Spank Me Daddy

So last night Michelle and I met up with my old friend Johnny at the Gauntlet.
Johnny is an insane nut.
He went to Berkeley and befriended this jewess who went to high school with a jewess in my dorm.
So of course the two gals tried to set us up even though we're so not each other's type.
We may have sucked each other off, but thats about it. He's like a sister to me now, but I only get to see him like once every year since he goes to law school in Ohio.

As I approached the seedy leather bar, he was waiting outside, his thin 6'2 frame leaning against the blue stuccoed wall. (blue stucco, ewww..)
He was holding a water bottle filled with jack and diet since he's still a lush even if he is broke.
He perked up upon seeing me, rushed over to me and without hesitation said,
"Oh my god, Astro, I met some guy off of Craigslist, and he came over and jizzed all over my ear. Can you get HIV from that?! My ear totally hurts!"

And he was being dead serious.

Anyways, I had forgotten that you can't bring a girl to a leather bar. Michelle screeched upon entering, the big burly men turned and glared at me for bringing vadge into their lair of testosterone, and John kept asking me about his cum-laced ear.

Of course I fell in love with the bartender and several of the patrons. I think I'm destined to become a bear. That or I'm just really tired of the skinny primadonna queens that frequent West Hollywood. I want a man with muscles, a bit of fat, and a little edge and not Lindsay Lohan. (Lin-Lo)

I suggested we hit Akbar, where we hung out for a hot minute. But I was tired, and wanted to go home to shop online for a cardigan and cashmere v-neck sweater. (I want Gucci, but Michelle keeps trying to get me to buy Polo Raph Lauren Purple Label. I'm a skank, not a prepster)

My best friend Chow called me a couple nights back about an attempted mugging that occured to him in the Lower East Side.
Fortunately, the cops apprehended the street rat and Chow is 100% fine.
Makes you want to carry mace and a big stick. And a security guard with an even bigger stick.

Tonight I'm going to my friend's party for his personal trainer's birthday. Oh yes, kids, that's LA for you.

Fixed that link on the previous entry

sorry bout that..
Tonight im going to that Wet Underwear Contest at the Gauntlet II. Their website displays the tagline "Upholding the Masculine/Leather/Fetish/Uniform Ethic."
HA! Whatever!
The queens there are probably two drinks away from doing runway.

Reading on...

My friend/fag hag Michelle sent me a link to this guy's weblog. Yet another sister fighting the good battle against crystal meth

Tina makes you crazy, kiddies...and it makes you look like Karen Carpenter with bad skin. 'Nuff said.

Being Courted

Its funny how things rarely go the way you think they'll go...

I totally thought Kirk was waaay too nice for me. He doesn't drink even though he was never an alocoholic, he rarey goes out, and likes to stay in and read instead of bar hopping. HELLO, I'm a crazy lush/bar slut, what the hell do I have in common with this guy?!?!?

But he's been courting me pretty steadily these past few weeks, and my resolve for us not to work is weakening...
the motherfucker bought me Harry Potter AND has already done the one thing that will guarantee a tug on my heart strings: he surprised me with a pint of Ben and Jerry's. The fat girl inside of me already loves him.

I still don't know if I want a boyfriend, because in examing my track record this past year, I've repeatedly developed big crushes on guys who were emotionally unavailable, complete drug addicts, or big himbos. In other words, I've dated
men who I knew I could never really fall for...or become really vulnerable to.
All the while lamenting my state as a singleton.
Have I met quality guys in that time? Yes.
And Kirk's one of them, but I STILL have whiplash from that little incident I like to call Chernobyl:The Break-Up Summer 04.
I don't know what I'm looking for...some miracle-worker blind date who'll trust immediately upon first contact? Or some built-hottie with a heart of gold who works with mentally-handicapped children? Because even if I did meet the perfect guy, I doubt I'd be ready or willing to give it a go.
But I'm trying.. just gotta breathe and not be too neurotic about it all.

