Your vote is my command

Seriously, this ain't no presidential election, and unlike someone else that people voted for but who shall remain nameless, I do have an exit strategy! (It usually involves sneaking out before he wakes up and then beginning the long walk of shame back to my Trans Am. Wait, where's my car?)

Yes! You have the opportunity to make your voice heard in the redesign of GKR. As I'm sure you're painfully aware, I've been using a standard Blogger template. And while it's nice and all, it's just not me and now I have an insatiable itch to tinker with it. (And, no, the salve the doctor gave me won't cure this particular itch.)

All I'm asking for you to do is vote below. Around April 15th I'll tally the votes (read: I'll just look at the widgets' results, I'm lazy like that) and then get cracking on GKR 2.0. I know, it is exciting, isn't it?

OK, warm up your clicking fingers and have at it!







Vote early! Vote often!

Sing along to your favorite song

This goes out to my friends who are navigating some rough waters, you know who you are. ;-)

I heard just the sample of this track on iTunes and bought the entire album from just that 30-second sample. Good stuff. You should buy it! William Tell is someone to keep an eye on… this cutie is going places!

Sometimes it can be hard to talk to people, even friends or family, about personal issues. But getting them out of your brain and into written form can be a tremendous relief. For those situations, I sometimes like to put my feelings down on an anonymous "confessions" type site. I used to like VeryLiberating.com, but they've closed down recently. So now I spill my guts at Noteful.com. Give it a try sometime, you'll be amazed at how much better you can feel.

Nerd alert!

True to my word, I'm posting something NOT depressing. And finally something that comes from my inner geek. And I'm racing against the clock because Lost starts in like 15 minutes… 16… 23… 42… Other nerds will get that. If you don't, thank your lucky stars.

This is not so much a confession as it is an exclimation. I love my TiVo! So much so that I have two. I love them both, but I do have a favorite… my high-def Series 3. In fact my old Series 2 TiVo is now just referred to as "The Old TiVo" around the house.

My love for TiVo is so strong, that I think that if I'm not allowed to marry a man in my lifetime, I hope that I'd at least be able to marry my TiVo. The Series 3 Tivo, that is. I'd continue to see my old TiVo on the side; a "friends with benefits" sort of thing. Not that I'm into, recommend, or condone open relationships. Maybe that's why I'm still painfully single? Hmmmm… now I'm wondering if I have the whole polygamy thing wrong. I think I could do TiVolygamy, but I don't want to have to move to Utah, or take on a religion.

As much as I love my TiVos already, recently Amazon announced a partnership with TiVo to allow Amazon's Unbox video downloads to be sent directly to a TiVo. And TiVo owners get a $15 credit just for signing up, which translates to 4 or 5 movie rentals or an entire movie. I have to admit it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. I rented Hitchcock's Dial M for Murder and had it uploaded to my Series 3. The image quality was close to that of a DVD, but this particular movie was cropped for pan-and-scan and really would have benefitted from being letterboxed or 16:9 anamorphic widescreen. The image also suffered from a weird strobing effect when the camera panned left or right, which may actually be an artifact that comes from TiVo or my TV upscaling the picture. The rental process was so simple and fast, it makes me wonder about future of companies such as Netflix. And I love Netflix too!

Ok, I've only got a couple minutes left. Although I guess I could let TiVo start recording Lost and then start watching 20 minutes into it and skip past the commercials. I might even have enough time to squeeze out one more post. See, yet another reason why I love my TiVo.

By the way, typically the links in my posts are not ads and I do not receive compensation for you clicking on them so please feel free to click away! And believe it or not, I do not work for TiVo. Really. I pinky swear!

"Oh Ricky, you're so fine…"

Actually, I should rephrase that. "Oh Ricky, you'll be fine. You'll be fine, just give it time. Hey Ricky! (clap clap, clap) Hey Ricky! (clap clap, clap)"

Don't beat yourself up, I worry you do that too much already.

Relationships (even just friendships) are rarely ever easy. We can't all be as lucky as Lil'B ;-)

Just remember that you've got someone who can relate to your situation and who you can talk to. If you trust me, I won't let you down. Hang in there, bro.

