Strip Darts??-or Hey Did You Bring Gay Back Up?

Okay…so my date…Not too impressed…

I realized the MLH (Mega Latin Hottie) is more like LSSH (Latin So-So Hottie). We had already set up the date and time to play some darts at a bar that I don’t like to frequent often, because there is too much attitude for my liking.

Anyway, I got a call on Friday from MLH, and he informed me that a girlfriend of his wanted to play darts so they were going to the bar around 10:00-10:30, and then he asked me if I wanted to meet them out. HELLO..didn’t we have a date? Did I sniff too many white-out bottles when I was a receptionist? Did I eat too many paint chips as a kid? Every conversation we had led up to our Friday date…

I took it in stride, and told him to call me when he was on the way to the bar (they were going to cab it).

I got a call a little later, and he told me that they were going to a different bar, which happened to be another one my ex frequents regularly. I told him that it might be uncomfortable if we went there, but then I rethought it and said that it was fine (MLH had to choose the 2 bars that my ex frequents).

I get another call a little later saying that he and his friend were on their way. I called a cab and jetted up to the bar. Since I used to go to this bar a lot, I knew about half of the patrons, and the cocktail server gave me a big hug and asked me how I was doing (right in front of MLH-HA I'm popular). The bartender, who knows me by name (of course) got my drink, and after I had my lovely libation, I sauntered into the side room to meet up with my “date.”

Imagine, to my surprise, when I found out that he brought 2 (yes two) LESBIAN friends on our “date.” I was a little mortified. He brought gay back up. I was left out to dry. They were talking and chatting each other up as I sat there, not saying a word. HOLY UNCOMFORTABLE BATMAN.

Just as I was about to chalk it up and call it a night…I had a change of heart and thought to myself, “I am going to change this situation around and have a good time no matter what.” So, being any good gay man, I bought a round of drinks, and we all began to play darts.

Long story short…I won 2 out of 3 (which meant the loser had to pony up for drinks for the winner- 2 free drinks - YAY - the night was already getting better).

We went to the lesbian bar down the street, and LSSH (which is the new title I gave him after that night) paid for my cover. I got hit on by a lesbian, got the only male bartender’s attention for a little gay guy who was being ignored by the 2 angry lesbians working the bar. LSSH’s friends were asking what was up (after about 5 shots; their tongues had loosened up a bit - hehehe - lesbians with loose tongues), and if I was interested in their friend. I said, “Hell yeah, but that he was being skittish around me.” They said it was because I was really hot and tall – swear…not pumping myself up here.

I did look good that night. Low rise jeans, tight long sleeved shirt with sleeves pushed back, Kenneth Cole loafers and my Gucci belt (Lovely).

I hit it off great with LSSH’s friends (who took off without telling him, leaving him in my care). I poured him into a cab after a little make-out session and took a cab home myself, after promising to call him the next day (AFTER HIS REQUEST-important note).

Saturday I called him and left a message, and didn’t hear back from him until yesterday. I think he invoked the 3 Day Rule…which is stupid, because he wanted me to call him. He said that we should go out again. I said that could be fun. If we go out again, I decided that he needs to be the one who initiates it. I won’t be calling him first, so I hope he isn’t holding his breath.

More stories to come kids, and remember, when life gives you lesbians, make lesbian-aides.

I Still Love ABBA - or Thanksgiving Wine Leads to a Good Time

I love Thanksgiving. F’n love it!

As the weather cools, and I may have to bust out a turtleneck, I am always reminded of the fun Thanksgiving was for me and my friend Janet.

Janet lived with my mom and me when I worked at the diner. Janet also worked there and she needed a place to stay, so in order to save my mom some cash, Janet became a roommate (one of the best things that could have happened in my life).

Let me describe her for you. She was a vivacious (still is), full figured, curvy girl with a cutting sense of humor. What I forgot to mention is that she could have been Kathy Najimi’s twin sister (the nun from Sister Act).

Janet and I were holy terrors at work with our biting banter and brutal comments. We loved each other dearly (sniffle sniffle)…

We used to hit all the gay spots in town and get rip roaring drunk until we danced it off, ending up at home in the wee hours. We rocked! She would give out autographs, because everyone wanted a piece of paper with “Kathy’s” signature.

