A Fate Worse Than Seth

Editor’s Note: Following Tuesday’s entry, I have gone into hiding in fear for my life. Seth has demanded a chance to guest blog so that he can set the record “straight” before he tears me and all of my belongings to shreds. Here’s his side of the story. 

Honey, I have got to sit down and have a cigarette. It’s good Andrew isn’t around, because I am just too hung over to gut him properly today. 

Seriously, give me just a second to light this and I’ll tell you about it. And honey, get me a BV and Coke, stat. Just a splash of Coke, momma needs be able to taste her Black Velvet. 

Ok, so I am pissed I swear nothing he wrote about happened. Jesus. I have told him and told him not to talk about me in the goddamn blog. Asshole. If he shows his face at work I’m going to 86 him first and ask questions later. 

Girl, top me off I’m a little low. And let me tell you, stay away from Taffi. God, I hate that cunt. You know what that piece of crap did to me yesterday? I was making meatballs and blueberry pie for Christmas Eve dinner at work. 

Weird? Fuck you. It’s gonna be great. I went to the store a little baked, ok? Jesus, you act like I spit on your mother. Which I should have, for giving birth to you. God that's good, I need to be writing that shit down. 

Yeah, I’m feelin’ the BV. Girl top me off, I’m half-empty. And keep that goddamn bottle of Coke away from me! Anyway, yesterday afternoon I’m cooking up a storm and Taffi just showed up on my doorstep. She shambled right up to my door with a case of Bud Light like the goddamn Day of the Dead mascot that she is. You know, I don’t think she really works. I swear she just collects a salary for staying away from work. Jesus, I’d pay her to stay away from me. Ha! 

Girl, this glass ain’t gonna fill itself. Just give me the bottle. Christ, if you want anything done right you have to do it yourself. That’s the problem with you people, you think being a bartender is easy but it’s work keeping full glasses in front of you bitches. And it’s REAL hard to keep a glass full in front of me, that's the truth! 

Where’s my lighter? There we go…..mmmmmm, that’s good. Yay, I am just starting to feel like myself again. And let me tell you, Andrew is at the top of my list but Taffi is right behind him. I am going to perform a public service and cremate her ass the first chance I get. What did she do? I’m getting to it, Jesus you’d think a person could have a drink and try to recover before getting the 3rd degree. 

Well she dropped in, so I let her roll some meatballs and mix up some berries and feel like she was good for something other than fertilizer. Ha! Give me a splash, I can almost see the bottom of my glass. Anyway, I was enjoying a little tiny Pendleton and Coke, just for fun. Well, apparently every time I turned around Taffi was topping off my glass. I am not kidding, and I didn’t notice until most of a bottle was gone! No, she wasn’t topping off my glass like this---oops, didn’t mean to spill---she was really topping it off. And it wasn’t a fifth either; I was drinkin’ the big girl size. 

Well thanks to that cunt, I drank whole goddamn bottle. Thanks a lot Taffi! Bitch. That gallon of Pendleton was supposed to get me through the weekend. I think she went home when I called Aaron and dumped his know-it-all ass. Goddamn bitches, I hate both of them except I love Aaron. Well most of the time, but sometimes I just want to strangle him! God knows, that’s the only way to get rid of him because he pays no attention whatsoever when I dump him. Except he’s so cute and he folds my laundry, you should see how he sorts it into pile by color. It’s so cute, he’s a good kid. I’m feelin’ great now, tho. 

What are we doin’ here, let’s go someplace and get a drink. Just let me finish off the last few drops of BV and we’re outta here. And Andrew, when I catch up with you you’re gonna need Taffi’s embalmer. God, I cannot wait!

Paul Announces His Candidacy

Editor's Note: For those of you who missed it, this is the text of Paul's speech announcing his candidacy for Congress. It's gonna be one heckuva campaign!

My Fellow Americans:

Yesterday we were treated to the revelation that Senator Larry Craig (R-Idaho) plead guilty in June to soliciting sex from an undercover police officer in an airport men's room. This comes on top of last month's bathroom arrest of Florida State Rep. Bob Allen (R), Young Republican National Federation Chair Glenn Murphy's arrest last month for non-consensual oral sex on a male, and of course the Mark Foley Congressional page scandal last fall, Jim West the recalled Republican mayor of Spokane, disgraced minister Ted Haggard, etc. etc. etc. These men lied and mislead their constituents and followers, and it must stop. Therefore, I am announcing my candidacy for the Congress of these United States with a simple platform: my fellow Americans, I am a Republican who is openly, unambiguously a hypocritical gay manwhore.

Revelations of bathroom sex? Not with me. The only revelation is what I haven't done in a bathroom, and that's only because you can't fit both a horse and quadriplegic in a handicapped stall. Congressional pages? Are you kidding? Try to imagine me with a swarm of 18 year old boys in tight khakis who are willing to do anything to get ahead. It'll be like Caligula on Angel Dust. And the leaders of the Republican party will be able to tell my constituents, truthfully, "Jesus, what the hell did you think he would do?"

If you vote for me, I promise there will be no more lying to a faithful spouse. Curtis sure isn't the picture of fidelity, but guarantee I will tell him exactly what I do, when I do it, and who was involved (if I catch their names). I may even let him join in, unless the guy is really hot or the room is just too packed with men for him to find a place to squeeze in. But I promise you that my doings, like everything else in my relationship and my life, will be WIIIIIIIDE open. And Curtis will be there right beside me, or under me, or swinging somewhere from the rafters.

And you won't get any hidden hypocrisy from me. I'm perfectly happy to praise the "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" policy while I shove both hands down the pants of the President's Marine honor guard. Sheesh, have you seen those guys? Damn right I won't tell, because words simply can't describe everything I'd do to them. I pledge that my deeds will clearly and unequivocally contradict every moral position I take. Not only that, but I will make every attempt to openly perform the acts I oppose even as I denounce them. There will be no sweeping under the rug, my constituents will be able to rely on my up-front, in your face, complete hypocrisy every moment of every waking day. I'm proud to open this brave new frontier in Republican politics!

As for gay issues, you can count on me to champion good, old-fashioned Republican repression of all things gay while simultaneously using my position and influence to avoid the pain I inflict on others. My first act will be to fight to deny any sort of benefits for gay couples, even as I put Curtis and a whole troop of undocumented Czech houseboys on my government health insurance. Gay Republicans have a strong track record of evading the harm they cause others, and you can count on me to uphold that proud tradition. So if you believe these revelations have hurt our party, and you want to see an end to furtive bathroom trysts and exposed hypocrisy, vote for me with confidence that this sort of thing will never be news again!

Mother is....Displeased

Editor's Note: Today's guest blogger is Madge. Let's all be nice to her; she spent most of last week in the outer boroughs of New York City, trapped under one heavy thing after another.