My hottie tottie boy from SF is coming down this upcoming weekend...so let's see if I can focus on one guy for than a week. Speaking of...Jake sent me the photo of the Golden Gate from Baker Beach. Jesus, I forgot how beautiful SF actually is...it wasnt until I was in LA- the ugliest fucking city on the California coastline that I realized the extent of SF's beauty.

In other news, I've been extremely busy with work... which is good and bad.
Good because Im starting to like my job. Bad because I hate waking up at 6:30 to get to the office at 8am. WHO DOES THAT?! Fucking aye! JESUS!

And so far every friend I've made so far in LA seems to be a New Yorker. Probably because I can't deal with dishonesty, and I'm sorry LA but your residents tend to be full of shit.
Don't tell me your a model, dude, when you're 5'4 and slightly pudgy. Saying you're a model ain't going to make you look like one. And calling yourself an actor when the one thing you've done is a commercial 7 years ago is a bit of a stretch. And make sure not to name drop too much; it looks desperate.

A bunch of us are going to the Gauntlet's wet underwear contest tomorrow night. Wish me luck, boys...my goodies are gonna be wet.

Poodle's Pad

Okay, so I'm full of envy and spite.

My friend Paul was out of town this week on work so he gave me the keys to his lush pad in WeHo.
The aprtment complex he lives in is REE-FUCKING-DICULOUS.
The kind of place that perhaps 5 percent of the total world population can afford to live in. IT's that KIND OF PLACE.
So of course its full of childless gays with large incomes and big SUVs.

As I was dropping by to use the pool the other day, the door to the apartment across the hall opened up and out stepped POODLE, a classmate of mine from Stanford.

Poodle earned his name as an undergrad for his incesssant primping. As a freshman, he made weekly trips to the nail salon, tanning salon, AND hair salon. (YES HAIR SALON... barber shops just wouldn't do for this girl) He went on to continue his weekly coiffing along with increased gym time....making this Stanford belle a very hot commodity.
He's fairly attractive with a lean built body, bright smile, and dark eyes, BUT he's also one of the most smug individuals in existence. AND I HAAAAAATE SMUGNESS.
Every converation I've had with Poodle involves 1)his money, 2) his looks, and 3) a repeating of the first two.

Poodle squealed when he saw me, and insisted I check his apartment out.

Except Poodle didnt live in an apartment, he lived on the set of a lost gay Sex and the City character. Or a high-end furniture showroom.
He lives in a two-bedroom apartment by himself. Dark hardwood floors. Marble showers, custom-designed kitchen, and two bathrooms.
And he owns the place.

Normally this sort of thing wouldnt bother me, but lately as I'm dealing with car payments, insurance, and student loans, I've become sensitive to money problems.
And I felt jealous. Jealous that Poodle has his rich parents to bank roll his life.
I know its totally idiotic seeing as we're all pretty lucky to have the lives we have.

Being a rational human being, the gym manager piped in his two cents during that night's work out.

"Since he didnt have to work for it, he doesn't really appreciate it. It's not like he earned that apartment, so in some ways I feel bad for him."

Who wants to earn shit?! And why do you feel bad for him??

Eh, but such is life...
It just sucks when you catch yourself being jealous of someone who sorta rubs you the wrong way.

You've Got To Work It Out

Last night the manager of my gym worked my kitten to a pulp. He's this beefy southern queen with a huge drawl and biceps to match. Despite the muscle mass, he's all woman! WEEEERK! He had me doing crazy exercises that made me want to vomit..had me panting, sweating, and on the verge of tears.

And I absolutely loved it.

Knowing that I'm pushing my body beyond its limitations really eggs me on. Especially when I can lift more weight than even a month ago. It's disgustingly body facist and self-absorbed, but it totally turns me on.
So why is it that I can't be like that with my career? Am I destined to become a huge meathead?!
Eh! Whatever, at least I'm not doing crack, people!