The holidays were our favorite time…We had a routine…

First, we would go in 50/50 on a “keg” of wine, which would be half gone before dinner at 3 (Mom liked to eat early).

Janet and I would enact our improvised stand-up routines during the feasting, making everyone laugh and shake their heads.

After dinner we would help clean up (still drinking…I might add) and sit, visiting with family & friends until the bottle was gone.

Now that we were feeling fine, and it was around 7 pm, we would take our disco naps. Refreshed and invigorated, the getting ready would begin. Janet would pop in the ever-classic ABBA Gold, and showers would be had.

We would hit the town on Thanksgiving night with fervor only those who have spent the day with their families would understand. Janet would sign autographs while blessing people, and I would make out with the hotties that I met.

The next day would be brutal in the hangover department, and we would head to the diner to work our shifts and reminisce about the previous night!

To this day, whenever I hear ABBA, I think of my Rosie (Janet) and swear that I can smell turkey cooking.

Love you J! Miss you more than you could know.

Strip Darts?- or Hey Is That a Cold Sore on Your Lip, or Are You Just Happy to See Me?

After breaking up with my ex (again), I realized that re-hashing the past is not a pastime that I want to continue doing. My ex is a great guy in many ways…but the time has come to cut the past and live life forward, which brings me to this blog entry.

I have a date! It is this Friday, and I am really stoked about it, and very stressed out. “Why?” you ask, because last night I had the tale tell signs of one of the banes of my physical existence. Cold Sore…

I have talked with my LMH (Latin Mega Hottie) every night this week, and have been as giddy as 13 year old girl (I’m retarded, I know). He’s 35 (did I mention Latin?), comes from a good family, has a job, has a car, and most importantly has a sense of humor (AND owns a PS2 – when he told me, I wet myself a little, luckily, I was wearing black pants). All I want to do is make out with him when I see him – which is bad, I know, but good because there is chemistry.

He is very complimentary and has a great smile…

So here’s the deal…We are going to meet on Friday to play darts at a bar that my Ex sometimes visits. That could be a problem, not on my part, because I’m the one who’s dating. I am not a total ass-monkey though, and know that I wouldn’t want to see him on a date so recently after a breakup. On the other hand, I’m not the one who’s not dating…

So there’s that issue, which hopefully won’t arise. The second is that I don’t have a car right now, because the clutch in mine is going south in a big way. I haven’t been able to take it into the shop yet.

The third issue, you’re asking? I’m developing a cold sore right in the center of my upper lip, which means if I can’t get rid of it before Friday…no making out. I repeat NO MAKING OUT. Dammit… My friend said that I was like a 13 year old girl, because I am so concerned about it. Hello…it’s herpes…on my lip...But I think I did say, “Oh my god…If this doesn’t clear up before Friday, I am gonna die…I mean…I may have to cancel my date.” Which, of course, my friend made fun of me for saying, but he was nonetheless excited for my juvenile jitters.

I have taken every precaution in order to ensure that my lips are clear and kissable for Friday, yet there still is the car issue… Oh well…

So LMH and I are going to play some darts…I told him that I wasn’t that good. He suggested that we play strip darts. I said that I may be up for that, once I warm up.

I’ll keep you all posted.

Fairies in the Mist or Tramp Stamp Please.

Living in New York, going to school full time, and working 2 jobs was one of the best times in my life. I remember it as if it was only yesterday.

Since I actually lived outside of Manhattan (in Queens – no jokes a-holes, not that haven’t already heard them), I stayed in the city often after class. Anyway, so I used to go to the bar that I loved the most, Splash. I knew all the bartenders there due to doing my homework there as soon as the bar opened (which was 4 pm back then). I was always toting my backpack in the bar, bellying up, and whipping out my notebook, as my favorite bartender, Victor, would whip off his pants and trot around in his boxer briefs.

So that was my life then…but there was one night in particular that brings a tear to my eye.

I had gone out with my friend from Alabama, Elena, and we hit the town with a vengeance. I was sensibly dressed in a tight white v-neck, black Versace jeans, and shiny black Oxfords. I was ready to party.

Elena ended up pooping out around 1:30 (something about school tomorrow…whatever). I poured her into a cab and went back into the bar and lasted until 3:30 (as best as I can recall).