I'm sorry, but this has got to stop. Andrew, this is your blog not mine and I am not happy that you are writing about me all the time. Ok, so the sinkhole thing was pretty funny and I laughed and all, but come on. Did you really need to write about me getting dragged to every str8 bar in Jacksonville? Really, come on. You've got Paul and Curtis, write about them for a change. Write about YOURSELF, aren't you doing anything stupid and embarassing in Austin? Well, tell people about it.

And I'm sorry, but leave my mother alone. She's the head honcho at the credit union; mess with her and she'll check your credit. Then you'll be wish you'd never written about me. Hi mom, I had a great time in New York and I love Jacksonville, don't worry about me!

So in case you didn't know, I went to New York last week. It was James's birthday and all, so I planned a little Madge trip to the city to celebrate. And I'm sorry, but I needed to get away. Jacksonville is a pit; you have to drive 20 minutes to get to anything. And it's hot and muggy and the men aren't that cute. But I have hooked up a few times, don't tell my mother. And no, I'm not going to tell you about it. I know all you bitches are out there just waiting to hear how Madge got trapped under something heavy. Well I'm sorry, but I'm not telling you anything.

But I will tell you about New York! Well I'm not going to tell everything, but Madge had a goooood time. I'm sorry, but when I'm on vaca I go out and I get laid. I did end up in Queens that one time, but that was by mistake. I don't do bridge-and-tunnel unless I make sure I have a BIG reason. Ha! Well my last night there I found one. I was out with James, and at the stroke of 3 am I met Mr. Right Now, and he was PACKING. And let me tell you, Kris's little girl almost fell over when she felt that. And I'm sorry, but I was not going to let my 6 am flight get between me and that. No way.

So we went back to his place. And boy did we have a good time, I haven't had that much fun since my trip up and down the Empire State Building. Ha! But Madge had had a little too much to drink, and Madge was feeling a little spent. And Madge fell asleep. Oops! Yeah, so I crashed and woke up at 4:30 am. You should have seen me, I squeezed into that shirt and jeans and was outta there in record time. I raced into James's place, got all packed (I mean my luggage) and flew down to the car waiting for me downstairs. Barely made it, but I didn't miss my flight. And I'm sorry, but it was so worth it!

Kisses to everyone in Seattle, I can't wait to come see you guys!

Meet Taffi's Cat: Goodbye Kitty

Taffi doesn't have much time for living things, aside from the vegetables from her garden that she pickles like they're her liver. But if she had a cat it might well be this one.

Oscar the nursing home cat can sense death

His name is Oscar. He's not the friendliest cat. But he has an uncanny knack for predicting within hours when nursing home patients with whom he lives are about to die.

Perhaps, much like Taffi, Oscar enjoys feeding on the occasional soul.

Every day, Oscar makes his rounds among the patients, entering each room and giving each patient a sniff. When he senses that someone is near the end of his or life, he will hop onto their bed and curl up beside them. Within hours, without fail, the patient will die.

Same thing happens to the crowd at Changes when Taffi walks thru the door. Only it doesn't take hours for the crowd to die away, it's practically instantaneous.

Dr. David Dosa, a geriatrician from Brown University in Providence, tells Oscar's story, noting that the feline has never been wrong yet.

Unlike Oscar, for Taffi "Wrong" is her middle name.

"His mere presence at the bedside is viewed by physicians and nursing home staff as an almost absolute indicator of impending death," Dosa writes.

Seriously, I think this cat could give Taff some lessons. Sometimes her victims don't die, they're just afflicted with warm, salty, flat beer. But that's a whole other story!

A Few Notes

Apologies for the lack of entries lately; I've had plenty of material but very little time. I've been in Austin the last 2 weeks, very busy with work and almost as busy socializing. Yuki is here of course, but I also hunted down Chad Ballentine and ran into Brad the Bartender (now construction foreman) from Manray. James's old boyfriend Jacques is here for the summer, and my social circle is rounded out with their various friends and acquaintances. I've barely had a moment alone to sit down with my thoughts.

That said, I do have a few thoughts. First and foremost, has Little Adam completed his move? I haven't been able to find out and I've been holding back a barn-burner of a blog entry until he's completed his escape. Once I hear he's fully moved out and more or less safe from retaliation, I will publish.

Madge is in New York for James's birthday, but tales of her visit have been almost nonexistent. Has anyone heard anything? Let me know, we need to complete the trifect of Madge entries before I'm really comfortable moving on to torture someone else.

And if there's anything else going on, let me know. I'll be back in Seattle late Sunday night.

Austin Evengelicals and Madge Meets a Cougar

(Updates I and II below)

First off, happy 4th of July! This is a great holiday: we get a day off to blow stuff up and remember how our founders told the King to suck it, we were bailing. Sadly, no fireworks for me this year. I'm in Austin and it's raining like there's no tomorrow. Word has it, this is the 40 days and 40 nights of rain leading up to the flood that will wash clean the sins of Texas and open the way for the Rapture! Praise! Well, at least according to the woman with big hair who was testifying in line at the Austin Whole Foods the other day. Apparently, the impending Rapture didn't alleviate the nice lady's need for organic greens and designer sel de mer. The pierced, mohawked skater punk ringing her up was clearly disgusted by all of it, but I just stood there and revelled in what an odd place this town is.

In other news, our Madge has added an encounter with a cougar to her Florida adventures. Our heroine, seeking to make friends, ventured out to the Clinique counter at Macy's the other day to see if she could meet a friendly retail queen or a fag hag that would introduce her to the hairy tops of Jacksonville. Lo and behold, the nice 50-something lady (hereafter "Cliniquewa") behind the counter made fast friends with our girl while selling her $175 of moisturizing sunscreen and refreshing toner. Cliniquewa offered to take Madge out for a night she would never forget, and the date was set.

That night our heroine prepared for her Jacksonville debut. She washed and pressed her tightest jeans, and agonized over which t-shirt would look best hanging from her belt. She disco napped and then manscaped, shaved, showered, douched, gelled, and moisturized her entire body. After hours of anticipation, she was finally ready for her debut in Jacksonville gay society.

On cue, Cliniquewa rolled up in her '02 Mustang convertible (top up, so the girls' hair didn't get mussed) and Madge was whisked away to the club. In the parking lot, the pumping throb of the music filled Madge with longing and anticipation. She fairly skipped to the door, gave the bouncer her best Paris Hilton pose, and dropped the $20 cover like the money burned her fingers. Cliniquewa was right behind her, and the girls' hearts sang with anticipation. They burst through the door....

And Madge realized she'd been had. Cliniquewa had taken her to a straight club, full of fratboys drinking plastic cups of Bud Light and calling each other "bro." Cliniquewa spent the rest of the evening trying to devour the acres of young, testosterone-soaked male flesh laid out in front of her, stopping in occasionally to say to Madge, "isn't this great?" Meanwhile, our poor heroine sat at the bar nursing a $12 well Cosmo and tried to remember the last time before this that she'd worn a shirt for more than 5 minutes in a club.

Happy Fourth of July everyone!

