Shoot Me Now

feeling

2009-04-08T21:26:00.000-07:00

While unpacking my weekend bag, I found a single blue argyle sock of his. and I actually put it up to my face in some misguided attempt to feel him again.

One weekend; four days of time together and I'm spun .

Gnawing

2009-02-18T10:17:00.000-08:00

im one of those people who reads AM New York- the free daily handed out at subway stations by wind-chapped people.
I skimmed the fashion week coverage and first saw Eva Longoria who was at the Matthew Williamson show I worked at...and then I of course saw a short review of Rodarte, and it plunged me into a deeper black hole of depression.

Rodarte is a Vogue-darling- annointed by Wintour herself as fashion prodigies- which in itself wouldn’t depress me.
But Rodarte is designed by a duo of heavy-set sisters who still live with their parents in Pasadena. And they were girls I used to happy hour with at tacky Castro bars in SF.
Fashion Week is a seasonal abusive reminder to me that I have met people along the way who love what they do. Editors, designers, etc- some of whom I’ve dated or at least drank with on a regular basis who are successful and seem outwardly happy…who at one point were at the same level as I was…and somehow I’m now here.

And this is my life.
What happened?

the apt search in nyc

2008-04-09T21:29:00.000-07:00

i honestly hate the apt search in nyc more than anything, i am seriously considering moving to ohio and letting myself get fat and watch reality TV and develop a farmers tan.

long day of work

2008-04-03T20:38:00.000-07:00

stuck at work till 8pm, i run over to the gym and pump out a solid 45 minute chest and arm workout and rush over to doggy day care to pick up the rhodesian before they close at 9p.

the fat day care employee glares at me as i stroll in at 8:59p with my cell against my ear and my eye to my blackberry. i could really care less if this fat fuck has to wait an extra ten minutes for me. my day is completely not my own- i am the bitch of my company and its founding partners and i find the smugness of the doggie day care employees infuriating.

i make a healthy dinner of sausage, spinach, broccoli, and fresh mozzarella and watch old episodes of Sex and the City with my roomie/best friend. I realize how mean the cougars on SATC are to one another- and it makes me feel a little better for being such a cunty friend to my best friends- I guess thats what best friends do to one another- they tell you the things you don't want to hear.

I take a klonopin to bring me down to earth from the adderoll and fully recognize that yes I am participating in a system of uppers and downers but its finally Friday tomorrow and I could care less.

I'm finally drowsy and feel the end of the day coming upon me. Tomorrow I have an annoying project to tackle but look forward to a good work-out and drinking with the friends tomorrow night.

2008-04-02T10:07:00.000-07:00

a newfriend has inspired me to start blogging again,. so here it goes:
i'm exhausted from a late dinner (read: drinking) and i'm at my desk pondering how I ever got to this moment.

Will I always feel so inadequate? I'm not buff, rich, or successful enough to warrant my existence. Sounds harsh and self-pitying- but fuck you this is my blog and I can whine all I want.
It doesn't help that I have a friend who's the equivalent of Captain America and Regina George. I can't help but to compare myself against him and all the attention that gay men throw their way.

The love life is in shambles. My ex has hired a surrogate to carry his seed and she's fully three months pregnant....

I'm still in love with him. Probably always will be. I have had countless dreams in which we kiss passionately-which is odd given that we stopped doing that long ago.

I've been dating a young restauranteur who I wildly volley from adoring to abhorring. I'll call him some nights longing for his presence--other nights I'll recoil from his touch and find faults with the most random qualities- like the fact that he eats like shit. Onion Rings with mayonaise. Milk with whip cream.

It makes my skin crawl and I deny him sex.

My job is a comedy of errors. I'm the asisstant to perhaps the best publicist in the nation- I was promoted several months ago, but that transition is dragging on as my Devil Wears Charvet boss is having a hard time letting go, but I still don't know what kind of career I want.

30 is on the horizon- a little over a year and change away- and I have so much to do before I'm forced to do that survey of accomplishments.

So for now I'm eating my veggies, trying to stick to my gut and stay true to my values.

I need to take a pill now. Signing off- astro.

The problem with blogs

2008-01-14T18:20:00.000-08:00

most of my life now deals with confidential information- well the juicy stuff does- that writing a blog isn't really possible. not that anyone ever read this save for my very few close friends.

Fuck YouTube

2007-08-16T10:36:00.000-07:00

I've been trying to post a fucking youtube video and its not working. I hate not being able to do something a 6 yr old with down syndrome can do in their sleep.

Things to look forward to:
1. Vacation on the 22nd.
2. Fire Island this weekend?

God Speaks

2007-08-08T14:51:00.000-07:00

Today in New York was so ridic that it was ridonkulous...this morning while passed out, there apprantly was some biblical storm that flooded the entire subway system.

And that led to the entire city spiraling into chaos- which I honestly love. No other city falls into complete disarray better than New York, and it was particularly fantastic because today is the most humid day thus far this year, with a temperature of 94 and 80 percent humidty. It felt like we were walking around a huge yeasty ripe vagina.

Many i-bankers decided it was better to strip their shirts off rather than sweating through them which gave me a cheap thrill. There's n0thing quite like seeing a buff straight guy who is probably a big self-centered asshole without his shirt.

Fortunately,I was in VERY RARE form and was on my way into the office an hour earl but it took me a full hour and a half to get here- and living in Williamsburg, I was smashed up against hipsters. It was quite the experience as I usually throw icy daggers with my eyes at the scruffy posers.

Lesson from God: Don't even try to get to work early. You just are not meant to be in the office before 9am.

Amen to that.

Happiness is...

2007-08-07T10:04:00.000-07:00

being at the beach with your big crazy dog... and having your best friend nearby. I miss mine, he's out at the beach with the dog, and I've never felt so far away from them.