Haven't you ever heard the expression, "When life gives you lemons, make lemonade…

…and then toss it in the face of the person who gave you the lemons until they give you the oranges you asked for in the first place?" –Bill McNeal, WNYX

I had totally planned that my next post would be dedicated to my inner geek. But unfortunately that will have to wait for another day.

Today I found out that my dad—the one of adopted adopted parents—who has been ailing with Parkinson's Disease for several years has now lost the ability to walk, or even just stand up. As hard as it is to face the fact that you yourself are getting older, it's even more difficult to watch it happen to the people who raised you, and to not be close by to be able to help out. Sometimes I feel soul crushing guilt moving away to the Big City out of high school, for not visiting more often, and for not living closer to my folks after I could afford to, especially since my sister's home is just minutes away from them. But then again, I guess I'm kind of the pink sheep in the family, always have been.

So as not to bum everyone out (thinking of you, Lil'B) I'll spare you the two other big life issues I'm struggling with right now. Facing the unescapeable mortality of a father, and hearing the exhaustion and sadness in the voice of my (adopted) mother who is caring for him, was more than a little distracting today. The thought of her trying to move him around the house, to doctors appointments, bathing, etc just kept playing through my mind non-stop. I had to do my best to hold it together at the job site. Thank goodness Betty was able to take my mind off of it with talk of puppies, vodka, and hunky guys in kilts. Props go out to O Man for also being supportive in his own little way. (And that wasn't a crack about your height, O. And it's not like you'll ever read this anyway, so it could have been and you would never know.)

OK. That's enough of that. Seriously, my next post will be something for more interesting (to me at least, remember the BLA) and probably TiVo related. Speaking of which I must go keep my TiVos company now. I've got a couple Colbert Reports to catch up on.

"Don't try to confuse the issue with half truths and gorilla dust." (aka: I love Newsradio)

That's a line from the fabulous TV show Newsradio. And this past Tuesday marked the final Newsradio DVD (season 5) to hit stores. I love Newsradio. It's quite possibly one of the best TV shows of all time. Needless to say I picked up my copy earlier in the week. I'm both excited and saddened as this season was the first season without the incomparable Phil Hartman playing the wickedly funny character of Bill McNeal, lead anchor at New York's WNYX all-news radio station. It was also the final season of the show. The entire cast was amazing, I can't think of any other ensemble past or present that was as perfectly matched as these guys and gals. Not to mention the writing…simply brilliant! Judging by the fan websites and even fan fiction still out there, I'm not alone in thinking so. Phil's untimely death is still something that weighs heavily on me, even though I didn't know him. It's odd that someone can feel such a connection with someone they never met, which I think goes to show how impacting and powerful laughter truly is.

Last night Gay Roomie and I watched "Bill Moves On" which is the first episode of the fifth season and the first without Bill. It was hard to watch as the cast did their best to hold it together. After it was over I started to reflected on the day that Phil was murdered, and how I was glued to the news coverage. As I was talking I felt myself starting to get choked up. Just writing this now has me feeling a bit choked up. Does anyone else ever feel that way about a TV show? Maybe I'm just a big ol' softy. Even though Joe Rogan shirtless on the show leaves me anything but feeling soft. ;-)

I have to say that I'm a bit disappointed in the production quality of this DVD. The menus for the commentaries don't work as they did on previous DVDs of the show, and the picture quality seems quite poor at times. The extras are a bit thin, which maybe should have been expected as each season's release found fewer and fewer commentaries and special features. If you haven't watched the show, or haven't watched it since it was on 10 years ago, why not check out a couple episodes on iTunes (season 1 was just released) or just rent a season or two (or five) on Netflix.

Phil/Bill, we miss you. And your adaquatulence. Good times, good times.

Ever hear of Food Porn?

Let it not be said that I like food. I LOVE food! Well, I love good food. There's a big difference. One of my favorite daily reads is SlashFood. This is the site that introduced me to the concept of "food porn." Food that looks/tastes sooo goood that it should be forbidden, or at least taboo. I think that's what I love about Vegas, the restaurants there are like high-class strip clubs with food taking center stage. That being said, I just wanted to introduce you to a few of my personal food porn pleasures.

