po-dunk, college town. It is kinda strange (although I've only been down twice recently) to run into him on the off chance of being down there and being at the same place, at the same time.

So we were all hanging out, and let me tell you...I may be a little jaded when it comes to guys in my hometown, because there were a ton of hotties to be looked at in collegeville. I was in heaven...an all you can eat boy-fett. As some of you well know, I have not been partying like I used to...Max--3 drinks a night (at least 6 hours of going out), so I was not in flirty mode. I just looked at all of these guys that I had the hots for and drooled (mentally, of course).

One of my friends pointed out that one of the guys I was checking out was "unclean"... I said, "Unclean as in 'a big dirty whore'...or unclean in that I'll have a burning sensation down below, and a scorching case of crabs?" She replied, "Both and from what I've heard...he's so loose that he's a wind tunnel..." YEeeouch...I thought I could come up with the nastiest analogies.

After that is when I saw him...
Call him Neo...
Call him Jet Li...
Because he was "The One"...

He was about 6'1'', light brown hair, twinkling eyes (couldn't see the color--too far away), sideburns, a rocked out bod, and devilishly charming, perfect grin. If Billy Zane and Morrissey had a baby...It would be my new hotty...

I went dumb...couldn't think. He was too...damned...goodlooking. His red-ringer hugged his biceps and chest flawlessly, and I knew then that I was infatuated with the future ex-mr. deutschmarc (okay, wishful thinking).

My friends noticed my utter bedazzlement as I gazed at Mega Hotty 2005, and asked me who I was checking out. I pointed subtly (behind my hand) and whispered what he was wearing. It couldn't have been orchestrated better...they all turned... at the same time, zeroing in on MH05 in complete synchronicity, and as in usual deutschmarc luck...He was looking our way...BUSTED

I looked at my friends, and looked at the guy (who of course was looking at me, because all of my friends were nodding their heads and whispering to me that he was hot--DUH) and just shook my head with a resigned grin that bespoke of how I wanted to kill all of my friends for being that obvious.

He kinda smiled at me and turned to his friend, who turned to look at me, as MH05 looked down and chastised his friend for being obvious.

THIS WAS LIKE THE WORST EPISODE OF SWEET VALLEY HIGH OR SAVED BY THE BELL...EVER.

The friend that told me about "wind tunnel whore" said that I should go up and talk to him.

No way...

I tried to catch eye contact again, but couldn't because the place was busy. I went to the bar to get another bottle of water (which made me even more miserable--I think that it puffed the rice from the sushi up more). He was to my left, and he didn't look to want to make eye contact, so neither did I..

I needed to grow a set...think I still do...

Anyway, we left the bar, me with thoughts of MH2005 seared into my mind, knowing that I would be coming down to this college town again in the near future.

Must...Find......Mega...Hotty....2005......again.

Wish me luck on the hunt!

deutschmarc

Getting Buzzed at the Airport

I used to have a job that required me to travel quite a bit, and I was used to the drill of airport security (I had never been required to have my luggage checked by security. This would change on one fateful day, much to the embarrassment of the cute security guy…

I had already taken off my belt and shoes (they were steel-toed Docs) and was waiting to get through the plastic arch that was my signal for freedom and food (some smokes and a beer), when, of course, I get picked for a random security check.

The dark haired guy pulled me aside, after walking through the arch (the nicotine would have to wait…), and led me to a side table. He did the wand check, a quick pat-down (was that a lingering pat?...), and busted open my only bag, a carry-on.

His white gloved hands deftly sifted through my clothes, and he spotted some magazines from the gay hot spots (bar mags), which he put aside without batting an eyelash, not before looking at me with a slight smile.

I gave him a smile as he reached my toiletries bag. He took it out of my carry-on and plopped it on the table…

It immediately began buzzing and vibrating, reminiscent of the “neck massagers” that you can purchase in select stores. He looked at the bag, then looked at me to gauge my “embarrassment” at being caught with a vibrator. I knew what he was thinking, so I smiled a big smile of conspiracy.

He immediately reddens from my forwardness in a public place, as I reached for my bag, containing my still buzzing friend. I opened the bag, to save him from further blushing.

And pulled out my battery powered toothbrush, which I switched off with a grin, and returned to the bag. I then looked at him and said, “Amazing how the mind can jump to a conclusion by limited information, huh?”

He flushed about ten shades darker as he hastily re-packed my bag and rushed me through security. I chuckled as I put on my shoes.