Edicts

2007-08-07T10:01:00.000-07:00

me: why am i friends with those people again?
D-Riggedy: oh that's right
me: they're toooooo gay, im in a homophobic mood
D-Riggedy: i forgot
me: i mean they go to circuit parties
ewww!
im pretty sure they went to the pier dance
i can't be friends with people like that
i am going to make a broad delcaration and state that if you attend more than 2 circuit events in a calendar year, then we sadly cannot have any sort of friendship
and there's my edict
im going to post it on my blog and make it official
what other things can i add to my list, purchasing andrew christian or ginch gonch underwear.
wearing camouflage over the age of 21?
believing that doing E on a weekly basis is okay
D-Riggedy: lol
you are killing me
me: well recognize thats its me trying to distance myself from something that is a part of me
but working out incessantly is also part of that
i really should have better things to do
like feeding orphaned black tranny childrens
D-Riggedy: i would pay to see that
me: i of course would do it in a head wrap much like angie
posing for photos as i caress the children
lips full and pouted

Good Morning

2007-08-07T09:38:00.000-07:00

Life is good, great even, sometimes its hard being perpetually broke and hungry for something unknown, but I'm alive and still able to run wild.

Now if only that was enough for my creditors.

G-L-A-M-O-R-O-U-S

2007-08-07T09:12:00.000-07:00

I'm trying to be a better person, I really am.

I just wish I could stop fixating on the same issues in my life- it seems as if I'm arrested in this stage where I obsessively think about looks and sex which I think is what's expected of me as a gay man.

That compulsive need to be affirmed for how I look is so spiritually vacant and boring that its frustrating to think that I've been trying to get past this for most of my adult life.

Why I love Ann Coulter

2007-03-14T14:22:00.000-07:00

So Ann's gotten into a bit of trouble these days by mouthing off and saying the word faggot.

But at least the blonde witch has the guts to say faggot instead of just voting against my rights to marry and using ambiguous language.

The problem with our bi-partisan system is that it creates an atmosphere where politicans have to embrace a wide set of issues- and somewhat agree on the stance decided upon by the party.

It's so black and white- so not in touch with how humanity lives in its various dissentions and needs.

But if we have to play this game, I will say that I hope that Republicans are ashamed of themselves for supporting a lying sack of shit. How many more scandals do we need for the GOP to stop pointing their judgemental fingers at Clinton and his supposed tyranny?

I'm on Fire

2007-03-14T14:01:00.000-07:00

Recently, someone criticized me for my juvenille interests. Since I am now a 27 year old man- I guess I'm supposed to wear lots of argyle sweaters, go gallery hopping, and watch indie fimlsat the Angelika theatre. And you know what, I do those things (well except for the argyle- that's played out.)

And in spite of what people think how I should live, I also like to:

-watch America's Next Dancelife in the Laguna Hills
-drink
-make out
-be loud
-nap
-and discuss the merits of favorite shows while drinking and making out loudly which all leads up to napping

I understand the criticism that perhaps I'm not devoting enough of my life to more serious matters like discussing national security and global warming, or that I'm not changing the world by building my own leadership academy for girls. (go Oprah!), but I'm doing things one day at a time.

So fuck off, because as a wise old man with big biceps once said, "I am what I am."

In the Elevator

2007-02-01T16:09:00.000-08:00

One of the four elevators in my office building is down, and it's making my life hell.
And for some odd statement from God, I'm always trapped in there for long periods of time with morbidly obese people.

The kind of people who breathe heavily and sweat....because they've walked the 20 feet from their office to the elevator.

Politcal Correctness aside. that's just fucking sick. If you're that fat, then stop fucking eating. Just stop, and let your body feed off your lard.

Because when you're in an elevator, there's an unusually eerie silence. You can hear a pin drop in there.
But not with Kirstie Alley and John Travolta riding. All you hear is heavy labored breathing, and all I can think of is fat folds of sweat.

High School Friends

2007-01-22T10:22:00.000-08:00

So I'm almost ten years out of high school- and let me just tell anyone who's 18 now, the next ten years are going to go by faster than you could ever imagine. And you're going to realize how retarded and lame most of your dramas are..that is if you ever grow up. (some people don't, and those people end up dating your friends)

In high school I had a really tight group of friends--- but in retrospect, my friendships were largely formed by an innate desire to belong to a group of friends- so that I could take lots of stupid group photos and have a table to call my own in the quad.

Sure they were sweet enough but what teenager in high school really knows themselves. My friendships were a product of promixity and convenience...and my need to feel accepted at a very insecure time in my life.

That desire to be in a clique sadly never goes away for most people- it's yet one more paradoxical element of man. We all want to be unique and special but in a way that allows us membership with other kindred unique special spirits. To be different and yet to belong.

Anyway, I met up with two of my high school best friends who also live here in New York. It was great seeing them, and upon meeting at the designated coffee shop, we all were so eager to update each other on our lives. We all spoke quickly, bringing up anecdotes and horror stories from our youth.

At when we were done an hour later, we parted ways, promising each other that we'd at least get dinner in the next month.

Relationships change and it's been hard for me to let that wash over me. It saddens me when someone who used to be so close to me starts to drift away, but that's the nature of friendship.

Warm fuzzy me

2007-01-15T13:55:00.000-08:00

how the hell are you, people? does anyone even read this anymore?!

well for those who are, my sweet lemmings,

things that made me happy this past week:

1. Watching episodes of The View on DVR. Either you love or hate Rosie O. She's fat, outspoken, and liberal- but at least she can string together a coherent thought, Ms. Hasselsack.

2. Seeing Sampson play in the dog park.

3. News that Britney's dead. Oh that's wishful thinking.

The Day After

2006-11-13T13:27:00.000-08:00

I meant to post this before...just realized I never did...

The day Chao left was incredibly hard. I found myself sobbing at inopportune times.
At work I had to hole myself up in the bathroom stall and let the tears out. When I had finished crying, I splashed cold water on my face and stared at myself- red eyes and puffy.

Some people look gorgeous crying. I'm not one of them.

When I walked back into the slick offices of my current PR office- the Christian Louboutin heels clacking away- one of the impossibly skinny glamourous girls noticed I had been crying- but as this office has an air of cold professionalism.... because of the hunger (for ambition, not carbs), she simply smiled at me and said, "Want some coffee?"

I loved that.

That first weekend was a little hard, but I met up with friends and went to the standard Chelsea gay house party- full of guys in stripped button down shirts (think Ted Baker), beefy bartenders in tight tees, and cocaine being snorted like its 1988.

All in all, I had some fun, but things aren't the same. My partner-in-crime is gone.

Gotta Keep Moving On

2006-11-03T12:42:00.000-08:00

This afternoon, Tim and I meet up with Chao for lunch for the last time. Hes boarding a 4:30 plane this afternoon to move back to Los Angeles.