Chilli Paneer


Mac & Cheese


Avocado, Grapefruit, and Pomegranate Salad


These last two are just for Betty:
Pretty Wedding Cupcakes

And chockylit's Cherry Vanilla Cupcakes

And did you know that the world's favorite beverage also has pornstar-like qualities? I give you Espresso Porn. The pics are just too hot for this blog…see for yourself! Don't worry, they're safe for work (SFW), if you don't mind coworkers drooling over your shoulder.

What food gets you excited? What's your guilty pleasure? Where do you go to get some hot gourmet action? Post your culinary confessions in the comments!

And now, if you will excuse me, I really need to go to the kitchen for some Bourbon Sugar Cookie Crunch Ice Cream lovin'. Don't judge me.

I <heart> sushi

Being that I'm white trash, I know this sounds odd. I could eat sushi ever day. I don't know how or why I came to have an almost insatiable appetite for (mostly) raw sea life, but I don't really care to find out. The stuff is just gooooood. It's always a little disappointed to find out that others don't like it—though I think it's because they've never tried it or never had really good sushi—and do my best to try to convince them otherwise. Heck, once we found a place that will use soy wrappers in place of seaweed-based wrappers even Hooters found she loved sushi!

When I found out that Guitar Hero was going to be in town and that he loves sushi I had to get as many of the BettyFest 2007 players together for a mini reunion of sorts. GH should have been with us in Vegas but as sometimes happens, things just didn't work out. After determining that the BF crew has a universally loved sushi place we set the date. That date was today and I'm writing this after returning from it.

Many of the major players were there: Whiskey, Jack D, Guitar Hero, yours truly, and Betty. Wait. Betty wasn't there. Betty bailed. Betty flaked. Betty has very good drunk-texting skills which has us questioning if she really was too wine-soaked to drive. (Love ya Betty, but I have to give you a hard time 'bout that one.) It was great to see the guys again. And it was especially great to see GH. There's just something about him that you can't help but want to hang out with him. He's just a really special guy. Down to earth, funny, enthusiastic, and cute as a button. I think he's kind of the male equivalent of Q. Ok, ok, I'd better stop singing the praises of GH before my power-top, Whiskey, gets jealous.

Well the sushi was excellent, the guys were a blast, and the night was over far too quickly. We'll have to do this again sometime. Soon. And in Vegas, we need to get GH to Vegas.

Sunday, Bloody Mary Sunday

So as not to incur the wrath of Betty, I made a quick dash out to Trader Joe's to pick up the new Sunday Essentials:

1. Vodka … Tito's Handmade vodka to be exact.
2. Bloody Mary mix … TJ's own
3. Lemons … cause they were outta limes
4. Celery … all they had were the snack packs with peanut butter dip. I think MacGyver would approve of my ingenuity.
5. Tabasco … 'cause that's how GKR rolls

Now I just need to wait for the ice to freeze and the mix to chill and then I'm in business. Betty may be passed out by then so I'm hoping that will give me time to catch up. And just in time for The Amazing Race.

Happy SBMS to all!

Self realization: I am not a redneck

You learn something new every day. And after 33 years I've finally learned the truth. I'm not really a redneck… I'm white trash. For those that don't know the difference, as I didn't until just this morning, the term redneck is usually reserved for people coming from a particular region, whereas white trash can come from just about anywhere. And although rednecks may have possible Scots-Irish ties (and supposedly I'm half Irish) I can now finally accept that I am actually white trash. Thanks Wikipedia.org for clearing up the redneck vs. white trash debate! I'd also like to thank the redneck community for their support over the years. Y'all are some good people.

Realizing that I have yet to go into my personal history on this blog yet (a requirement of the blogosphere if I'm not mistaken), here's a chestnut from my earliest of days. Cutting right to the chase, my teen-age mama enjoyed the men. A lot. Maybe too much. That's probably where I get that from…if only I were as successful. When she found out she was pregnant she was only able to narrow the potential daddy-list down to five. True, five is better than 20, but still. Not wanting to get burdened down with a baby and having to figure out which guy successfully planted the seed (or which guy successfully did not plant the seed) and pay for support, she put me up for adoption. So being born out of wedlock makes me a bastard, too. I'd but that in my profile but there's enough adjectives there already. Besides, people who meet me figure out I'm a bastard pretty quick so really, what's the point.