As I stood up, he stuttered an apology.

“Hey don’t worry about it…I can appreciate a mind like yours. I would have thought the same thing, only I would have flirted a little more…”

Knowing I had the last word, I grabbed the handle of my carry-on and wheeled myself to the lounge for freedom and dinner (smokes and beer).

Gotta love air travel,

deutschmarc

Booty Call...911

I know I haven’t finished my stories about the wonders of Pride, but this absolutely cannot wait…

Last night I had the hookup from Hell, and not just one of the upper planes of Hades; I mean one of the lowest, of the low, in the bowels of the inferno.

I had hooked up with Jasper years ago (not such a cute face, but great body), and was surprised to hear from him (I guess he was cycling through his “black book”). I agreed to go over to his place for some adult fun, not recalling the reasons I hadn’t called him in the past--- I should have known better (there was a reason that I didn’t call him)…

I make the drive to his place, and trust me…it was fricken far (and I hate driving, ask anyone). I got to his apartment, after having to park about a mile away and hoofin it to his door (god, I hate those “apartment communities”), with the thought that I was gonna have a rockin’ time…

God…I don’t even know where to start…
Here we go…

Our clothes are off, and he is appreciating my form…I am checking his out…Just like I remember (with only a little pudge around the middle-he was still buffed out though).

He said to me, “Man, I love tall guys.” He was shorter than I am (but then again—who isn’t). “You are hot; just like I remember,” he said. That’s all it took for me (I am a sucker for compliments), and we headed to the bedroom for some “adult wrestling.”

He starts exploring me tentatively with his teeth (hey, I’m all for nibbles), but it quickly gets out of control. He starts biting…and not seductively/teasingly…HARD. Me, not liking this tells him that I’m not too keen on it, after he asked me, “What are you thinking?”

We embrace on the bed, and before I know it…I remember why I don’t care so much for Jasper… He’s a talker, and not like the “hot, verbal, dirty talker” talker… He’s the “what are ya thinkin’” talker.

He starts the biting over again, which begins to annoy me to no end, and is made obvious by my now waning excitement for the encounter. He starts gnawing on my shoulder like a hyena on an elephant bone. I stopped him quickly once I felt the tell-tale signs of a hickie. I said, “Hey man, no marks.” He asked, “Why?” I told him that I have a respectable job and can’t walk in with a tramp stamp. He said that no one would be able to see it, unless I was naked, and that’s why he did it…he likes to mark his territory.

At this point I wanted to say, “Listen you Raspy Jasper, if you think going to the Marv Alpert school of seduction makes you a master lover, you’re sorely mistaken, and as far as ‘marking your territory,’ it takes a stronger man than you to conquest me, you Jeffrey Dahmer, ass monkey.” But I didn’t… I was in full man mode; I needed my Happy Ending.

With this in mind, “foreplay ended,” and we got down to business…

We are right in the midst of heavy duty sexual fulfillment. “What are you thinking?” I was thinking, “More action less talk.” Going at it more, “What are you thinking?” Thinking that you need to step up the action…

“What are you thinking?”
That I need to go to the restroom and get you a Tampax Pearl you chick…get down to business.

“What are you thinking?”
That this can’t be over soon enough for me, keep it going…

Then it got to the point where I was almost there…and it stopped.

“What are you thinking?”
That you can’t be at the top of the ninth, and decide to take a break…that’s what I’m thinking you ineffectual dumb f$#k…

He then proceeds to start talking…and talking…and talking. The conversation he started was something out of a cold case file gone John Edwards.

"The reason I was biting you was because I go over your body, sensing your aura, and when I come to a weak spot, I bite. It is a hunger that is insatiable in me. I can't get enough of it."

Cuckoo-Cuckoo

"So what type of guys are you into," he asks.
"I don't really have a type, but if I am going to be in a long term thing, they have to make me laugh," knowing that he would never fit the bill. In his own mind he was the "deep, spiritual, metaphysical, super uber lover extrordinair." He couldn't have been further from the truth.

Then he said, "I can tell that you need someone who is strong, and not just physically." I look at him with scorn (Hi, John Edwards called and wants his schtick back). I stated, "Who doesn't? That statement is like walking up to someone and saying, 'You like chocolate.' You'd have a 98% probability of being right." Come on...if you're going to try to be all "psychic deep," at least be smarter about it.