As usual Chao was running late for our 12:30 lunch date. I called him at 12:15 and woke him- he informed me he had to pick up his last paycheck first. So typical its expected.

At 1:15, Chao finally arrived, calling from his cell, suggesting we eat at Taco Bell instead of our usual Whole Foods locale. I refused. I won't eat there even if his car service was scheduled to stop by 2pm. We agreed to figure it out on the street.

On a hustling Broadway, I spied up the street, Chao and his usual hurried demeanor, cell phone to ear, wire-rimmed glasses framing his porcelain perfect skin, and a way too stylish trenchcoat making its last outing before being retired in sunnier environs.

We got coffee instead of lunch at Max Brenner's, and had one last session of laughter; referencing Laguna Beach, talking about future plans, and giving heart-felt wishes of good luck.

I know people come and go out of our lives. It's the way things work. But sometimes it's really hard.

I've had to say goodbye to friends before. People move, and some have even died. And a part of me selfishly wants to keep all of my loved ones at my side. In the same city to be in each other's lives completely. and not just over e-mails. All of those amazing friends who have continued to inspire and amaze me with their crazy spirit and brillance.

But for now I have to say goodbye to seeing Chao everyday. Seeing him freak out, become sober, and shop way too much. Seeing him with his hard exterior, being a total cunt to the world, and knowing the full extent of his marvelous vulnerability.

A year and a half ago, I left New York to find something. I returned not sure what I found- but now- its Chao's turn to go.

I hope you find what you're looking for. LA's a wonderful city- its a little hard at first but just make sure to enjoy the sunshine and you'll be more than fine. And go hike at Ruyon Canyon for me. Eat In-n-Out after working out and hug Jojo and visit your family more than once a month.

Best of Luck Chao Chao, I'll miss you so much it hurts. Texting and cell phone calls just aren't the same. New York will be here waiting for you in case you ever decide to come back.

Other VMA Comments

2006-09-01T11:40:00.000-07:00

A couple thoughts on last night's VMAs:
1. I must be old because Panic at the Ok Fall Out Chemical whatthefuckever all looked exactly alike to me? I kept asking Chow, "Who is that?! And doesn't that guy looks like a gay Jared Leto?"
2. Who the fuck invited Jack White's new band, the Racconteurs, to play every five minutes! Jack, you're pale and make me want to committ murder homocide.
3. Christina, gurl, you can sing. We all know you can sing, but WHY THE FUCK would you pick some fruity ass ballad that belongs in Pippin 2: Another Faggoty Ass Gay Musical to sing at the VMA's.
4. Pink won Best Female Video for "Stupid Girls" over Shakira's "Hips.." and Christina's "Ain't No Other Man..." What?! Did anyone buy this fucking album?! How much airplay did her shitty song/so-so video even get?! And she's such a dyke! Her new hair-cut scared me gayer.
5. What was Andre 3000 wearing? Ralph Lauren for women?
6. J-Lo and her cancer-patient headwrap? Hmmm... gurl, that thing looked fucked- up and you can't read a teleprompter either. Methinks you lurned to read in the Bronx.

2006-09-01T11:39:00.000-07:00

Fergie - London Bridge VMA's Preshow

One of the best performances from last night's VMAs was Fergie's Pre-Show "London Bridge" Number.
Girl is giving "tranny-hooker" realness with that scary face of hers, but the track is hot. Gwen's Hollerback Girl may sound similar, but Fergie's flavor comes off as legitmately more hip-hop.

Christina Milian Broke. But not Busted.

2006-08-31T08:59:00.000-07:00

Christina Milian - Dip it low live on CD:UK

Christina may be broke, but she'll always have a special place in my heart for being the sluttiest pop-tart imaginable.

Here's Christina performing her anthemic call to all sluts to spread them wide, Dip It Low.

And help a poor girl out by buying her shit off of e-bay really cheap.

2006-08-31T08:39:00.000-07:00

He-Man as a faggot! It starts off a little slowly but stick with it, people, I've never laughed so hard! Well not since the class retard shat his pants back in 5th grade.

Superficial Friends

2006-08-31T08:19:00.000-07:00

It's funny because it's true.

Monogamy, Monotony, My God.

2006-08-30T12:22:00.000-07:00

A friend in SF, Jesse, recently e-mailed me about a great guy he'd met that doesn't believe in monogamous relationships, much to Jesse's chagrin.

Monogamy, Monotony, my god. I want to believe in monogamy because I'm
a hopeless romantic, but I think I've been jaded into an acceptance of
reality. Partly because of my past behavior; I've never been
monogamous in my life, and partly because I've yet to meet a couple
who I truly believe is truly monogamous. And I don't ONLY run in
circles of rampant sluts.

But do I think I'd want it? Absolutely. The bigger question of whether
I'd be able to commit has only recently affirmed itself. I think that
after a decade of gay dating, I'm finally understanding the value of
monogamy after having gone through three serious, and several minor,
relationships.
For starters, the obvious, it'd be great to be able to have
unprotected anal. The way it was supposed to be with no worries and
suspicions.
But it also be great to not run into a trick while you're out with
your boyfriend, which inevitably will happen even in huge cities in
New York, and definitely in your provincial village of SF. And you'd
find traces of foriegn encounters in their jean pockets and avoided
questions.
And those things can be emotionally akward; for some more, for others less.
And I don't want to subject someone I care about to all that.
That said I can't be monogamous right off the bath. And I don't expect
him to. But it's something that I need to be a part of the courtship
process. Right before the moving-in together. But after HIV testing.

But that's just my beliefs now, and I'm open to the fact that the rules will probably change as I go. Because that's the one constant even in relationships; things will change.

So I've designed a t-shirt for my halloween costume. You can't steal my costume idea if you're in the NYC area.
Like my nickname on the back?

PS How Creepy are Kiddie Pageants?!

2006-08-17T14:21:00.000-07:00

So they finally apprehended a suspect for Jon Benet's murder 10 billion years later, and I kinda feel that I owe her parents an apology. I totally thought you guys did it and eagerly awaited your incarceration. But I think I speak for most people when I say you're still fucking nutjobs.

You guys dressed your five-year old like a cheap tranny hooker. And spoke like Christian fundies on your TV appearances.
Such a bad situation all around.