All of this might explain why I'm so drawn to the tv show "My Name is Earl." It's like I know these people because they're a part of me. The sassy bitch part of me would be Joy. The misguided do-gooder in me is Earl. And as for Randy? Well, I could totally see him as my brother. I'd like to think we even look a bit alike, except that I'm skinnier and have a rockin' mullet going on. Other than that we could be twins. Yes, it's like watching home movies every week.

So there you have it. I'm not a redneck. But rest assured that I'm still gay, a geek, and a bastard. And I'm still not gettin' any.

I nearly threw up

For those who had bets placed on how quickly my str8 roommate would get back together with the girlfriend that neither I nor my other roommate can stand let me be the first to offer congratulations to all who picked one week. Apparently it only took 7 lousy days for Chris to gut himself of any remaining dignity, cut off his newly acquired balls, and bring that vial bitch back into our household. Even if it was just for some schtupping.

You may recall in my previous post about this situation, one week was not enough time for us to plan the much needed "Fuck Off Teri" celebration and chili cook-off. It also was not enough time to give adequate thought into what to do if he actually got back together with her. In my previous post I said I'd kick him out of the house, and after coming home tonight to the pungently putrid smell of fermented yeast and Astroglide wafting out of his half-open bedroom door—seriously, has he ever washed his sheets? No wonder he takes 30 minute showers!—I feel quite motivated to do so. Finding out that they consummated their re-togetherness last night would have been enough to cause my bile to rise, but coming home and being nose-raped by that smell was nearly enough to make me puke. Dear reader, I have my bedroom door closed as I type this and I'm still gagging on the fowl funk creeping under the door. It's probably a good thing I didn't enjoy more Pisco Sours tonight or I might be vomiting face-first in the shitter right now.

"Time makes fools of us all." So true, Philip J. Fry. And apparently 7 days is enough time for one man to fall from grace back into the tentacles of Teri-ble and cause another man to start brushing up eviction law. On the other hand, I guess I could just sell the place and move… but that's another story.

Why SafeSearch is on by default

Well I promised a more entertaining piece, but I didn't expect I'd have something so soon. And str8 guys, this is one you might just like.

One of my (somewhat conservative) friends came in today wearing what some described as an homage to Milli Vanilli… if Milli Vanilli was one person with a penchant for a monochromitic wardrobe. Personally, he looked more like he was rocking an early Avril Levine style, with the wide tie and collared shirt. Unfortunately he wasn't familiar with this punkish diva so I tried to enlighten him by running an innocent Google search for her picture. Neither of us were prepared for the results.

Here's an example of what I thought we'd get from the search…

(click image to open full-size)

Here's what we actually saw…

(click image to open full-size)

And yes, that cute little shamrock is hiding that naughty lady's vajayjay.

I was so taken back by what was suddenly spread eagle in front of me that I fumbled the mouse and missed clicking on the close window button. Instead the window scrolled down to reveal an even closer shot of another lady's angry flower. Now I've seen many pictures and video of said body part before—I've lived with plenty o' str8 guys who thought seeing pictures like that would "cure" me—that I really shouldn't have been as startled as I was. But I think the unexpectedness of it, the expression on Mr. Vanilli's face, and the fact that anyone else could have walked by and saw the images in all their glory on a wide-screen display strongly contributed to my temporary loss of hand/eye coordination.

When I finally managed to close the window, I looked over to see Mr. Vanilli doubled over in laughter. He composed himself and politely informed me that my face was now the same color of my shirt (a near perfect match of Pantone® 19-1663).

Needless to say, I learned why it's wise to leave SafeSearch on when searching images. He never learned what Avril Levine dressed like, but we now know all to well what she (or Photoshoped versions of her) undresses like.

I may need therapy.

Pride revisited

I have a confession. I'm over gay pride. Now before the straight people totally zone out, and before the gays call the authorities to have my membership card revoked, again, please hear me out. It's one thing to be proud of who you are, and even better to be brave by not being afraid of being yourself among those that would try knock you down (both figuratively and literally). But when you take a word, such as "pride," and turn it into a hollow, hyper-marketed, excuse to have a weekend long orgy of boozing, clubbing, and, um, orgies under the pretense of "pride," well, that's where you lose me. On the bright side, the SF Pride event is not-for-profit and does feature some actual community outreach activities if you know where to look.