UPDATE I: The one and only comment I've received in over a week was some guy advertising his internet book, MY INAUGURAL ADDRESS AT THE GREAT WHITE THRONE JUDGMENT OF THE DEAD. It's scary, so I'm not going to link to it. Apparently he has a 'bot that searches for words like "rapture" in blogs and then inserts an ad for his book as a comment. I deleted the comment, but just want to mention I'm considering way to compel comments. Since Paul is the only person in recent memory to leave a comment (see Sheetrock Goes Shopping) he'll be safe, but the rest of you are in mortal danger of a public shaming to force some comments. Just a friendly warning...

UPDATE II: The guy advertising his book was back. Sadly, we don't accept advertising on Bored at Work unless you have VERY deep pockets (think oil, pharmaceuticals, or cigarettes). But if your cashier's check clears, then I'll gleefully let you can advertise anything you like here. Thanks for stopping by!

And I know I shouldn't encourage the intellectual onanism of whackjobs like this guy, but in this case I can't seem to help myself.

Comments

There's been a dearth of comments lately. By "dearth," I mean "none." And by "comments" I mean "comments posted on the blog." It's fine to get drunk, then stumble over and tell me what you think, but it's unlikely I'll remember seeing you, let alone whatever pithy observation you may have had. It's better all around if you just click the little comment link and type something up right away. And just hit that "send" button, proofreading and second thoughts are for wimps.

The one verbal comment I got recently was from Joey. It was on the "You Too Can Make Your Relationship Work!" entry, and this was his deeply insightful thought:

It was mean, and not that funny. You hit pretty much everyone, but if you're going to be mean you need to be funny, and it wasn't funny.

And here I thought fat people were supposed to be jolly and have a good sense of humor, but I guess Joey's not like that.

"So I'm at Marc and Walter's...."

Saturday I had brunch with Paul and Curtis, and then we went to CC's for afternoon cocktails. Somehow the subject of Marc and Walter came up, and Paul gave me the quote of the century. It doesn't make any sense, and it's probably not true, but it just kills me. Dying to know what he said?

So there I am at Marc and Walter's, f'ing [redacted] and I'm like, "This is why I hate you guys..."

Now I'm sure this didn't happen, or at least happen this way. And Paul instantly denied that he said this, even though we had all just heard him. But the image just makes me laugh: Paul, as he's thrusting away, turning to say "This is why I hate you guys...." It's freakin' hilarious.

New Sinkhole Appears in Florida

Florida's newest sinkhole appeared in Jacksonville this week, causing havoc throughout the city. It appears to have been triggered by a system that originated in the Pacific Northwest and proceeded east to the panhandle. "This one is bad," state trooper Amanda Hugnkiss said. "It's filled with a particularly viscous fluid; once you're in it's difficult to get out."

Authorities have cordoned off the hole, roughly the size of 3 football fields, while a team of specialists assess the situation. "I'm afraid we're at a loss," said civil engineer Dylan Weed. "Three of my men have been swallowed trying to fill it. It's hard to imagine that anything less than an oversized industrial pile-driver will stabilize it."

The hole appeared just outside a local gay bar, and it has hit the gay community especially hard. "It's taken 22 of my friends in 3 days," said Ben Dover, who was having a cosmo when the sinkhole struck. "But the worst was the Stoli delivery truck, it swallowed that whole. All you could hear was glass breaking and the driver begging for help. It was horrible."

While posing a considerable danger to all citizens of Jacksonville, the toll has been especially high among men. "We figure it's taken a total of 43 guys just in a few days," bar owner Dick Gozinia said. "Sometimes two or three at a time. A few have survived, but they're broken men. It's hit the community like nothing I've ever seen." Within hours of the sinkhole's arrival, the bar lost a longtime regular and colorful character, a man who called himself Bear. "Yeah, right after the Stoli went in poor Bear walked by it," Gozinia said. "He was a big, hairy guy, maybe 400 pounds. But it swallowed him like he was nothing."

Public health authorities are deeply concerned as well. "I guarantee that thing is packed full of pathogens," said state health commissioner Faye Tality. "We're trying to get close enough to figure out what to test for. But it keeps dissolving our latex Hazmat suits. Four of my men already have unexplained rashes and have gotten something sprayed in their eyes. Apparently, it burns."

"It's a civic calamity," said Mayor Holden McGroyn. "That thing is going to hang over our heads until it's filled."

Pride Eve Trivia

Last night was trivia, and we dominated the evening like few before us. We came in first place twice, and took second place in four rounds. People left because they were angry we did so well. As usual, I was the brilliant but unsung leader of the group. Sonja answered sports questions, truly a first. Before the Paul's Palsy set in, Paul gave a couple of answers that were (I hope you're sitting down) right. Right, as in not wrong. The night was so good that Curtis ended up unhappy because he wasn't miserable. It was just that good.

We also had a cameo from Little Adam and his lovely lady lumps. He stopped by to let everyone know that he's "not a 15 year old girl." Well it's clear he's over 15 just from looking at him, but note how he didn't deny the allegation that he's frigid. Happily, that means the self-loathing closet cases of the greater Northwest still have Adam to turn to when they are afraid to go past first base.

Mini popped in halfway through the evening sporting a fresh "my face seats 5" haircut and a case of condoms for Pride. Which indicates a high probability that a good time will be had by ALL. Taffi was conspicuous for her absence; apparently she's spent the last week in a hyperbaric chamber trying to look 2900 again. Girl, you have at least 2 groups who find you fascinating: forensic pathologists and Egyptologists. Work what you got, you're good as long as none of it breaks off. Well, maybe not good, but you know what I mean. I mean, I suppose it could be worse. Somehow.... Ok, I give up.

And although I'm working today, I'm gearing up for Pride. I just need a memory card for my camera phone, and a way to get Sheetrock drunk (ok, that's not hard) and back to the Eagle for more pics in the sling. Happy Pride everyone!

Two Pieces for the Price of One

I've been working downtown this week in my old stomping grounds downtown. In fact, in the same building where I worked for 3 years, and I've spent the last few days working one floor below my old cube. They say you can't go home again, but you sure can go back to the office.

Tuesday, I went with a co-worker to Salumi for lunch. It's only 8 blocks or so, but she had on heels, so we grabbed a bus going south on 3rd that stops across the street from the restaurant. We climbed onto the bus and sat down, and within about 3 nanoseconds I noticed the hot guy sitting across from me. Early 20s, good shape, with baggy clothes and some bling that showed he was hip-hopish/thug wannabe material. I say wannabe because he was skinny and asian, probably Thai or Vietnamese. And then I realized that there was another cute guy sitting on the other end of the seat. Early 20s, in good shape, with baggy clothes and some bling, Thai or Vietnamese..... I looked at one, and then the other, and then back, and it slowly dawned on me--they were TWINS! Yessir, honest to god identical asian twin brothers in baggy pants, dropped in my lap as a little appetizer before my Italian salami lunch . Well I was so distracted I couldn't hold a conversation, and we missed the bus stop because I was too busy drooling to pay attention to where we were. Sadly, we had to get off (so to speak) and go eat, but boy did it perk up my day.