I don't get pedophiles much like the way I don't understand how people would want to be secretaries. You could try to explain it to me but I'd rather not know.

I'm on vacation!

2006-08-17T14:13:00.000-07:00

Since I'm getting severance I'm in total denial that I'm unemployed. I've been treating it like a staycation- getting things fixed up around the apartment, spending time with my cat, Fattie, and eating like a fat girl eating her feelings.

So I'm headed to Provincetown, Mass. to spend a week my step-son, the high-mantinence pooch. I've already been given detailed instructions on how to continue his training using a clicker. But unbeknowst to his daddy, I'll be training him to steal Dior. Better keep on eye on your shit queens.

You've Got to Be Kidding Me

2006-08-11T07:30:00.000-07:00

There's been so much work drama going on that I keep expecting cameras to appear and for Jason to burst into the room proclaiming me his new girlfriend. (Which to be honest with you, I wouldn't really mind... )

All of it has sadly left me unemployed. Today is my last day with People En Español, and it's been as short bittersweet ride.

Am I bummed? Yes.
Am I stressing? Most definitely.
But am I defeated?! Only slightly.

I take solace in the fact that for once it had nothing to do with my shoddy work ethic or my propensity to shop online all day. A new managing editor came in and he's bringing in his own people.

I wish the magazine and the new editor well. And I say that with my teeth clenched.

I'm not too worried. I get the feeling I'll be gainfully employed soon.

There's a new Applebees opening in Times Square.

Reily, My Ex

2006-07-20T21:31:00.000-07:00

I had dinner with my ex-boyfriend, Reily, tonight. He's the one I've always referred to as simply the EX.
When my cab pulled up to the gourmet diner, I stepped out, called his name out, and ran to him to give him a hug.

I pulled back from the hug and absorbed the beauty of his face. The bright sweet eyes, his stubble, and the warm effusive way he smiles at me when we're not fighting.

We're at a strange point in our friendship because we both have finally taken the steps to move on. More than dating other people, its a sense of finality that hangs between us- a sense that we'll be just friends, and nothing more.

Over dinner we talked about work, or rather how talking about work seems to stress me out, and we talked about our love lives.

The subject of your love life is tricky with any ex, but its especially strange with Reilly because as insane as it sounds, I'm still in love with him. In love with him like an alcoholic is in love with liquor. I know the relationship is horrible for me. We fight. We bicker. I break out. And all of our friends plead for us to break-up for good.

But as we spoke about the new men in our lives, it was comforting to know that Reily will most likely move on, and will find love again post-psychotic me. And that I will too.

And that no matter what the future brings, he'll still occasionally wait on a bench outside a restaurant for me, me always 10 minutes late, willing to give me that big hug once again.

Soak it up

2006-07-07T14:43:00.000-07:00

On June 27th I celebrated my birthday. Actually it was really celebrated on 16th. On June 22nd, Gay Pride was celebrated and I sobered up out of that blackhole sometime on June 29th around 5:30 pm....ish. On June 30th, a big gaggle of faggles got into two rent-a-wrecks and headed to Ptown for five days of glorious sunshine and reality-show-level dramatics. Lets just say that many gays cried, make-up was smeared, and we all left that town with plenty of war stories, sore noses, and new friends (and for some of us, less friends)

On my actual birthday, June 27th, I had to run an errand for my boss here at the magazine. I walked into Midtown and the expanse of New York just seem to envelope me.

Those kind of moments happen every so often. When life becomes apparant, and you realize that shit....this is your life. And I started to cry. I couldn't fucking help it.

And it wasn't like I was outright sobbing like some fucking nut. But I was tearing up. I had to wipe away the tears and avoid eye contact.

Because I had one of those moments when it hits me how lucky I am. I've had an amazing ride so far, and if I were to die tonight, I could say that I've lived a great life, and I thank God for letting me be the crazy little shit that I've been. But I'd have to say His biggest gift has been the amount of love I've had. From my friends, my family, and all my ex-boyfriends (especially the big one).

And I can say this after 4th of July in Ptown, which was quite honestly akin to a stay at Abu Ghraib prison.
Start off with ten gays- several of whom are on a steady mix of prescription anti-depressants, anti-anxiety meds, and frequent users of the biggest import from Colombia- put them all together in two small hotel rooms, add a Tea Dance outside on the pool deck and you got SO MUCH shit that I'd rather jump into a porta-potty than go back into that hell again.

I'll fill you in on all the deets later. right now i have to leave work and breathe some fresh air.

New Obsessions: Nicholas Lemons

2006-06-15T10:55:00.000-07:00

Preparing for the Storm

2006-06-12T12:16:00.000-07:00

With Gay Pride a little more than a week away, faggots all over the Eastern seaboard are fasting, pumping, and plucking in preparation for the de riguer shirtless events that characterize the celebration of our faggotry.

What "Gay Pride" means and what it has to do with popping pills of Ecstasy is beyond me, but I'm fully complicit in believing that I must
A) get laid by not just any guy but a super hot fucking stud &
B) get so high that I must wear sunglasses as to not scare those around me with the intense look of inebriation in my eyes.

All in the name of "Gay Pride." All to celebrate my queer identity. All of it nonsensical bullshit.

Anytime I've attended gay pride events I've felt pangs of panic as I realized that my fellow queers are trashy losers. Because of:
1. Gay Pride Beads
2. Mullets
3. Cracked out crystal queens (Yes I'll dabble in drug use, but doing meth is not cute, because honey, everyone can tell you're fucking high as a kite on Tina. It scares everyone and makes me want to initiate a bill to banish you from Manhattan to some hickville community where you can bond with Oxycontin fuckettes.)
4. Bad House Music- How is Kristine W a gay celeb? Amber? And who keeps hiring these haggard cows to keep performing at gay events anyway? I love that you "support" my community but all you are is a D-list entertainer/opportunistic fag hag.
5. Small swimsuits on steroid queens. Just a style thing but if you're massively big, wearing speedos makes you look re-fucking-tarded. And to think you spent how many hours in the gym to look that stupid- if only you had spent that time working and saving up money to fix your busted face.
6. Body Glitter
7. Malted Beverages. I'm fine with the amount of liquor sponsorship at gay pride events because its the reality of our community. We're lushes, and if they want to support Gay Pride, then go ahead, but who drinks Smirnoff Ice and the rest of that gross shit. Drink a real fucking drink-either beer or a cocktail. All I taste when I drink that fruity shit is sugar, hardly enough booze, and a horrible hang over.
8. Blonde Highlights; especially on Asians.