He then tells me that I live too "intellectually" and I need to start feeling from my heart and not my head during a sexual experience with him, because that's what inflames his passion... Whatever man... There are a ton of guys out there that wouldn't pass me up if I wasn't so picky. I don't need to get all, "metaphysical kinky."

Just when it couldn't get any worse...He started discussing the sex he had with his last boyfriend, and how they would look at each other deeply in the throes of passion and start crying with the connection that they felt as they looked into the depths of each other's eyes...

MY GOD...I thought I was gonna vomit...sounded to "girl on girl" for me (not that anything is wrong with G on G...if you're into it...but I'm gay for a reason; I like being with MEN).

I asked him what his ex was like...He described him. There was only one person who fit that description...AND I KNEW THE GUY PERSONALLY! (God, could this get any better). Of course, I didn't let on to Jasper that I knew the guy. He then told me that the guy moved and that's why he wasn't with him any longer. I wanted to say, "Really, I thought he still lived here and is dating someone else, you crazy bastard."

Before I knew it, it was back to John Edwards again, "You seem to be guarded and have a lot of walls up." YEAH- I barely know you- "I sense someone who passed on from...Cancer....or heart disease...or Pnuemonia..or Polio. Their name starts with an M or a P or an L or maybe a C"- COME ON FREAK!

I took a few breaths...Must have...Happy...Ending...

I guess he caught my look of utter scorn and proceeded to start up again. I got my wish and quickly tried to get the hell out of there...Pappa needed some Spicy Chicken sandwhich and curly fries...

With some awkward chat as I dressed (as f'n fast as possible), I left the scene only to get near the Jack in the Box by my pad, and find it closed... WTF

And that folks was my disaster of a hookup.

I get ready this morning and look in the mirror to see the grand master of all hickies. The grandfather of tramp stamps. The Hickie that all hickies on earth have originated from. It looks like some atmospheric object nailed me on the shoulder. It is a red weal on my shoulder that is tender to the touch. I wanted to ditch work...drive over there and beat the crap out of him.

I won't be able to wear a tank top for at least a week and a half...Disrespectful Bastard. My body is my temple...and my temple has been violated.

So kids, my advice...when your about to have a deja-screw...make notes on those you hookup with...I need to start, and beware of Raspy Jaspers.

Scribbling as you read,

deutschmarc

Enjoying the Festivities-I'm on the Skins Team and Seth Goes for the Gold

Hopefully this blog is working for posts...I was having issues recently...

Okay, so Saturday rolled around, and I was still not in the mood to go to the parade. Seth left early to a Pre-Parade Party (PPP), and I decided that I would definitely not be going. I was still nursing my pride...and my ego from earlier in the morning.

I was also annoyed because I had to play chauffeur to my mom, who needed some running around done until 3:30 (which, if I went, was when I wanted to arrive at the Pride Festivities). Of course I sucked it up and drove Miss Daisy about town, getting home around 4:00.

I was ready before you could say, "Jack be nimble" but Robbie was not, and Seth was in process of getting ready. Time was ticking...I had made calls and all of my other associates were already half-crocked...Must...get...to...Pride...

Robbie finally gets over around 5:20, and we all decide to take the bus up so we wouldn't have to worry about parking. We gorged ourselves on Go-Juice and Stackers (energy pills-more like herbal speed).

We get to Pride after the longest walk known to man (ever heard of moving walkways...a tram...shuttles), and we arrive on site.

We ran into friends...
Did a little shopping...
Ran into more people...
Bought beer tickets (32 ounces for 5 bucks...can't go wrong there)...
Proceeded to get lit up like the 4th of July...

After 3 Mongo Beers...I am feeling no shame, and decided that it was really hot and I should be like the rest of the guys around...SHIRTLESS

So I rip off my shirt (tucking it perfectly in the back of my jeans), and proceed to walk around with the confidence only alcohol could provide. I must have looked okay because people were checking out my stuff left and right...I decided then that I would be shirtless wherever we went for the rest of the evening (Hi drunk---hey that's me).

So, Robbie and I are pretty wasted, but Seth had only had one beer, when we happen upon a booth selling pyrex sex toys, where we happen to overhear that if you can deep throat the ones that are 7 inches or above--you get it for FREE.

Now Seth's nickname is Linda...as in Linda Lovelace from Deep Throat. He says that he can go down on the bigguns without a flicker of an eyelash, and he was standing at the booth that gives stuff for FREE if you can swallow them. He turns to me and says, "No problem." I, in my drunken exuberance, goaded him, pled with him, and finally cajoled him into taking a shot (once the people he knew left the vacinity).