Otherwise it's been a boring week. With trivia tonight and Pride this weekend, I should have plenty to write about. Once I sober up.

Paul's New Love Interest?

Editor's Note: I'm not sure what comes after deaf midgets on Paul's list of what's hot, but it may well be this.

A piglet in Croatia born with six legs and two penises has been nicknamed Octopig by his owner.

The farmer, Ivica Seic from the village of Vrpolje, said Octopig also has two anuses.

He said that the pig was growing so fast that they had decided to keep him as a pet, daily newspaper Vecernji List reported.

Sheetrock Goes Shopping

Editor's Note: Today's guest blogger is Sheetrock Adam. Be gentle boys, he claims it's his first time.

Oh ha ha, that's cute. I know you all want to have sex with me. And is that picture supposed to make me look gay or something? Because I'm not, I'm straight. I like girls, ok. I just hang out at the Crescent with you guys 'cause it's fun, and there are girls there sometimes.

So Paul got drunk and DITCHED us on Saturday at the Crescent. And it was only like 5:30 pm so Andrew and me went to the Eagle. But Andrew's a pussy and he ditched me to go home to his boyfriend. Carlos, who hates me. I didn't stay at the Eagle, 'cause there's no girls there.

So I just walked around for awhile drunk calling people. I don't have any friends left because I drunk called them and yelled at them for not answering. I don't know who I called. But they hate me now. So I walked up the hill and went past Babeland. There are girls there, but they all look like boys. But they're girls. And I was drunk so I went in.

So I looked at the cock rings and the vibrators and sh!t. But the girls, they weren't talkin' to me. I think they were pissed 'cause I was butcher than them. And they had butt plugs and anal probe things. And 'cause I was drunk I said out loud, "Why'd a gay guy put this in their ass?"

And then one of the girls came over. "Straight guys use these too," she said. "It massages your prostate, feels great." Well I know about my prostate but I dunno. But she was cute, looked like a guy but she was a girl. She said, "If you're interested, I'd recommend this one." And she hands me this thing but it didn't look too bad. And girls always get me to buy stuff. "It's scientifically designed to go right to your prostate, but it's not too big so it's easy to insert. Just use plenty of lube, and slide it in gently. You or your partner can wiggle it a little and you'll really enjoy it."

Well I was gettin' hard watchin' this guy-lookin' girl wiggling this thing like it was in my ass, so I said "That sounds pretty hot. You talked me into it." 'Cause that's what you do when you're drunk, buy a $75 sex toy. So I bought it from this other girl who was running the cash register, but she was fat and looked mean. Like MEAN. Her head was shaved and she had a ring in her noselike a bull. She kinda scared me so I just took my bag with the probe thingy and got outta there. Only that one guy-lookin' girl talked to me anyway.

So I'm on the sidewalk and lookin' at this probe half outta the bag, and someone says, "Adam!" And I turned around and stuffed the probe thingy in the bag but she saw it. It was this girl I know that is my best friend's sister and used to date my roommate. I hooked up with her once I think. And she's like, "What's going on, whaddya got?" And she grabs it and pulls it out, 'cause I was drunk and I was distracted tryin' to remember her name. And she starts laughing and goes, "Alright, have fun big fella" and walks off. So I hope you guys are happy now everybody thinks I'm gay!

You Too Can Make Your Relationship Work!

Boyfriends are great and all I guess, but they do have their drawbacks. They snore, or refuse to pick up their socks, or get fat. Some, like Paul, drink themselves mute and then dry-hump your nice lesbian friend's mother at a dinner party. Ok, well not very many do THAT, but you get the idea. They do annoying, embarassing things that sometimes make you wonder why you didn't just stay single and get half a dozen cats. Facing a catbox is so much easier than dealing with the drunken pleas for a 3-way with Ben.

Nonetheless you've got the boyfriend, and you really can't handle getting/fighting another restraining order. What do you do to get through the day? Here are a few tips I've gleaned from my highly successful relationship, and those of the people around me:

• Drink as much as possible. If you're drunk all the time, it's hard to figure out what he's yelling at you about, and you probably won't care anyway. Plus passing out is a good way to wrap up an argument.
• Don't mention that he's getting fat (this is for Joey's new boyfriend). If you need to know why this is a bad idea, ask the guy who stitched up F. Michael's face.
• Got an ex you're still close to? Got a tentative new relationship? Nothing works better than all of you just movin' in together. Go on, sign that 2 year lease with the nasty early termination clause, what could possibly go wrong?
• Neither you nor your boyfriend can keep it in your pants? What you should do is buy a house together! There's nothing like a crushing West Seattle mortgage and the prospect of a court fight to turn the two of you into Ward and Tien Cleaver. Don't be too hard on the Beav!
• Your horse-hung boyfriend has fallen for someone else? Just fall for your boyfriend's boyfriend's horse-hung boyfriend. Sound complicated? Wait until you all go to Mom's for Passover!
• Are you a frigid 15 year old girl trapped in a 27 year old gay man's body? There's bound to be a married man on the Eastside that fears sex as much as you hate it; hop on Manhunt and find him! Don't get attached though; he'll stop calling when his internalized homophobia drops below 98% and he decides he wants to get laid.
• Does your boyfriend have a weird fascination with deaf midgets, guys in wheelchairs, younger guys, older guys, and Taffi? In other words, everyone but you? Just buy a burned out shell of a house in a bad neighborhood and try to make it livable. You'll feel better (meaning worse, of course) in no time!

I hope it's encouraging to hear that there are solutions for the most intractable of relationship problems, and a way to correct the most annoying of bad boyfriend behaviors. Happy dating!

Too Much Time in New York

You might be from Manhattan if....

1. You can use the word 'f#ck' as a noun, verb, adjective, adverb, preposition, and gerund. All in the same sentence.

2. You assume all designer handbags, scarves, sunglasses, wallets, and belts you see are cheap knock-offs bought on Canal Street.

3. You have jaywalked across all 3 lanes of 7th Avenue during rush hour while a group of 5 cops watched from the corner. You didn't give it a second thought, and certainly didn't get a ticket.

4. You've used the sentence from item #1 when speaking to the cab driver who took you to 13th Street and Avenue A instead of 13th and 8th.

5. You've sworn on your dead mother's grave to a Russian cab driver that Pamida won't throw up in his back seat.

6. You make $500K and can finally afford to rent a one bedroom apt that's not a 5th floor walkup. You’ll still have a roommate, though.

7. You know that you need $200 in cash for a slice of pizza, 2 beers, and a 10 minute cab ride home. And you aren't utterly apalled.

8. You've gone to NYC's 'only Asian gay bar' on Hispanic night to tip the 19 year old black go-go boy. This does not confuse you.