Honestly I could go on forever... but I'll spare you.
And for the record, I'm not self-hating- I do like being gay, and I am proud of being a fag. As Americans we get shit on all the time, and get reminded that we're second-class citizens if we want to have out lives.

My favorite gay pride memory was circa 98. I was a college frosh or sophomore and I headed up to SF for the weekend. The night before the parade I spent at a house party getting wasted and making out with some hot 22 year old waiter. The next morning I stumbled to the parade and met up with my best friend Lyle. A skinny energetic little fucker, Lyle, was mischievous and a riot to hang with.
We were scheduled to walk with the Stanford contingent in the parade but as we got closer to the group, we saw that it was filled with band geeks and awkward computer science students. Lyle promptly grabbed my arm and turned us around.

me: What are you doing?
Lyle: We're not walking with them. Jesse smells like pulled pork.
me: So where are you taking me?
Lyle: I have an idea.

Lyle ended up taking me to the high school contingent of the parade. Comprised of high school students from around the Bay Area, the kids all carried signs of their respective high schools, and apparently a couple kids failed to show up, leaving signs for us to carry.
So in that parade of that year, I walked among young teenagers- many of whom were attending their first Gay Pride event. There was the dykey girl on the skateboard, a young gay boy who sung musicals the whole fucking time, and even an Asian boy with highlights, but I saw in them the wonder and excitement that we all felt our first years. Before we got jaded and became our sophisticated "over-it" selves.
Close to the end of the parade route, we ran into the PFLAG parents who unabashedly came up and hugged us all. And in the middle of the street, many of those kids cried and hugged those parents back. And it felt amazing to be there, to be gay, and perhaps to even be a little proud. Because posing as a "Sacred Heart High School" student, I was reminded what it's really all about.

Fabulous and Broke?

2006-06-05T12:56:00.000-07:00

After an exhausting and debilitating work week, I was on my way to the gym on Friday night when it hit me that I had forgotten to deposit my paycheck. (Direct deposit doesn't start till after a couple paychecks...why? No one knows) And since Washington Mutual likes to hold paychecks for 48 hours, I then realized that I had $40 in my bank account. Glorious bankruptcy!

Anyone who's ever moved cross country can attest to the level of pissing away that occurs with costs. All the small incidentals that make up your apartment end up costing you a lot of money to either move or replace- and that is why I've decided to become a buddisht Zen freak who cares not about material possesions, but only of spiritual righteousness. IF ONLY! Who the FUCK can live without their down feather bed and 1000 thread-count egyptian cotton sheets?! NOT ME!

Fucking shit.

Being broke sucks donkey balls. I can't shop, eat, or drink. The only thing I can really do is be a big fucking slut and suck dick left and right, but who really wants to do that sober.

I'll be fine in a couple weeks, but for the time being it looks like I'll be playing board games at the local YMCA and watching "The Hills" on repeat.

Drama Sofa

2006-06-02T11:49:00.000-07:00

Tonight my friends and I are watching our TIVO'ed premiere episode of "The Hills," the spin-off of the LEGENDARY INSPIRATIONAL Laguna Beach.
Laguna was MTV's "reality" show that followed the lives of a group of vapid rich high schoolers who dealt with serious issues such as clique in-fighting, hottie girl rivlary, and gossiping best friends.

So in other words the show is about faggots.

Now one of the breakout stars of Laguna, Lauren Conrad, is getting her own reality show that focuses on her adult life as she moves far from home (read: about an hour max if you take the 73 to the 405 to the 110, I've done the drive Lauren, youre basically in your parents fucking backyard) She's living in the hills of LA, and interning at Teen Vogue.

Check out the following youtube video from Mad TV spoofing Laguna Beach and read the great NYT article praising the merits of our favorite Laguna Tuna, Lauren.

http://www.nytimes.com/2006/05/31/arts/television/31heff.html

Back from Hiatus

2006-05-30T14:00:00.000-07:00

Okay gents, as usual, my life undertook some dramatic revamping in the span of a month.

1. I lost my last job after the company folded- but not before I dealt with the Old Skeez one last time. I worked one last fashion market in NYC and I made it clear to the old man that there was a bigger chance of me participating in a butch n' hairy muff diving session than us getting beyond basic handshakes.
2. I went into a complete panic mode- stopped eating basic meals- sustained myself on raw organic almonds and baby spinach leaves and lost 20 pounds in 3 weeks. some of us eat when we stress out, I regress to my former Nicole Richie eating habits. Completely unintentional. and so not appropo for a gay boy in love with biceps.
3. Was offered amazing job at Time Inc as an Associate Editor. Extreme joy. Thoughts of expansive benefits package and paid vacation filled my mind. Celebrated with a ketel one gimlet and a steak frites meal.
4. Realized inflexible start date meant that I had ONE WEEK to move to New York . Panic sets in. Return to nibbling on almonds.
5. Checked out approximiately 47 apartments in New York over a span of three days. Most looked like crime scenes from a CSI episode. Others consisted of lofted beds, with kitchens smaller than an office cubicle- which is fine but when the asking price is 1600- because its located in Manhattan- and not even cute Manhattan but a neighorhood like Kips Bay ---then you know you're fucked because you've returned to New York in the Springtime. The Gods laughed at me and I ate more almonds.
6. Found a decent apartment in Williamsburg but with three roommates- but it was honestly the only place I could find that was A) built and/or renovated in the past decade B) was close to a train and C) and wasn't inhabited by complete social wackos, odd hipsters, or fat people. (I'm sorry but we all have our prejudices, and I can't for the life of me live with anyone who could use a call to Jenny Craig.
7. Packed up my stuff in LA- and said goodbye to my LA friends who all cried and proclaimed me their best friend ever. They now have forgotten and replaced me with some other latin queen. Why? Because they're gay and live in LA. And you can't really miss anyone for too long while living in LA because there are many house parties to hit up.
8. I'm crazy because I honestly and genuinely miss LA. I miss my huge room and my car. I miss my garden and being able to see my family on the weekends if I fancied it. (which meant that I went once a month.... i'm lying, it was more like every 6 weeks, okay im lying again.....) and I miss my friends but I seem to meet incredible people whereever I go. Which either means I have really low-standards (slightly true) or I'm really lucky.