He picked the bullet like model, that had sparkly (my favorite color), pink liquid in it, and finally got it down his throat (after only two tries). Robbie and I were yelling and cheering the entire time as Seth put his newly attained friend in his goodie bag. Seth then grabbed his throat and stated that it hurt, because pyrex doesn't give like human flesh. Hey, at least he could put it in the freezer and on the stove!

We peruse the booths, where I see a classically, good looking guy working the booth where you stick a pin on a map of the city (showing where all the 'mos are located). He had that longish dark hair that was smoothed back a la the 20's. I thought he was sexy-friends didn't think so...

We strike up a conversation, as his eyes wandered over my bare flesh, and I flirted a little (okay- a lot...guess I was over Dart Hotty-Hi, we only went out on 3 dates-which made the flashback of the previous night even worse---DRUNK DIALING THE EX---ouch). I couldn't decide whether to give him my digits or flirt with him more (chose the latter). We smiled at each other through short sentences...I had nicknamed him "maroon guy" for the short sleeve pique polo he had on.

Meanwhile, my friends tempted me with the only thing that could pry me away from a bodybuilding, Versace model...alcohol. I left maroon guy to get rocktailed further...

Our little party in tow...we run into another guy...I'll call him "Southern Drawl", and he was cute, a little too thin for me, but he had just bought about 15 drink tickets, offering to get me a drink as he looked at my chest (the boys). I say abso-smurfly, and we all beeline it to the vodka booth...I was getting tired of beer...bloating (hello, shirt off, remember).

The vodka booth had run out of liquid refreshment (bastards-talk about poor planning). With no drinks, southern drawl guy was left in the dust...we all had to use the cans (Port-o-Lets), so we went to "blue way", where all of the crappers were in a row. I used the "facilities" and washed my hands (total turn-off when I see a guy just use the john and not wash up), and waited for my friends. I lit up a smoke, as my friends were relieving themselves, when a cute guy in a hat came up, begging for a smoke. My peeps, who were finished come over to me during the exchange, just as I said, "Sure you can have a smoke, but you have to do a trick for it."

Which he did, nearly breaking his drunk neck doing a forward handspring downhill. I give him a smoke after clapping, and a brief introduction, forgetting his name as soon as it hit my ears (I mentally called him "hat guy" for the rest of our adventures. We then hear Crystal Waters performing and run to the stage. Hat Guy and I get it into our drunk, machismo heads to rush the stage, and just as we are trying to find an opening through the gays and security, I notice that Crystal was lipsinging her songs. She wasn't worthy of a stage rush, so we all just hung out until it was time to take off.

We said goodbye to hat guy, I gave one last lingering look at maroon guy, and we moved towards the entrance. Seth and I caught a ride with Lana and Bryce (Robbie left early...he was plowed), and we all went to our place for a quick costume change and replenishment, before painting the town (me shirtless of course...).

More to come...
And trust me, there's more stories from that lovely Saturday night.
I hope I run into maroon guy again.

deutschmarc

Friday Night...mare

First off, sorry for the delay in writing…work has been hectic, and life has been crazy. I know that many of you are dying to know how Pride Weekend went…

It was a warm Friday, and I got off work early (as I usually do on Fridays). I was supposed to have a date with Dart Hotty, but wanted to bail. I was in the mood to rocktail it, and DH was usually (foreshadowing) a homebody.

After getting home, I rested up a bit and gave DH a call saying that I had things to do, but felt like going out (hoping, wishing, praying….he’d say that he was going to hang at his house). He said, “Okay, that sounds good. When do you want to meet up?”

Damn

Damn

Damn

It was the beginning of Pride Weekend…I wanted to keep my options open on the possibilities of meeting some other people, without having someone on my arm. AND I had a feeling that I wouldn’t be able to hold my tongue about DH’s ex much longer.

I told him that I would call him later with specifics, but we would probably end up going out around 8. He said that was too early, but would meet up with Robbie and me later (Seth didn’t want to go out…he’d change his mind though-who would sit at home and not be out with the guys?). Perfect… I would have some time to myself.

Since it was Pride Weekend, I figured I’d fall off the wagon for 3 days (boy, was that a mistake…let me tell you). Robbie and I get to the C & W bar we always hit for cheap drinks, and begin pounding them down, all the while playing DEERHUNTER 2000 (fun was to be had again).