9. 'Coffee' is a light brown beverage brewed at 600 degree Fahrenheit with some Folger's grounds they've been recycling since 1968.

10. You've had a potential trick introduce himself by saying, 'I live in [insert locale reached by a bridge or tunnel], not sure if you want to go all the way out there.'

11. On Saturday night you know to hold your breath when in the East Village, unless you want to be awake for the next 3 days.

12. You've seen a woman in a full burkha, a drag queen, and a daddy in leather all get off the subway at the same station. You wouldn't be surprised if they're headed for the same place.

13. When looking at bar names, you know that Posh is not, the Monster is, and Hanger should be shortened to Hung. Urge is perfectly named, but sadly the Cock has been neutered. Only tourists go to Splash.

14. You've heard something you should submit to overheardinnewyork.com, but never did.

15. Some f#cking f#ck submitted something you said to overheardinnewyork.com, but the a$$h0le misquoted you.

16. You've been to a 'sample sale' that involved buying designer clothes for cash out of the back of a moving truck. This seemed perfectly legitimate to you.

17. You know instinctively, based on the type of alcohol consumed that night, whether to get a slice, a hero, or Papaya dog on the way home.

18. 'Salad' consists of equal parts mayonnaise and egg, chicken, or tuna. It's health food if the deli mixes in some dill pickle relish.

19. There's a thing in your kitchen that gets hot when you fiddle with its knobs. You'd use it to heat up food, but you tip the delivery guys well enough your food always arrives piping hot.

20. You have gotten into a heated argument with a priest over where to go for the best kosher barbecue.

Taffi, Exhumed

Editor's Note: There's been a loss in the Bored At Work family; one of our contributors is now dead to me. But ably stepping in, and bringing a bit of Halloween with her, is our very own Taffi.

God you're a stupid piece of shit for letting me do this. I'm gonna have more fun than the time I burned your head. But at least you finally got someone with a brain to write for you, idiot. I don't know why you ever let [redacted] near a keyboard, but good riddance to her empty ramblings!

I'm off this week for the company's winter break, God I'm so bored. I went to the park twice yesterday. Did this redhead, he was HOT! Someone sucked my dick too, I didn't get a good look at him. God, I love my life.

So last night I went to Changes for a beer, and I even got Andrew to get his fat ass up there. Apparently Paco had unchained his leg irons for the evening. I got there and the place was dead. I fit right in? Watch it, I'll cut you! I'll fuckin' cut you! I got a pitcher and went out back for a smoke. I love that patio ever since Paul blew me out there. I'd show you the pics but Andrew has them. Andrew showed up and we had a couple of beers, but I had to get to the park. Besides, everyone left as soon as Floyd's shift was over. Can't imagine why.

Anyway, I've got to get to the park 'cause this dick ain't gonna suck itself. Come over later, I'm making pickles. I may even pickle Paco's first-born, if Andrew can get it up long enough to knock him up. Catch you at the free clinic!

Editor's Note: On reflection, maybe this who guest-blogging thing isn't such a good idea.

In the spirit of accuracy...

I've gotten some feedback about the last entry, so I just want to make these clarifications:

My anecdote about the theft of the seats from Curtis' Honda apparently left out some details. I'm not sure what those are, but be sure to ask Curtis. However the broad strokes: car borrowed by lesbian, second theft in two months, and third lifetime occurrence for an overall tab of (roughly) $33,000 in seats and canvas tops, is accurate. Perhaps the car was parked on a "dimly lit" rather than "dark" street; I can't say for sure. But I'll bet those little details made a HUGE difference to the guy writing the check.

And, the pictures I have depicting Paul performing sex acts are "posed." I have to admit he's correct; on Saturday he did indeed pose with his tongue in various guests' nether regions. The implication seems to be that if he "poses" with his tongue in someone's ass, it's not the same as putting his tongue in someone's ass. Except his tongue WAS in someone's ass. He did indeed freeze several times mid-lick in a "pose" so I could take a photo, but I'm not sure why that should make a difference. Maybe we should ask Curtis about this one too.

Some Random Tidbits

Girl, I know it’s been awhile. And I make no promises to update again soon. But I’m feeling a bit inspired so here are a few tidbits to whet your appetite:

• Everyone’s favorite Stoned Cherub, our own little Adam, has apparently been positively identified in my blog. He told me that someone googled his name and found his first and last mentioned in some entry from a year or two ago. While I make no effort to protect the guilty, I don’t want to mess up anyone’s life (unless they truly deserve it). So if anyone finds the entry that gives Adam’s full name, let me know and I’ll make the appropriate edits.

• Paul got drunk on Saturday. Ok, big news flash. But in other news, Seth spent the day with him and Curtis, and raised his baseline 0.3 BAC to an impressive 0.68. Ladies, that don’t happen every day. Predictably, Paul ended up trying to rim Seth, and predictably I have the pics to prove it. Unfortunately, the lights had gone out by this point (welcome to Curtis’s palace in the CD). Fortunately for me, and you my Gentle Readers, Curtis had lit bowls of floating candles as soon as the power was cut. I was able to hold a candle, as it were, to our lovebirds and get some lovely pics of the action. And if you want to see them, well you’re sick. But buy me a beer and I’ll oblige.

• Speaking of Curtis, ever hear the phrase “Steal my seats a third time while a lesbian borrows my car, and I’m a fool”? We all know and love the silver Honda that Curtis brings out twice a year. Well apparently its seats are a hot commodity, because twice since October someone has cut open the ($9000) top and taken out the ($2000) seats. Last time was right after I had borrowed the car, but of course yours truly was responsible and parked it safely in a secure garage. I’m a gay boy who knows how paying a deductible will eat into my drinking budget. Well this weekend our intrepid “Soccer Practice” architect lent the Honda to a lesbian who promptly parked it on a dark street on the Hill. Girls, fill in the rest for the fish who didn’t see it comin’. And while she may have an “in” with the auto mechanic set, Curtis (or the insurance company that just dropped him) gets to eat the full cost of her lapse in judgment.

• Rumor has it that our very own Rick was driven home early from Ben Waldman’s 40th birthday party this past Saturday. Details are sketchy (so to speak), but Messers. Stoli and Smirnoff, as well as the Ambassador from Columbia are being sought for questioning. Authorities plan to question the victim once he sobers up, which they expect to happen in 2015 or when Doris lowers the boom, whichever comes first.

• Devin. Alone. Ben’s Party. Kids, those are probably the four most incriminating words I’ve ever written in this blog. I can’t say where I or what I heard about THAT, but apparently a good time was had by all.

And that’s all I have for tonight.

Sheetrock Adam and the Officer Who Said "Ouch"

Either there’s been a week-long full moon, or Seattle got a batch of seriously tainted Stoli. Either way, the boys have been completely crazy lately. I have a few stories to write up, but the first one has got to be the tale of Sheetrock Adam and the Officer Who Said “Ouch”.