So here I am.
Back in New York with an amazing job. And a totally different take on New York. 9 to 6 in NYC? What the fuck?!

Here's to more steaks, Barney's Warehouse sales, taxi mishaps, and the return of the saucy latina to New York. I know that I have a lot more almonds in store for me but I gotta tell you, I'm really fucking excited about this job- and my new life in New York, post-LA, post-partying,and post-distressed denim.

Chicago

2006-03-31T11:36:00.000-08:00

I'm in Chicago on the 57th floor of a luxury high-rise looking out of huge windows onto the the entire landscape of the city and the river. It's absolutely beautiful. Small churches and old brownstones in the distance, with behometh skyscrapers nearby. And the cars making their way like little ants on a trail on the freeway next to the river.

Taking in the breadth of the city is awe-inspiring, but I find myself not wanting to go down to explore. I don't know what part Chicago I'm technically in. Nor do I know the name of the River to the right. Omar told me the Sears Tower is here, but I haven't cared to know which of these is it.

So unlike me not to care, but as of right now I've maxxed out poor brain. I can't possibly absorb a minutiae of trivia, another piece of information or any detail because I am completely utter-fucking-ly exhausted.

I started March with a job, a shaky love life, and a overly friendly boss who seems to have found the joys of Viagra.
I end March with no job and as a completely battered singleton. But somehow my scheezy sexual-harassing boss is still a player in my life for another 4 days.

I'm in Chicago for my final business trip for what will hopefully be my last stint as a sales rep for women's contemporary clothes.

Yes, I sell clothes. Women's clothes. How fucking gay is that?

But I sell them to boutique owners and department store buyers.
Which means I sell them to overwieght middle-aged women who dress like whores. (Boutique Owners.) or to former soriority girls who've realized they want their MBA by the time they hit 30 (department store buyers)

Half of the time they're completely evil vacuous cunts; the other half they have no clue what they're doing and are kind of affable in a retarded child sort of way.

So I've never really liked this job, especially because I was getting gross come-ons lodged at me by my 60-something year old boss.

Boss: Astro, is it okay for us to share a hotel room? Since this past season was so slow for us, we need to cut back on expenses.

Me: Oh sure, I guess that's okay.

Boss: And I won't try anything.... unless you want me to.

(Silence)

Boss: I was kidding, you know that right?

Astro: (Horrified) Yeah. what?

Boss: I was kidding. We don't have to do anything if you don't want to.

Astro: (Flabergasted and scared. Astro speaks very quickly, almost not stopping to breathe as he says) Oh. haha. Well you know I just realized that one of my closest friends has a huge place in Chicago. His parents bought him a luxury high-rise apartment to live in while he goes to medical school. I'll just go stay there with him. He's awesome, my best friend. Omar. And that way everyone will be more comfortable. Yeah. Oh I should go, the other line is ringing.

Boss: Oh, okay. Uh. I'll talk to you later.

So after such an exchange, which actually played out pretty much as I wrote it, you'd think my boss would get the hint and move on.

But no. He hasn't. He really wants my milkshake.

And he's now offering a job in New York. Working with him.

Life is so fucking twisted. I so badly want to move back to New York yesterday. Fuck fuck fuck.
I just got a call from my co-workers. I have to meet them at their hotel and get some work done.

Be back later.

Just when you thought it was safe to sleep

2006-02-21T14:06:00.000-08:00

Don't you just hate it when adulthood gets in the way of life.
You haven't really missed much, just several thousands cups of coffee, half-smoked cigarettes, and a slightly alarming appetite for joints.
I'm still a lovesick New Yorker who's broke and happy in LA.

I now have a fancy new job. Still in fashion though so the people who surround me on a daily basis are insane, prone to meltdowns, and loud tantrums. Working with these people has the odd effect of making me more mellow- I think it puts the whole thing in perspective.

But then again, maybe its the pot I've been smoking.

People who work in fashion are a comedic lot. High strung individuals who use the word "cute" so often it makes you want to vomit a little in your mouth.
And of course everyone's convinced they belong to the small subset of people who get what fashions about. You certainly don't because you're a trashy proleat and didn't get the memo. No, you're so out of it no one even bothered sending you the memo because you simply don't matter.

I hate those fucking people because I like to hate. That and they're usually dressed in some ridiculous oversized hat and swear their lives on a line they can't afford anyway.

You have no idea how badly the people who work in fashion dress. Maybe they're over it, but grown men were wearing Uggs, carpenter jeans, and extra small t-shirts.

Oh yeah, let me help out my gay brethen and the newly minted metrosexuals- if a shirt is tight, and you're over the age of 16, then get a slightly larger t-shirt because its not sexy, just sort of desperate.
It's a fine line, people, but we need to keep vigilent.

Real Faggots Never Die

2005-12-22T14:37:00.000-08:00

We just take vacays with plastic surgeons and fruit shakes.

I've been busy with the trivial. Bills, work, the new season of Project Runway, and going back to New York to see the ex-boyfriend. (Who's now quite honestly more like my husband... its so obvious to all spectators that we're actually still dating- altho I'm still in denial since it means I have to let go of grudges and come down off the cross that I've martyed myself upon. If I don't have my ex to complain about, then what do I talk about? The resurgence of plaid shirts?!)

But irregardless, I'm horribly excited about the upcoming New Year. I feel that 2006 is going to be an amazing year. A year of financial solvency and mental stability, of less body-fat percentages and higher tax brackets, and of healthier living. (i.e. less nose candy, more yoga)

2005 was a fucking horrible year in many respects. Hurricanes, Tsunamis, Earthquakes, Bombings and Hair-Bleaching by Lindsay.
For me, it was a strange trip. I started 2005 a vapid New York bar lackey, and I'm ending it in LA as a vapid fashion cog.

But there was progress... I've started paying off student loans, got my first real serious (read: paying) job, and I've ended the year a more responsible adult. I've even taken a new job offer and as of the new year I will be a fashion rep of eight women's contemporary lines. I'll be making more money in a job that I think I'm better suited for.