In other news, it looks like I'm going to be in Provincetown for a long weekend next month, and I really can't wait.
Gimme some East Coast flavor with quality beach time.

I'm going to see Trannyshack tomorrow night at some tranny-bar called Illusions.

Eating in Glass Towers

Tim sent me a text message from Jean George's new restaurant Perry St, and once again, I'm mad with jealousy.
Not that I want to taste the culinary mastery of Jean George as much as I want to be in the Richard Meier towers, the architectural over-priced housing folly.

My plans for tonight include the Mean Girls DVD and some Carb-Karma Cookie Dough Ice Cream.

I got myself a fag hag

Tourists in LA always drive convertibles, and not cute ones like Mini-Cooper convertibles, but they'll have a Sebring. What kind of car is called a Sebring?!
And they're always red-faced from not wearing hats or sunblock.

On Friday, we headed to East West in WeHo.
Upscale, full of power fags, overpriced drinks and a full-on bouncer and line at the front.
As I stepped up to the bar, I laughed, and called Rachel, "Look, I'm not waiting in line for a gay bar in West Hollywood! Manhattan MAYBE, but WeHo...NEVER!"

Fortunately, Michelle got us in quick without too much of a scene, and this loud queen was silenced.

East West used to be Revolver, the video bar that showed Britney Spears clips and Sex and the City episodes. From what I hear, its been around since Pre-AIDS days, so I was sorta sad to see it go.
Now its home to the most upscale bar I've seen anywhere. Theres been talk that the management wants to institute some members only policy- which is laughable because of course faggots will be all over that like me on Collin O'Neal.
But come on, the bar isnt that nice...it's not like its the Soho House. But I feel like gays need to feel like they're members of some exclusive club in order to justify their catty behavior.
The guys there were honestly really hot. Probably the hottest collection of guys I've seen since coming here, but like all LA boys, they were all very manicured.

Michelle held court at our table at East West because she's the biggest fag hag I've ever met.

Now I know I've said I hate fag hags, because for the most part they're a cloying annoyance. And for most men, they're a crutch. Women who can't get a social life of their own so they latch onto the gay scene. And in doing so, become huge cock blockers.

But there's something very charismatic about Michelle.
She's incredibly witty, has a biting comedic edge, and is slightly crazy.
Which in my book, makes you family.
Plus she's elitist in the same ways I am and we've been ripping on people constantly.

She called me about a month ago out of the blue, and I had NO idea who the fuck she was.
Last year, I went into a friend's PR agency to interview for a job. I didn't end up getting the job (most likely because I was fifteen minutes late to the interview....) but I apparantly left a good impression with my friend's personal assistant. Now, I maybe talked to Michelle for 30 seconds...
This is the call I got:

Michelle: Hey honey, its Michelle!

Me: Uh..hey..

Michelle: Hey, long time no talk, but I heard you just moved out here so I thought I'd give you a call. I moved out here about a month ago.

Me: Great...now I dont mean to be rude, but who...are you?

Michelle: It's Michelle from Henry's office. We met last year, silly.

Me: Oh cool.... uhh, (trying to scan my memory for anything)

Michelle: Look doll, I have a harem of hot gay friends here, and if you're smart you'll come hang out and get cocktails ASAP.

Me (thinking): I'm now being telemarketed by fag hags.

And I of course perked up by the mention of "harem of hot gay friends."

I've met them, and they're soooo hot. Which sadly makes me happy. Looks like I have myself a fag hag.

New Crush

I usually don't develop crushes on porn stars, but I think I've become boring.
I mean I live for lunches and 6p. SAVE ME FROM THIS PROVINCIAL LIFE!
Let's vacay in Miami or Mexico.
Last night my friends and I went to Marix and got drunk on Margies.
Kirk stopped by and laughed at us because he's sober.
Anyway, here's my latest obsessive crush...
Collin O'Neal.