Until about a year ago, Sheetrock Adam was in the Army. Those of us that know him intimately now may find it hard to believe, but he managed a military bearing whether he was being drilled here in the States, or performing out-reach around the young men of the fledgling Iraqi Army. In the finest tradition of American fighting men, Adam was always good-to-go, his weapon oiled and ready to unload into the enemy.

But since his discharge, Adam’s firm military bearing has drooped a bit. First, he started hanging out at the Crescent and dancing on the bar. He got sucked into a catfight between a Filipino drag queen and a Mexican tranny at Neighbors. His boxer shorts started appearing in Curtis’ bed. And one particularly rough night, my good sweet Carlos poured a beer on him. Not a pretty record.

The one thing keeping Sheetrock Adam from going completely off the straight-and-narrow has been his post-discharge National Guard requirement. Once a month, he spends a weekend at Fort Lewis getting drilled by officers and imposing his own harsh discipline on lower-ranked enlisted men. A couple days’ worth of ramrod-straight military discipline each month was all Adam needed to keep his shoulders back and his head up. That is, until last month.

Last month after a long day of drill, Adam put on his civvies and went to the base bowling alley for a couple Budweiser Spritzers. The drinks were flowing freely, and Adam’s new sleeveless Dolce T-shirt and linen Capri pants made him feel particularly sassy. Sometime around Spritzer number 6 or 8, a man in civvies started making disparaging remarks about enlisted men. It was the typical Army trash talk: enlisted men have no fashion sense, they can’t hold their Cosmos, they’re only good for licking officer’s boots and can’t even work a breech-loader.

Well, this last was just too much for Sheetrock Adam: he’d been training on the breech-loader for months and was determined to get certified. “You BITCH!” he cried, as he came off his barstool and backhanded the obnoxious man across the face. The poor fellow fell right off his barstool and sprawled on the floor, laying there like he needed a date.

And that’s when the MPs showed up. Turns out that guys talking trash about enlisted men are usually officers. And the Army doesn’t like officers getting slapped. Poor Sergeant Sheetrock Adam is now Private Sheetrock Adam, and is just getting reacquainted with his apartment after a month in the brig. But on the upside, his fellow prisoners helped him permanently stiffen his military bearing.

The Trivia Update

Last night was trivia night at Changes. I didn’t roll in until 7:30, but the boys had already staked out two tables. It was Paul, Curtis, Rick and I at one table, with Vel-Meeta, Joey, Sidekick, and Ben Dixon at the other table. It’s wasn’t a good night for us: my team won first place twice, but otherwise got skunked. The 420 Braintrust making up the other team won a 3^rd place pitcher when Rick defected to help them. We decided they needed help when Joey insisted that Francis Scott Key wrote “Battle Hymn of the Republic,” despite the fact it was a theme round where every answer started with “H.” Way to rock that GED, kiddo.

Just in time for the last two rounds of trivia, Melissa arrived with Jen to take me dancing. Everyone’s met Melissa, but no one had met Jen, and there’s no way to prepare them. She’s a big, brash, curvy girl with the largest natural breasts I have ever seen. They’re beyond huge, they’re like a force of nature. It’s hard to believe they weren’t photoshopped onto her somehow. She told us that just the other day she got a free oil change for whipping them out at Lube-r-Quik. Now that’s power.

Understand, I’m not into breasts and neither are the rest of the boys. Except one. Take a guess who it was that instantly tried to bury his face in Jen’s chest. Could it be a little Mexican from Orange County that’s on probation with his boyfriend? You got it: Paul was absolutely transfixed. At least this time it wasn’t a boy…..

In Which Curtis (briefly) Comes to His Senses

For my loyal fans who have been demanding an update, here are some tidbits:

• Woodsy has begun packing up his room, meaning that I finally have some dishes in my cupboards again. Carlos thinks I’m terrible for eating in bed, but Woodsy has me beat. Maybe in the new place Woodsy can put a dishwasher next to the bed…

• On Sunday I went to Changes for the softball beer bust. Madge, James, and a cutie named Matt showed up and got me drunk then dragged me to the Cuff. I bought a raffle ticket for a date and dinner for two (with a guy named Ernesto, no less) and won! I declined the date and took Carlos for dinner, where we discovered (not surprisingly) that Carlos and Ernesto know each other. Good times.

• Bruce is going on a little trip tomorrow. I’m assuming he’s consulting on a new “Living Dead” movie, since he’s eminently qualified to speak from the zombie perspective. Who knew that there was a market for drunken, shambling old gay men?

• Little Adam has a pilot “friend” back in town. They’d “hung out” once or twice, but then the guy moved away. Well, he’s back and Adam’s all atwitter. One night soon, we’ll be hearing giggling and cooing coming from the basement.

• Apparently, Curtis had a lucid moment Sunday night and threw Paul out. Word on the street is the dispute was about “missing dinner.” I didn’t know “missing dinner” meant an orgy with deaf midgets and a mountain of blow, but you learn something new every day. Paul insists that nothing happened. Carlos, on the other hand, came home Sunday night to Paul drunk and sobbing helplessly on my couch. Sadly, Curtis lapsed and took Paul back, but not before he had spent the night on Woodsy’s floor. Paul, my spare room is always open to you if Curtis ever permanently comes to his senses.

• And finally, longtime readers will remember JPK and the love of his life, Ross (aka Dress 4 Less, aka Fists of Fury). It was all grassy fields and one year leases in their two-level Issaquah cookie-cutter townhome. Good thing they didn’t sign a 2 year lease, because Ross is living on the Hill. Single. I’m waiting for the JPK blog update on this one.

And that’s it kids. Nothing else going on, but tonight’s Wednesday (the new Thursday) so I’m sure there’ll be more material soon!

Drinks with Seth and Vel-Meeta

What’s noon on a Tuesday without drinks? That’s a rhetorical question; I’m the last person who could tell you. Yesterday was my typical Tuesday: I met Seth and Aaron Velveeta at the Crescent for a drink, an update, and to decide where we’d have lunch.

Brief aside: anyone who has hung out with Aaron knows he tends to talk about himself. Endlessly. That’s not to say his conversations are narrow; indeed he can tell you, at length, how he feels on a wide range of topics. In just one sitting, I’ve heard his views on diet and exercise, journaling, sex, the cell phone industry, gay subculture, and cake baking. This would be simulating, if anyone else could get a word in edgewise. But like most people, I was raised not to interrupt, so he’s expounding on the next topic before I can comment on the previous one. I’ve learned to tune him out and slam drinks until I overcome my upbringing and just talk over him. It’s good times.

Back to Tuesday. Aaron and Seth had gone camping at the Gay Campground over the weekend, and I was dying to hear about it. I love gay camping, and haven’t gone since Labor Day weekend last year. Alas, I was to be disappointed. I heard about the drinks Aaron drank, and how Seth nearly carried him back to the RV. There was the story about Aaron and the flashlight, the tale of Aaron being quiet during sex (to avoid disturbing Uncle Jeff and Uncle David), and how Aaron felt about all the rain. I learned how Aaron orders his drinks, what he thinks of the campsites, his feelings about his fellow campers, and his unique take on bottoming in an environment that lacks running water. It would have gone on longer, but I tried to slash my throat with a broken bottle. This made Aaron comment, “I’m hungry, we should go eat.”