So although 2005 was a nasty cunt, I must say that I think I'm going to come out of it okay.

Happy Holidays y'all. Thanks to all of you who've been supportive and sweet.

xoxoxoo
Astro

It's always something...

2005-11-14T16:54:00.000-08:00

On Saturday my car battery died after I forgot to turn my headlights off. So I waited around for my new best friend, my English counterpart, to come over to jump my car. All in all not that bad of an experience, but it totally shows you how fucking dependent you are on this random piece of machinery that just burns any money you might have with gasoline and insurance. Without a car in L.A., you might as well start walking through the desert with Moses because you aren't getting anywhere.

You could take the bus, but the public transportation system here is apparantly so abhorrent that third-world countries look at it and laugh at our ineptitude.

But that hassle was nothing compared to what I found on my bed last night.

My roommate is a reserved shy girl in her late 20's. Doesn't date much, has a few friends, and has a pretty dykey haircut.

And she's a cat-lady in training....

Cat-ladies have funny-smelling houses, twenty cats, and a propsenity to constantly baby talk to their pets. In other words, they're fucking obsessed with their cats, and that's just fucking wierd.

Mandy has three cats. Three. Who needs three cats?! NO ONE!

If youre that lonely, I recommend sex websites. or religion. or go to AA meetings and pose as an addict.

Actually do they have a pets-anonymous?! Well, there should be one! Because at what point do you not realize that having more than 2 cats is just ridiculous.

When I first moved in, there was the understanding there'd be only one. One I can handle because I can throw shoes at it and create the understanding that there will be no relationship other than co-habitation.

I totally hate cats because they're like women/gay men. They're moody, bitchy, irritable, capricious, and vascillate between purring and attempting to claw your eyes out.
If I wanted that kind of behavior, I'd work in a gay bar again or join a soriority.

Well anyway, one of her fucking cats took a diaherritic shit on my down comforter. It soaked through the duvet, comforter, and stained my sheets.

So I told her this morning and she's like.

"Oh thats really gross." and the bitch walks out the door to work.

Tonight she's getting a bill and I've declared war on the cats.

Juiced Up Dreamboat

2005-11-11T16:45:00.000-08:00

Last night I went to the Wet Underwear Contest at the Gauntlet. I'd been once before to the local leather bar and was pleasantly surprised to see how comfortable and laidback the place was.

And how incredibly fucking hot the bartender was.

His name: Jason.
His body: insane.

This time out I dragged my friend Tony along. Tony's been a personal trainer for about 10 years- an affable Southern man with a hick twang- and a severe distaste for steroids.

The minute I pointed out Jason, Tony's face went sour.

"Boy oh boy. He's done several cycles of steriods. Now thats really sad."

My first honest reaction to that: "Uh who cares, he's hot"

But after thinking about it some more it really hit me how shallow it is to risk your health to get big.
Ironically, Jason was pretty chatty last night but I couldn't get Tony's comment out of my head.

Little Bundles of Inside Voices

2005-11-09T14:16:00.000-08:00

My female friends claim that there's something biological that occurs in their late 20's that makes them look at children in a different way. Instead of complete apathetic indifference, an instinctual mothering instinct starts to build.

Well I think that most of you should avoid that instinct because let's face it, most of us are completely incapable of being fit parents.

And it's not just women who have these maternal instincts. It seems that gay dads are becoming increasingly more common . I see gay dads everywhere in Chelsea and West Hollywood pushing the strollers of their ethnic children. Its incredibly adorable but I often feel as if these men are really smug- their eyes taunting my empty shallow life.

I just know they're thinking:

"Oh look at that sad queen, still going out to the gay bars cruising for sex. Hmmph! Thank god for [insert Chinese daugther's name] !"

And then I think to myself"

"I hope your daughter grows up fat and mean. "

But lately, something strange has been stirring inside me. Something more than just indigestion from King Taco. I've been having some pangs of desire to be a father. Me? A dad?

I don't know where it's come from but I think I'd love to impart a child with kind wisdom and independence, and to be able to nurture their lives with love and Prada.

And if I had a daughter, I would only feed her steamed veggies and brown rice, make her take yoga and ballet at a young age, get her accutane, and braces, all to ensure that she would someday become America's Next Top Model.

But even if I wanted to be a dad, as great or horrible as that could be, the role of a gay father is riddled with several obstacles.

One it's nearly impossible to legally adopt unless you've got extreme patience and a Swiss Bank account.
Two it's hard enough finding a man to be a good boyfriend; much less a good father.

But some men have decided they don't need to wait for Prince Charming to arrive. There are several gay men that I've heard of who are doing the unthinkable and having kids on their own.

Now that takes balls. Or a high threshold for pain.

Having children and being a good father would be a incredible experience- and the idea of seeing the man I love with our child, his strong arms tossing little Giselle in the air, is almost too much for me to bear. I want to be a dad.

Now I'm kind of alone on this one among my friends.

My friend Nam, a successful banker who could actually afford a child at this point, has no desire to have a child. Recently over a Korean dinner, Nam stressed the biggest argument against children.

"For one thing, children never go away. Once you have a kid, they're in your life for good. I can't even committ to having a dog.
But more importantly, you raise them, you love them, you bascially give them your entire life. And what do you get in return? Unappreciative torture. They'll hate you once they turn 14 because children are ingrates. They'll hold everything against you all the while draining you of your money and livelihood. Fuck that. Let me work on getting a dog instead. At least a dog won't tell me I'm a bad parent for not buying them a pony. And a dog will die in 14 years."

My friend Chao, an attorney, goes even further than that and hates other people's children.

He wrote me recently with the subject line: Families and Babies Suck!!
and the following email with a NYT link

"i hate fucking self-righteous parents and their horrible little bastards... ew."
http://www.nytimes.com/2005/11/09/national/09bakery.html?incamp=article_popular_1

If I have a kid, will I have to find new friends? Is that what happens to people with children... do you befriend other parents and act smug together?

Im a FUCKING New Yorker

2005-11-03T15:01:00.001-08:00

So I had the fucking best time in New York. It really elucidated for me how much happiness I derive from simply being in Manhattan. It's weird how a change of address affects the way you feel and perceive the world because I felt that the world was once again a beautiful place... NOT to say I hate LA...rather the opposite. I've made peace with the City of Angels.