Everybody Get Krunk

Last night my friend Mikey dragged me to Here for their hip hop night. (read: African American Night)
It's sad that the gay community is so racially segregated, and as I walked around West Hollywood last night I found all of the white boys at the Abbey, blacks at Here, and latinos at Rage. As for the Asians, they were just dispersed everywhere although I hear they have an Asian night at Rage on Fridays.

Well I don't like imaginary racial lines, much less some stupid notion that I belong to a certain subdemographic of an already marginalized segment of society just because I was fortunate enough to be born latin.

But one wierd thing I've noticed is that because of the CONCENTRATED racism against latinos and Mexicans in California, a lot of latin men I meet are claiming to be mixed. Now, I'm sure thats true for some of them, but I get the feeling that most of them are lying in order to combat the pernicious racism against Mexicans. Because sweetie...having come from the latin tribe, I know what my people look like.

Latins are mixed by their very origins; being the result of imperialism and warfare, Mexicans have had German, French, and Spanish flags fly over their nation.
And South Americans are even more mixed with the huge influx of Italians, Jews, and fugitive German Nazi's seeking refuge during/after World War II.

Latins do come in all shapes and sizes, being the most racially mixed people in the world, but why is it that every gay latin man in LA is somehow half-italian? Have full-blooded gay latinos dissappeared? Is lying about your racial background become a way to upgrade your looks?

Take David for example. He works at my gym, and is pretty fucking hot. Great body, great face. Totally turns heads everywhere he goes with his insane bubble butt and pretty boy face. His last name: Rodriguez (well not really but its just as latin.) Now there is no way in hell that last name came from anywhere but the Spanish speaking world.
I could see the Phillipines because the Spanish did spread their seeds there, but this gym homeboy claims to be Hawaiian.

He wasn't born in Hawaii nor are any of his ancestors from there. He grew up in Bakersfield and his parents, I know for a fact, are Mexican. So why lie?!

And my buddy Mikey lets people guess. Since he looks like he's a white boy, people often think he's French, and he just lets them believe that.

What happened to ethnic pride?
I know that insecure people lie about their backgrounds all the time, but I for one think you should be BROWN and proud.

The latin tribe may not have been born with tons of money. We may have corrupt governments, a non-existent middle class, and may be the struggling work force in the United States, but I think those are all reasons to be proud of our advancements.
AND we were blessed with nice asses and gorgeous brown skin. Jesus people, how much more do you want?!
Fucking aye!
If you want further proof of the HOTNESS of latin males, check out Terra (the Spanish speaking world's Yahoo) and their montly feature of The Boy. Nuff Said.

Calls from the East Coast

Chow and Josie are having dinner at Matsuri at the Maritime-- and I'm insanely jealous I can't join them. Those fucking shits. It's war, bitches! I hope you eat bad sashimi and shit salmon for days.

Heading out of the office now to get some drinks with co-workers. I hate drinking with people I work with because my first reaction is to run away at the end of the day but I feel as if I should make an effort to make nice.

There was more to this entry but I've been censored.

Actually...

Karl Rove looks a little peddy- as in pedophilic.
I swear I saw him at Le Fleur's on 41st street getting a lap dance from a teenaged latino hooker in fishnet undies.

Karl Rove is in deep shit

Karl Rove has been fingered (haha, he's been fingered) as the man who leaked Valerie Plame's identity as a CIA operative to the press. Bush HAD promised to fire anyone in his adminstration involved with the leak, but OF COURSE Bush can't fire his BRAIN. Karl Rove bascially runs the show , and without him, Bush would be fucked...up the ass...without lube.

And lets face it, the Dem's don't have enough power or balls to actually do anything. Although we should be seeing Rove at a congressional hearing, my guess is that potentially explosive Watergate will blow over and once again Bush's cronies will get away with nothing more than a slap on their well-moneyed wrist.

and can I just say...Karl Rove is one ugly motherfucker. He may hate the gays but the gays think YOU IS UGLY!
check out the developing story...