Don’t get me wrong; I like the kid. We all have our little quirks. Some of us have big quirks. And then there’s Velveeta, who IS a quirk. Can’t we just call him Vel-Meeta and be done with it?

“I want to say one word to you…plastics.”

I have a little investment tip for you, one that’s going to make you and me a lot of money in the coming years. But being a lawyer, first I must give a disclaimer (Lord, how I love disclaimers): I am not any sort of investment professional. In fact, my investing career has consisted of 1)losing most of what I put into my 401(k), and 2) buying stock in a company where my ex worked and promptly losing half my investment. Use your own judgment in following my advice, because I’m most likely wrong. In addition, it’s not based on anything I saw at work. I never, ever, ever work with or see this anything related to this (as my billable hour records plainly show), and even if I had, the thought of suffering Martha Stewart’s fate would make me clam up and wet my pants. I’d sooner cut off my drinking hand than risk losing my license over anything that had even a whiff of coming from the inside. I came up with this on my own, so ABANDON ALL HOPE YE WHO INVEST HERE.

That do it? Anyway, the other day I had an epiphany. It came, like any good epiphany should, accompanied by trumpets and a brilliant ray of light shining from a cloud. I had taken a break from working on my computer to do a little web-surfing (on a group computer). I looked a couple of amusing sites, and followed a link or two. Just a bit of a light-hearted lark around the internet, a little mental break, nothing earth-shattering sought or expected. And then, I clicked on the link that revealed to me my fortune. You know what it was? A picture of a nice young man (ok, a smokin’ hot, dumb-as-a-post fratboy) showing off a tattoo on his right, ahem, cheek: “Grade A Prime Beef.” And that, boys and girls, is when the heavens opened up and angels began to sing. Now, we all know a few guys who would consider that nothing more than truth in advertising. But just from looking at the picture, I have a feeling this meathead (or his future wife) is going to want that little tat gone once he discovers all the attention it will get him in the locker room at his local gym. How dumb can someone be? And how many more out there are like him? Happily, I believe they may just be legion.

All of which brings us to the investment of the future: medical dermal lasers. Happy investing!

Random Sunday Night

Did you make any New Years Resolutions? I did, and it seems like everyone else has too. They range from the traditional, “lose some weight,” to the optimistic, “stop drinking.” One guy told me last night he’s resolved to “fix his life.” Laudable, I should give that a try. But in the meantime I spent my Sunday evening barhopping with Seth, Madge, and Jae. We ended up at the Cuff, which (in case you were wondering) does not get going until after 10 pm. Sigh. I thought it was going to be an early night.

But before all that, I had coffee with Danielle at B&O Espresso. The B&O is my favorite non-bar hangout: the food is good, the atmosphere is great, and the desserts are amazing. I skipped dessert (resolution, don’t you know) and just had a chai. Dani had a little present waiting for me when I arrived, a copy of “Brokeback Mountain” she’d found in a bookstore in Cascade, Idaho. Yes, a bookstore in Idaho actually stocks the short story, bound in a little book with Heath and Jake on the cover. It’s going on the top of my “to read” stack of books, it’ll be a quick one.

And here’s a little poll: did anyone have a good, or even average holiday season? It left me worn out and depressed, and Dani said she feels the same way. Nearly everyone she’s talked to either had disappointing or downright awful holidays. How was yours?

Punk'd

Yesterday I got punk'd (or at least pranked). It was good. In fact, it was beautiful. If it hadn’t been me on the receiving end, I would have laughed my butt off. But now that I’ve regained my composure and slept on it, I do have to chuckle a little. Not that the perpetrators won’t be punished, but it was pretty good. Here’s the story:

Yesterday I was depressed, and I emailed my friend Kris in Montana to complain. It was the usual: life sucks, work depresses me, I’m stressing over bills I need to pay, I’ve got to deal with things I’d rather avoid. We emailed back and forth a few times and I told her what else was going on with life and Carlos. Including that Carlos wants a plasma TV. Now, we all want a plasma TV. Preferably a really big one. But wanting one and getting one are two different things, and usually I’d consider the suggestion just a random thought. You know, when your mate starts babbling and says whatever comes into his pea brain. But yesterday I was a little emotionally raw. And I was feeling broke and not happy about it. So in the course of whining to Kris, I got into a little rant about Carlos and the stupid TV. Not a big rant, just a little one. But it was enough.

Kris and I had done our emailing around lunch, and then I went back to work. Around 5:30 pm I went to the soda machine, and came back to find there was a new voicemail on my phone. The message was, “This is Troy from Best Buy, the 60 inch plasma TV that Carlos ordered is here whenever you’d like to pick it up.” Oh yes, 60 inches no less. I had to play it twice to make sure I wasn’t hearing things.

Now, I try to be a reasonable guy: normally I stop and count to “diez” before I call Immigration. But not this time; I hit “Send” before I even reached “tres.” Fortunately for Carlos, the INS was closed (seriously, do those people EVER answer the damn phone?), and I was left in a combination of impotent rage and panic. Conveniently he has no phone, so calling and screaming was out of the question. The INS clearly was going to be of no help to me. And, I’d have to make the long walk home before I could choke the life out of him with my bare hands. On the verge of exploding, I saved the message and planned to have a VERY serious chat once I’d done a few shots and calmed down.

You’re seeing where this is going. Hanging onto the shredded remains of my nerves with both hands, I emailed him and gently asked if he had ordered a TV. No response. I worked and stewed for another 2 hours before I left, headed for the first bar where I could get a drink and collect myself. On the way I called Kris to bitch….and she asked if Carlos liked his new TV. Yes, she’d gone out after work, had a few drinks, and gotten the bartender to prank-call me pretending to be from Best Buy. I’d been punk'd.

But I love her anyway…and paybacks are hell.

Stiffening the Ol' Resolve

Sigh. I’ve been getting complaints from far and wide that I never update the blog anymore. They’ve run the gamut anywhere from “I don’t know what’s going on with everyone” to “Did you die and forget to share the good news,” and include the always cheery sentiment “Did you finally get a real job?” Well no, I haven’t gotten a real job. And I didn’t die, you’ll know that’s happened when all the gay bars on Capital Hill go bankrupt. I just got a little lazy (ok, a lot lazy) and lost that ol’ bloggin’ feeling.

But it’s the New Year, and we’re supposed to have resolutions, right? Well I’ve got a truckload and one is to be a better blogger. Hopefully entertaining, probably embarrassing, but regardless I’ll be HERE. A sentiment expressed, I believe, both by Whoopi Goldberg in The Color Purple and Shirley MacLaine in Postcards From the Edge. I’m more a Postcards kind of guy, but I’ll cling to whatever coattails I can grab. So hopefully I can continue to not only be HERE, but to make it seem interesting at the same time. Here’s to lots of blogging in 2006.