Stumbling out of the bar, I noticed the strangest thing, that there was a fine mist hanging in the air. It couldn’t be classified as fog; it was if a micro rain had been suspended in the air. Mind you, it was an unseasonably warm April. It was 55 degrees at 3:30 in the morning, and considering it was the North East…It was sweltering.

The mist did not allow me to see more than 30 feet ahead, and I was pretty lit, in search of the subway entrance to get myself home.

I started walking with a mission, to get on the 1/9 north to Grand Central. The problem was that the mist was obscuring the street signs, so I became lost, although the street lamps had this wonderful haze around them that made everything all right (You know what I’m talking about – that happy drunk place you get where nothing matters).

So there I was, walking along, enjoying the night, and still not finding my subway entrance. I stopped and gazed at a street sign, hoping that it would direct me to where I needed to go. About this time, my shirt was plastered to my chest due to all of the moisture. It was a wet t-shirt contest, party of one.

I looked up to the sign again, as someone rounded the corner… Hottie alert! He looked at me, looking at the sign and said, “Oh little tourist…are you lost? (Sarcastic bastard-I loved it)”

Immediately, I retorted, “Hey, I’m not a tourist…I live here…(mumbling now) I just can’t find the 1/9 entrance.”

He laughed and told me that he was going uptown too and would get me there. Whew, my problems were solved, but not before I noticed him checking me out top to bottom (hehehe).

We walked along gaily, in the magical, misty, pre-dawn to a subway entrance I hoped was far away, so I could bust a move on the guy who was my guide to home. Before I could say, “Hey, wanna make out?” he turned to me and said, “Man you’re really hot.”
I had to respond with, “Thanks, you’re white hot (OKAY- before you get all Paris Hilton crazy on me…I used to say white hot all of the time. It was the perfect way to describe someone who was a stunner…so hot that it was white…), and before I knew it, we were holding hands.

Walking along we finally find the subway entrance and descend to the platforms, smiling at each other often. As we were waiting for the train, we were alone on the platform and before you could say, “Hey do you wanna make out in the subway?” we were going at it like Mikey D and Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction. Seriously, it was absolutely crazed. Pushing each other against the dirty walls of the underground as we devoured each other (whew..need to take a quick break in writing and catch my breath…) Okay, as were are going at it like to two knights dueling in the joust of love, I started to hear applause and cat-calls. I looked over and noticed a crowd of guys finding their way downtown, on the other side of the platform. My buddy and I broke off grinning and bowing, just as our train arrived.

We hopped on the empty car and went at it again. I’m surprised my shirt wasn’t ripped…Anyway, the Grand Central exit came, and I jumped through the doors as they closed, only to realize that I had not given the guy my number…He stood there standing, thunderstruck as the train slowly pulled away…his hands on the windows of the door. I mouthed, “Sorry” and hopped on my train home to Queens.

Next morning…
I woke up after two hours of sleep (no problem, the energy of the city fed me), and I jumped into the shower. It was going to be a scorcher (about 69-70 degrees, so I pulled out a cute, tight t-shirt to show off the boys, but then I looked in the mirror…

ONLY TO SEE THE MOST GI-NORMOUS (giant + enormous) HICKIE ON MY NECK, SHOULDER-BLADES AND SHOULDERS. DAMMIT!!!!!!

I yanked out a light wool turtleneck with a long neck and put it on without folding it down (Hopefully I could pull off “artsy” with bleary, red eyes).

I got to school and met up with Elena before class…and of course, she noticed the sweat dripping off of my forehead.
“Hey, Deutschmarc, why are you wearing a turtleneck on such a lovely day?”
“No reason.”
“Show me your neck.”
“You’re weird. Why?”
“You would usually wear a t-shirt…Show me your neck. Why are you wearing a turtleneck?”
“Fashion before comfort. (One of my favorite taglines).”
She gave me a dirty look, and finally, I relented, showing her the purple bruises developing.

She let out a long burst of laughter, pointing and said, “Nice TRAMP STAMP…whore, tell me all about it.”

I recounted my story to her, tearing up at the point where I did not give Hottie my number, to which she said, “There’s always another guy, DM. Are we going to East of 8th tonight for cosmos?”

“Do you have boobs? Of course we’re going…”

I look back on that night with a wry grin…If it was a movie, it would be called, “Faeries in the Mist.”