And one more for good measure

I havent seen the Fantatstic Four movie yet, but I'm TOTALLY planning on seeing it as Chris Evans plays Johnny Storm aka The Storm.
Why am I still af 14 year old girl?
And how do I get abs like that?

Gratuitous Flesh Break

Okay, enough with the dramatics already. Enjoy a pic of my fav model hottie, Rafael Verga.

Let Go Already!

I'm posting a blog that I didnt post before because of its bitter tone...but seeing as I'm now making an attempt to finally let go of my EX and that messy relationship, here you go...on the web for the whole world to see. Yes, I'm a very messy queen:


Originally written May 18th:

Being away from New York for two months has given me enough distance to recognize a couple things that I couldn't see before because I was either too self-involved or too distracted. But I think that most of us, regardless of where we live, are like that. It's hard to be objective about the dramas and the people in your life when you're going through the motions of living. But it's particularly hard when you're knee deep in club openings, gay gossip, and one-night stands. And all of it is partly fun because they are distractions.

The most disturbing revelation being that I'm more of an angry little man than I had initially imagined. I mean I've always known I was angry, but the level of fury boiling inside of me is now scaring me.
I'm angry at Bush, my parents, my friends, BUT most especially...the EX. He's no doubt a good man, but he REALLY fucking hurt me. The ending of that relationship sent me into an emotional tailspin of epic porportions. And I've realized that I'm really fucking angry at him for continually telling me it was my abusive behavior that ended it all. Well, let me tell you, my friends, my EX was just as abusive as I was- if not more. I had to deal with as many breakdowns and tantrums as he did- and had to be told constantly BY HIM how lucky I was for being his boyfriend. Well, EX, I'm no longer going to allow myself to be your scapegoat. Go buy yourself a dog and kick it around.

The real KICKER is that the EX started a romance shortly before ours. I remember the pain I felt when I came over to his apartment four months later, and found pictures of the guy on his corkboad, in his kitchen, on the bathroom mirror, and in his bedroom. Only to be told by the EX that he was only dating the guy to sever our relationship....RIIIIGHHT. To that I say get a backbone. You're a 40 year old man and you couldn't break up with me without starting another relationship? Imagine the pain I went through knowing that the man I loved had a new boyfriend. And he's tried telling me that they were just dating...

Well being an experienced dater, I know that I don't put up 10 pictures of guys I'm casually dating unless I want to be reminded of the guy....OR did he put those pictures up only to hurt me? Whatever the case is...the knife is still in my heart.
Fuck....told you I'm still angry.

I can't even continue this posting, I need a cup of coffee, a cigarette, and a minute of deep breathing.

A year anniversary

So Jake the hottie bartender called me a couple days ago from SF to try to schedule a visit at the end of the month...
but being as I'm stressed as I am from work and the recent move, I sorta freaked out on him when he reminded me that he doesn't have a credit card....and that I'd have to front him the cost of the flight..

Time Out: Jake's 30. And doesn't have a checking account. What about that said to me, "BOYFRIEND MATERIAL." It didn't. His abs distracted me. Fuck my DICK! It gets me into soo much trouble.

But lesson learned: If a man doesn't have a checking account, then he don't date him. FUCK HIM and then RUN!

Unless you want to be sugar daddy, but I'm WAY TOO YOUNG AND BROKE to be someone's sugar daddy.

Soo anyway...

Jake: Hey baby, I want to come down and see you.
Me: Oh that's great. When are you thinking of coming down?
Jake: I was thinking this upcoming weekend. (I swear he's so retarded I can hear him drooling on the phone)
Me: Well that's a little last minute but I'll clear up my schedule.
Jake: Could you pay for the ticket upfront with your card and I'll pay you back?
Me: Pay me back with what?! YOU'RE FUCKING BROKE, BITCH!

But I didn't say that.

Me: Fine. But you have to pay me back this time, Joey. I'm broke and I can't be paying for your ticket. Or else I'm giving Steve from Visa your phone number.