Trivial Pursuit

Picture it: Thursday night trivia at Changes. Paul, Curtis, Rick, Mike Meola, Sean (Mike’s tattooed boyfriend of the week), Tim, Doug, and Me. Seth bartending. And for the winners of trivia, pitchers of beer.

We had a few rounds. We had a few rounds of shots. Then we started playing. And let’s just say that Paul, Curtis, Rick and I are a FORCE OF NATURE. We dominated every round, winning 6 pitchers of beer. If you need to know who sang “Goat’s Head Soup” or the number of letters in the Thai alphabet, call us. The four of us had a synergy that struck fear and awe in all of our opponents. Well, either that or they knew we were drunk and were afraid we’d get violent. It was fun.

Timberline and My Liver, In Memoriam

It’s been a bit of a rough week. Monday was a day off, meaning I spent it at CC’s drinking with Seth, Mini, Madge, Jae, and two new additions. They’re the new residents at the House of Drama, Ricky and Eric. Eric used to work at Changes, and Ricky is in the Navy but getting out soon. They’re boyfriends, in love, and needing a place to live. Seth and Mini need roommates who will actually pay the rent and refrain from turning the place into a combination crackhouse/brothel/landfill. If you’ve gone down to the basement since the crazy, drunken wenches left you know exactly what I’m talking about. Anyway, when I say we spent the day drinking at CC’s, I mean only that portion for which I was conscious. I woke up around noon, called the boys, and then pulled myself together and rolled into CC’s by 1:45 pm. Nine hours later, the gang was thoroughly lubricated and ready for karaoke at Manray. I dutifully sang and staggered home. Or took a cab, I can’t honestly remember.

Tuesday it was a brief trip to Changes for $1 beers and a snarling match with Matthew before I left to go to the Crescent and drown my sorrows in a few pitchers of Mack & Jack’s. Needless to say, I was not in the best mood the next morning. The nasty messages from Matthew started right off, predictably, and I decided I’d had enough. Not fun, but apparently necessary. I took Wednesday as my day of rest and tried to dry out.

Thursday was A Night to Remember. Yes, that’s the title of a book about the Titanic, and it’s apt. Michael (from Bender Creek) invited me and some of his friends out on his boat. It was a beautiful evening, perhaps one of the last sunny and warm ones we’ll see this year. I left work early, ran over to his office, and we gathered up the boys and went down to the marina. The boat is big and comfortable, and has a well-stocked liquor cabinet. To augment that, we brought plenty of beer and a few bottles of wine. We cruised over to Seward Park, anchored, and Michael cooked us dinner. It was a lovely way to spend the evening.

Unfortunately, I forgot what happens to me when I mix wine and beer. I reach “escape velocity,” the point where I just slam drinks without thought, almost instantly. And I end up very drunk. By the time we docked, I was on the phone demanding that people meet us out, and then I insisted we all go to Manray. Not that the boys were resisting. I ended up in slurred but very deep conversations with people I didn’t know, and grabbed at least 2 boys’ butts. Not pretty. Around 1 am, as the boys headed for Neighbors, I realized I had to save myself and headed home.

The good news is, I did pretty much the same thing but to a lesser degree Friday and Saturday nights. Saturday night, I ended up watching Field of Dreams in the livingroom at 1 am (Carlos had some Spanish show on in the bedroom) and chatting with Woodsy when he came home. Paul came with him (God knows why) but Paul and I didn’t chat. Paul had lost the ability to speak, even the couple times I asked him direct questions he just smiled and waved at Woodsy. But he could still drink, by God, and drink he did. They finished their six pack before Kevin Costner got to have a catch with his dad. I love that movie.

And then we come to Sunday. Sunday I should have spent at the office. But Sunday was also the very last dance at the Timberline before it closed. I have been lukewarm on T-line since it lost the old building, but Michael started bugging me and I decided I had to go. I got there about 5:45 pm, and it was busy but not packed. I’d dreaded a line outside, but none appeared until well after I got there. Drinks were another matter, the lines were long and slow until I discovered that if you go up to the bar, smile, and tip the bartender $5 for three beers that cost $1 each, you don’t have to wait in line. It was amazing.

By the time I’d learned this little lesson, I’d consumed more than a few beers. Wendell showed up, and then we ran into Ryan (aka Tuesday Night) and his boyfriend Darren, and we all took to the dance floor. It was bittersweet. They played all the old songs, everyone cheered, everyone was happy and sad at the same time. Timberline, I’ll miss you almost as much as I miss my liver.

Dear Gentle Reader,

It’s been a long time since I updated the ol’ blog, but it’s summer and I’ve been busy with other things. Like work, and drinking heavily. But now that the days are growing shorter and dinner invitations have dried up, I can return to regular blog updates. Sorry I didn’t put up some kind of “Gone Drinkin’, see you in September” post, but no one ever said I was particularly responsible or reliable. Here are the random thoughts of the day:

--I went to B&O Espresso for the first time last week. I’d avoided it because it looked like a snooty coffee shop; one of those places where quasi-intellectual hipsters sat around in high water pants repeating what they’d read in books written by people who are actually smart. Turns out I was wrong: the place isn’t pretentious, it has a decent menu, and more importantly, lots of desserts. And boy, they’re yummy. All the waiters are adorable blond, teenage boys. To top it off, there’s a bar in the back. I kid you not, coffee and rum balls in front, Cosmos and beer in the back. I had tea and a “chocolate pot” with Dani and Johnny. The chocolate pot was amazing. The tea was great. I am fully chastened and intend to check out their brunch. B&O Expresso is at Olive and Belmont if you wanna try it.

--I spent Labor Day weekend gay camping at Bender Creek. It’s nice to go to a campground where you can wander into a campsite and they’ll insist you have a plate of eggs Florentine and a mimosa before you go. The cappuchino was good too, although the milk was slightly scalded. I opted to sleep in the Benz, which was good because I woke up to a pretty decent rainstorm. I just pulled my down comforter a little tighter and enjoyed the sound of raindrops on the sunroof. When it died down I wandered back to camp and had a brunch (it was about 1 pm) of field greens with vinaigrette and a lovely porcini and cheddar omelette. Homos sure know how to rough it.

"Quit f*cking my profit stream, you gold digging whore!"

Just some random quotes from the Pre-Birthday Dinner:

“We had a bunch of martinis at Chapel and they were CHEAP!” Matthew Phillips

“If the lesbian hostess would stop seating all her friends, maybe we could get a TABLE!” Richard Terek

"He's hot, he's nice, and he's RIIIIICH!" Paul Villa, quoting Adam Nest quoting Matthew Woodburn

“Quit f*cking my profit stream, you gold digging whore!” Micheal Meola

“aajdi..hasjk.Plvvjdt” Text message from Adam Nest, sent at 1:34 am