Don't get me wrong, I like a good celebration as much as the next person (by "next person" I mean someone not all coked up, tripping on E, or loaded on poppers) and I'm not ashamed nor shy about who I am. Just ask my friends (who probably are shy and ashamed about me on occasion—Ricky and O Man in particular). But sometimes I feel a twinge of embarrassment when I see how "gay" is portrayed in the media… sadly, often by our own community (which to this day I feel that "gay community" is an oxymoron). Saddest of all, is that these "ideals" seem to be holding up, almost like role models! Mind you, this is just in my own experience, your milage may vary.

As much as I hate it, I fall prey to it myself… getting sucked into wanted to meet the "perfect gay image" that's in the media and advertising… super fashionable, rippling muscles, perfect skin, highly sexual. I start to fall for it, and I get so pissed off at myself for letting that happen. The whole thing can really get me down. And then I find stories like this… Gay community seeks Jerusalem parade - ynetnews.com.

This is a story I stumbled across (NSFW) tonight and it's what (obviously) prompted this mini-tirade. It makes me think about how often I take for granted that I can be openly gay and, for the most part, not have to worry about getting called names, assaulted, or beheaded. And then I think about how different our pride celebrations are here in the US. Cops show up at our parades to be part of the parades, but in places like Jerusalem the cops have to be asked to protect the parade participants and spectators. Our celebrations feature numerous dance stages, plenty of skin, vendor booths, and live entertainment for days. In Israel you're more likely to find speeches and demonstrations for civil/human rights and the struggle for democratic principles.

Life is hardly perfect here—we still have some civil challenges to overcome—but it could be a lot worse. We take our pride and freedoms for granted far too often because they are rarely challenged.

So for all the straight folks who made it this far… congratulations! (Um, that's all, there's no trophy or anything.) And for the gays who still want me to give my membership card back, just head over to gay.com's chat to meet tonight's hookup like you were on your way to do in the first place.

I promise my next post will not be a rant, shorter, and hopefully much more entertaining. In the mean time, please enjoy this story (and part two) from the wonderful Wil Wheaton.

For when her invisible jet is in the shop

This is one of those "screw it, it's hot and I can't sleep but look what I found on Digg" type posts. While I'm no artist (by my standards), I'm definitely attracted to and inspired by artists and their creations. This particular work has me speechless. Seriously, the thumbnail doesn't do it justice at all. It almost looks fake, because it's so well realized. But don't take my word for it, click on through and enjoy this impressive work by Benedict Radcliffe, head of experimental design at the Glasgow consultancy Stand. If you happen to be in London, you owe it to yourself to pop by Paul Smith on Albemarle Street, Mayfair to see it in person while you can. Better hurry before Wonder Woman realizes where she left her car...

Teri, don't let the door hit where you've been split on the way out...

...I wouldn't want the door to get damaged on your jagged manners and overtly protruding sense of entitlement.

To bring you up to speed, my str8 roommate finally grew a pair of balls and broke up with his girlfriend that neither I nor my other roommate can stand. Seriously. We hate her. With the intensity of a thousand suns going supernova at the same time, we hate her. Honestly, he could do a LOT better. And hopefully he will try. We'd settle for someone with common sense, manners, and who knows her place in the world and our pad.

So help me, if he gets back together with her because "she wants to kill herself because she can't live without him" (it's happened before!) I will kick him out of the house. First of all, anyone willing to kill themselves for "love" is stupid and is pretty much disposable at that point I don't care if you are 21 and all that crap. It's survival of the least moronic. And anyone willing to get back into a demented relationship for that same reason is also pretty much disposable; I can find rent money from someone less naive and more self-confident.

On the other hand, if she's all suicidal because she misses that anaconda he's smuggling in his clingy red pajama bottoms—don't judge… all guys notice bulges, it's an instinct, the locations of said noticed bulges just varies by the str8/gay/bi factor—than I might be a bit more understanding of her plight. But not enough to ever allow her into the house again.

The bottom line is that she's gone. Celebrations must be planned. Peanut butter and soy milk, you are safe once again to be consumed by the person that bought you. Eyes, you no longer have to fear of seeing her prance about the domicile practically naked in her fit of self expression. Yes, celebrations must be planned.

Now, any single women out there want to meet an attractive, 25 year old guy who is sweetly naive and packing (what my other roommate and I assume is) some pretty serious heat in the trouser department? Let me know!