The thing is Jake is a good guy. He'll come down and fully "intend" on paying me back.
But he'll come down with $200 and the ticket will have cost $180, and then I'll end up paying for everything else while he's down here. Either he's really smart (which I know isn't the case) or he just assumes that I don't mind paying for things.

But because of his money problems and the fact that I can't hump his hot body over the phone, I've been looking for an excuse to finally kill whateverthefuck you call our relationship.
Because without the sex and the constant pot smoking, all we got are boring phone conversatoins.

I have a deeper relationship with Steve from Visa. (btw, fuck you Steve. Who signs up for a job to call people to remind them of their insolvency?!)

The real issue at hand is that ever since my Ex and I broke up, I've been somewhat unable to really date anyone who would ever become a real partner.

Jake was great, but he was clearly a really really good rebound.
Great Rebounds consist of several factors:
Hot Body: Check.
Hot Sex: Oh fuck yeah. Check.
Easy to date: Check.
Totally into you: Check.
Hot enough to make your ex crazy with jealousy at the thought of all the hot sex you're having, because you've made sure that his friends hear about it somehow and that it will get back to him: Check.

But enough with rebounds. I want to date a man with some substance. I mean I of course want all the great qualities that Jake had, but I want there to be some serious magic. The kind I had with my Ex. And I think that's what makes breaking up really hard; the memory of how magical things were with a person. It's very intangible and hard to define but I guess it's another way of saying chemistry.

It's almost been a year, and I'm starting to come to think that maybe I'll never get over him. And maybe that's fine. But I am looking forward to feeling that chemistry again.

In the meantime, I'll be humping hot rebounds.

Unicorns

Yet again, I've met a guy with a real job, brains, and brawn- another veritable unicorn in the world of gay dating who I have absolutely NO sexual chemistry with.

Kirk is a hot geek who makes me laugh out loud, but after two date, I have no desire to take it any further.

Five bucks says I hook up with a big dumb hot guy this weekend instead.

Mixed Blessings

My friend Sam apparantly got fucked so hard he ended up ripping his Kate Spade sheets.
Kate Spade makes sheets? Puke.
I hate Kate Spade. Hate the bags, hated the girls who had the bags, and think it's a mixed blessing that your tacky overpriced sheets were shredded in the heat of the moment.
I got a call from several friends who were in Fire Island this past weekend.
Seems that one of my friends managed to meet a cute nice guy out there after making out with half the island. Romance is still alive, it seems, even in New York's gay beach getaway.
My first time out there I was a complete wreck....
Imagine it: I had broken up with the EX. Had heard stories of him dating another guy, had gained about 10 pounds, and was still trying to grow facial hair. I looked like a fat latin hick. And I was depressed enough to make the Bell Jar look like a romantic comedy.
So when Jamie invited me out to Fire Island, I said yes to escape the humid city, and to escape my sad post-EX world.
At first I was a total loser; moping around the island writing in my journal, but thankfully Jamie's friends were a group of sexy sweet guys.
We made meals together, went and hung out on the beach, and skinny dipped about 6 times.
They reminded me that there was life after love; and taught me that some guys really do look hot in a speedo.

Don't Cry for Me California

I'm sorry I'm such a lazy fucking blogger.

In the past week, I laid out on some old man's yacht with my friend Jano. Got tan, got felt up, and got drunk.

I havent really been in my usual soriority girl party mode so I've been laying low lately.

I got my haircut at Shorty's in West Hollywood- which is apparantly THE bomb-diggity place to get your hair cut if youre a big fag in WeHo. Thanks go out to Kevin for the suggestion to go there.

And I moved to my new place in Los Feliz- more ghetto, more room, and the true indicator of gentrification- gays/hipsters abound with bad haircuts and converse sneakers.

Things that scare me: Tom Cruise, madras shorts, cystic zits, and car accidents.
Things I love: Reduced Fat peanut butter, Murad's skin care line, and my crunch gym on sunset.