After I got a good buzz on, we left for our usual next stop, a little neighborhood bar that mixes Ta-Killya Sunrises to perfection (Reeeeeeaaally strong). After about 3 of those, I am officially tanked (YAY). We run to the bar next door and begin dancing and carrying on there (I, being a dipsomaniac, have to have a couple more cocktails). We are having a blast…are the cutest ones there…and are laughing constantly, when I see Dart Hotty.

Mind you, being mildly intoxicated, I realized that I really did like him a lot (and he was really hot), so we began talking and getting chummy. Out of nowhere, I feel that we need to “talk”, so I drag him outside and begin the conversation that was destined to be discussed. I knew how it was going to end before it began, which made me think, “Why even bring this up. Just go with the flow.”

Jose Cuervo had driven me to the spot where I was at that time (or was it Palm Ln?)…


“DH, I really like you, and I think that you really like me,”
“I do like you, and enjoy seeing you.”
“Me too, but I do have a concern, and it’s about your ex.”
He nods
“I know that you two are still close. No problem. I can’t help but think that there is more than that there though (drunk talk-it makes sense…swear).”
“We don’t sleep together, if that’s what you’re getting at…”
“I don’t think you are. I believed you when you told me that earlier, but there is something there. He is always calling you, and when I’m there, you don’t even mention that you’re busy…Does he know you’re seeing me?”
“Well, he knows that I’m seeing someone, but I can’t tell him your name.”
“Really? Why’s that?”
“I don’t want him to start messing with you and stalking you…”

Pause
Now, some of you know me well, others not so, but let me tell you…I would say, “Bring it!” After all, one of my taglines is, “Don’t think I won’t cutcha. Cuz I can.” or “I will cutcha, let it heal, then cutcha again.” Besides, the Trio of Terror would find merciless ways to torture, annoy, and antagonize anyone that would mess with us without provocation.
Begin Again

“Your ex would really do that?”
“Yeah.”
“You still love him don’t you?” (am I stupid…ignorance is bliss, just go with the flow)
“I care about him,” he said hesitantly and unconvincingly.
“DH, look into my eyes and tell me that you’re still not in love with him.”
(Stupid, party of one, your table is ready).
“I can’t say that I don’t, but I really like you and want to see where it goes.”
“DH, I like you a lot. I think you are handsome and sexy and would like to see where it goes…”
He looks at me with raised eyebrows and a glint of hope in his eyes.
“…but, I don’t think that you’re ready to move forward, unless you deal with the feelings you still have about your past. Until you deal with your situation, you won’t be ready to move forward with me, or anyone for that matter. I like you…you like me…to me that’s all that should matter. It should be a clean palette to work from, but in this case there are some things you need to decide if you want to move forward dating someone.”
He just looked at me….speechless.
“When you’re ready…give me a call, DH. Until then, I hope everything works out for you. Talk to you later.”

Then I left him outside while I trotted in to get my friends and get the hell outta Dodge.

I am sad…I really liked DH…I go home, and do one of the stupidest things that a messy drunk can do…You’ve all played that particular game…

Welcome to DRUNK DIAL THE EX, the game show where you get completely wasted, have an emotional night, then make the biggest mistake you can make at 2 AM.

My ex can be the nicest guy on the planet, and Boyd should get an award for Friday night/Saturday morning-a huge F'n "nice guy medal.

He came and picked me up and we went to his place so I could be an upset, weepy drunk on his shoulder, all the time him comforting me…(so nice that it’s kind of weird now).

He tells me not to give up, and at least I am starting to put my heart out there again. (True…bastard…knows me too well).

I get caught up in a messy, upset-loop, where you look back at all the crappy relationships that you have had, and the good ones, and wonder why the good ones didn’t work out…nightmarish place to be when you're still swaying from liquor.

Of course, there I was resting next to my ex, wishing, wanting, a good relationship, and tearing myself up even more, because my ex was being such a great guy…and we couldn’t even make it work.

Can y’all say drunken, quickly spiraling, depressing blob of deutschmarc? I knew you could…

He was such a Rockstar that he drove me home at 4:30, because I couldn’t sleep.

If this was going to be the beginning of my weekend…I thought I would stay in… Luckily, I’m a bounce-backer, and the rest of Pride was something to be written about, and oh, I will.

Oh, I will…

deutschmarc