Vocally challenged?

I have a friend (sorry, no names on this one) that I feel like I've really gotten to know over the last year. We talk a lot, nearly every day. And by talk I really mean that we chat via instant message. We don't communicate by phone. And even more rarely in person. None of this even occurred to me, really, until tonight during our usual IM chat before shutting down for the night routine. He was telling me how he went out with some visiting colleagues and had a great time talking with them over drinks and food. This scenario happens often and with a constantly rotating cast of guest stars.

It seems odd to me that someone that I feel I know on a pretty personal level—we've had many a conversation that he said he would never feel comfortable talking to anyone else about—and someone who I would call my friend—shit, I'd be willing to throw down to protect his good name—is someone that I barely ever talk to in person, and not for lack of trying. This leaves me feeling a bit puzzled. It's not a matter of distances as we both live in the same metropolis and our companies are just minutes apart. It's not a matter of shyness as he seems to have no problem talking up people he's meeting in person for the first time.

And let me say what I know you're saying to the screen as you read this, "You're just jealous." Damn skippy I'm jealous! Wouldn't you feel just the tiniest bit of something (perhaps even jealous) if someone you thought you had a reasonably close friendship with (albeit via a chat window) spent most of his (or her) free time gallivanting around with virtual strangers leaving you behind in an electronic void? But I digress. This is a Queries entry … Bitchiness was yesterday.

Yep. I'm perplexed. And, though I can't explain why, I find it eating away at my self confidence leaving a chasm of questions and doubt. If our friendship is meant to primarily exist in a digital form, then what else can I do than to say "it is what it is" and leave it at that? Maybe I should just leave it all together? And as luck would have it, I've only got about 40 minutes left to "get over it" on this, the getting over-est day of days.

BTW … I hate the phrase "it is what it is." Just thought I should make that clear. And now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go refill my thesaurus.

Clarification: This friend is str8 … I'm not looking to date/fuck him. I know better than to waste my time on str8 guys.

Enough with the fake kids

I'm sorry everyone, this is going to be a mini-bitchfest. Not to be confused with Bettyfest or Lilbitchmore. No, I'm now official exhausted with Hollywood's obsession with making kids in movies and TV show so friggin' precocious. And not even just precocious, but like way wittier than most adults could even remotely wish they'd be. Mind you, I was raised on TV to a large degree. A lot of my own vocabulary and amusing repartee has been heavily influenced by TV and movies. Maybe I'm alone in this, but how can the writers, producers, and directors expect me to be completely absorbed in a show/movie where some 2nd grader is spouting off dialog that is too clever even for adults.

Case in point, ABC is promoting their new show "October Road" up the ass right now. It seemed like almost every commercial break in Lost had at least one plug for the show. Anywho, in the particular scene that got me all riled up, a (painfully attractive) man and a woman are meeting again for the first time in many years when the (painfully attractive) man meets the woman's son. I'm guessing the man thought the woman might still be single and he could possibly get back in on that action, so there's a bit of an awkward pause as he weighs this new information. The kid interjects with, "Why don't I delicately extract myself." Seriously? A 7 year old is going to say that? COME ON! This is hardly the first, or even the worst offense, but since I was all amp'd up during Lost, it got the better of me. The show looks like it has a little potential—and no, I don't work for ABC— and when you add in the fact that I'm already smitten with lead actor Bryan Greenberg I might even watch it. Writers listen up, stop making kids sound smarter then they are. Especially Dakota Fanning. 'Nuf said. Tomorrow I will get over it.

P.S.: "October Road" writers, you've got yourself a loyal viewer if you make sure to script in plenty of shirtless scenes with my latest yeah-like-that's-gonna-happen crush (sorry Joe).

It's worked for Ricky Martin

I wasn't planning—or expecting—to post a "deep thought" type of entry any time soon, but this one has been on my mind all weekend. Plus I had a juice glass of cheap red wine, which isn't helping prevent me from typing. So here's the rub… why do str8 guys (and I'm not saying all of them) get so defensive when someone assumes that they are gay? Ok, that's probably more obvious an answer than it should be. (If you answered "ignorance breeds ignorance" you win!) But flip that question around and you're left wondering, do gay guys get upset if someone thinks that they're str8? See, that's a much more interesting question.

If it's "acceptable" for str8s to be horrified for being considered gay, is it acceptable for gays (and lesbians, gotta cover the bases) to feel equally abhorred? Cause oddly enough, it's never been a big deal to me either way. Now those that know me are probably shaking their heads and quipping, "When did someone think you were straight?!" Even when I wasn't out yet, I didn't make a big fuss over someone accusing me of being gay. And that's another thing, why do words like "accusing" always seem to show up in those situations? Sure, the right-wingers will shoot back with "that's because you're supposed to be str8 so you shouldn't feel any shame in people thinking you're str8." The ignorance of these people scares me… I wish I could ask them when they chose to be str8, or chose their skin color, or food allergies. Somethings we just weren't given a choice on, and that's not a bad thing.

Ok, I'm getting a bit off topic. Let's rewind to what started this whole deep-thought thing. A good friend, let's call him Ricky, called me because he was concerned that his coworkers in his intimately small institution were debating whether he was gay or straight. My immediate reaction was, "Well, at least they care enough to talk about you. They're showing an interest!" Maybe not the most supportive thing to say, but honestly, I didn't see it as a big deal. I mean hell, latin heart-throb Ricky Martin has been using his ambiguity to his advantage for years now. On the other hand, you have jack-asses like Lance Bass who come out with big fanfare and then list their stipulations… saying, "I only date straight-acting guys." Whatever. Lance it's obviously to even my mother that you are a huge queeny bottom and you're not making the world a better place for anyone by playing the straight-acting card. A dick is a dick, wether it's attached to a straight-acting guy or not, and you like it up your ass. You're not the first. You're not the last. Get over it, get over yourself, and just be happy that someone actually wants to put theirs in you.

I guess what I'm getting at is what's the big deal about what gender you dig? Why should it matter? Why does it have to be just one? And why is it still an issue all the way in 2007? Unfortunately it is still an issue, and may always be. So, Ricky, the best advice I can give to you is to make the best of it. You know who you dig, and that's all that matters. I hope you find someone who digs you back. And if Lance Bass comes a knocking, run!

For those expecting something more humorous, my apologies. Here's a link to something funny (and slightly more ranting) to tide you over.

What's the big 'deal' with Vegas?

Like what I did with the title? Deal… like in poker… as in gambling… pretty cleaver, huh? Yeah, well, they can't all be funny.

So I'm finally fully recovered from Vegas. Can't say that everyone else who was there is yet. Maybe it's just a case of Vegas withdrawals. The Bettyfest trip was a highlight of my life. That's right, I said LIFE. Ok, so I'm still in my early mid-thrities with my "whole life" ahead of me, but seriously, it's going to be hard to top Friday night at the HOB Foundation Room, followed by a visit to OGs (both down and up stairs) where I helped to change at least one person's life, and then meeting a lovely Scottish groom-to-be named Steven wearing a kilt [NSFW] and black leather corset who let me chomp on his ball gag [NSFW]. Yeah, that was just our first 12 hours in town.

But the real highlight wasn't so much the drinking and debauchery that took place as it was getting to drink and debauch with the people I was with. Being around Betty, Hooters, Whisky, Jack D, Hootie, Q, and the famous Joe Speaker—who, by the way, is like way hotter than anyone has a right to be—was the real jackpot of the trip. It would have to be, because I gave away all of my actual money playing poker, the slot machines, eating amazing food, buying dress shoes (AND a $50 belt that I could have picked up at the local Wal-Mart for a five and change) to get into clubs, and stuffing the crotches of damn hot (yet suspiciously homophobic) male strippers dancers. Bet you thought I was getting all sentimental there with all that jackpot talk, huh. Don't second guess the K-Ray. The sugar high from the box of Tagalongs® I polished off an hour ago has faded and the bitter coldness of reality is setting in again.

Plus we just had an earthquake.

To wrap this up, allow me to share some very important lessons learned in Vegas:
1. Stick to the same liquor the entire time and you can function on barely any sleep
2. Even strippers have standards
3. I finally understand how blinds work in Texas Hold 'Em
4. Hootie can sing like no one's business
5. While life takes Visa apparently Joe will only take off his shirt for American Express

Good times… good times.