LA's reliable with its predictable people, traffic, and weather. It's been great for re-focusing my energies on work and myself since the nightlife and people here are a bore. And I include myself in that, I'M SO lame and boring here that I find myself disguted with myself. I fantasize about getting tattoos or riding a motorcyle to keep some sort of edginess in my life- to keep from slipping into complete sterile lameness. (both of which I think are the two lamest ways to accomplish that- it's basically a declaration of yourself as a guppie poseur.)

But honestly for a 26 year old attractive gay man, I am becoming edgy in that I don't do drugs, am not caught up in having anonymous sex, and don't feel compelled to be part of a scene.

For once in my life, I embrace being alone. I don't need a posse of men who pose as mean girls backing me up in order to live my life. And for me that's sadly a HUGE development.

So Los Angeles has given me some necessary tools to mature into the man who I want to become- it's given me the space, the time, and the job I needed to do that- and it lacks the urban noises & shiny things that I use to distract myself.

That said... I'm coming back to New York in June. I need to be able to walk in the city I live in. I need museums, good DJ's, and ambitious people who aren't retarded entertainment droids.

So anyway New York and Provincetown were sickly amazing. Ptown for two days gave me a shock of salty cold air and humble people who made no mentions of career or name dropping-worthy friends.
I drove up to New York in time for Halloween- my favorite holiday- and met up with my best friends. We laughed like old friends do- loud and unrestrained.

My favorite moments were walking the streets of New York, my eyes wandering over large buildings and passing strangers.

Err...scratch that, they were the ones I spent with my best friends and my ex-boyfriend. I really am one of those annoying New Yorkers who can't live anywhere else for too long- but a big part of that is the fact that my community of loved ones are the same. We're all New Yorkers. It's in our blood and in our vision of our futures. Despite all its hassles, its bad weather and high rents, New York is my home.

Never Fade

2005-10-11T16:48:00.000-07:00

Guess who's back in the motherfucking house?!

Me.

It looks like I might be back for a short trip to New York on the 31st of October after a weekend in Provincetown.

Knowing that I'll be spending time with my EX on Halloween, and then seeing my New York bitch pack has lifted my spirt so high- higher than all of the anxities, self-doubts, and dark thoughts.

White Lines

2005-10-08T02:03:00.000-07:00

In the August issue of Seventeen, Kelly Osbourne talked about her recent stint in rehab, and comments upon the prevalence of drug use among the celebrity set.

"I just want to let people know that if you think any of these blonde bombshells
aren't drug addicts, trust me, they are because I've done drugs with them. I'm
not going to name names because that's not fair, but we all are. I think it's
part of being young, being famous, being insecure with what's happening to you,
and just wanting to be accepted by the people you hang out with."

So lets get beyond the embarrasing notion that I occasionally read teen chick mags that I get free at work.

Reading Ms. Osborne's words, I was thrown back to my drug-addled life in New York. The countless number of nights spent getting high at my bar job, and party-hopping with my posse of boys, and how more often than not, it seemed that every gay Manhattanite was open to snorting some sort of white powder. Nightlife is very heavily centered around drugs, especially cocaine, and I found it increasingly hard to navigate New York's club scene without being offered various powders and pills.

Although there were plenty of times I was glad to accept the offers, the drugs were one of the reasons I decided it was imperative to quit working in bars and needed to leave New York. I didn't want to be strung out anymore. And I didn't want to waste my entire youth in Discotheque listening to Junior. There's gotta be more to life than a bump and making out in the bathroom of Crobar, right?! I mean, thats all some queens have been doing for years, and to them (& and a reminder to myself) I say: fucking expand your horizons ladies. Drop the vial of K and make sure you don't let the drugs prevent you from living life outside of nightlife.

I've been mulling this stuff over in my head lately because it just occured to me how sober my life is now-- and how disconnected I am from any nightlife scene here in LA. I'm surprisingly very content with that- although I will readily admit- I miss the promises of casual drunken/high sex and the VIP status that came with being a party boy.

So it was sorta funny when I read Towleroad's blog and read Boy George's recent arrest for cocaine possession and falsely reporting a burgalry in his Nolita apartment.
I don't know whether or not to feel sorry for the guy.
He presumably called the cops for some reason, forgot to hide his stash of blow, and then got arrested for the whole thing- sounds very messy. Mental note: don't ever call cops when I have a kilo of coke in the apartment.

I'm off to do some holistic organic zen thing- or whatever the fuck a sober-ish person is supposed to do in LA.

Fuck it. I'm going to find my xanax.

The Good Fight to Own A Home

2005-10-07T10:44:00.000-07:00

In light of the constant housing bubble talk, this article from the LA Times on poor Mexican families buying their first homes outside of Mexico City really puts things in perspective.

Carlos Hernandez Pineda, a new homebuyer, is featured in the article. He commutes 5 hours a day and works 12 hour shifts, but that commute is worth it for him. Because he finally owns a house- something unheard for the working poor of Mexico His home is only 328 square feet.

"At least we're not throwing away money on rent," said the 38-year-old, who
shares the dwelling with his wife, mother-in-law, twin daughters and pet dog
Guero, whose name is Spanish for Whitey. "This is an
inheritance for our girls."

The article goes on to make the interesting point. Will these communities of pint-sized housing appreciate in value? Or will they become the new barrios of Mexico City?

Why I Love Jake

2005-10-06T16:10:00.000-07:00

Jake's hot. Jake's buff, and he's not afraid to be seen hanging out with the gays.

He's inherited Johnny Depp's knack for choosing edgy good roles that provide him with genuine hipster appeal.

Mr. Gyllenhaal garnered a cult following with Donnie Darko, followed it up with the critically acclaimed Good Girl, and is now going to take it up the ass from Heath in Brokeback Mountain. And this after playing a marine in Jarhead...
It's all too much for this horny boy to take!

JAKE's THE SHIT! Take a big whiff.

Pop pop that thing...

2005-10-06T01:46:00.000-07:00

I had a bit of a random night tonight, and ended up being dragged to Rage- this ridiculously tacky type of gay bar that plays pop dance remixes. Lots of synthetic fabrics and blonde highlights. Total horror show.

But they played Christinia Milian's Dip It Low video. I had completely forgotten about the Lolita soft porn video- that features a bikini-clad Milian being spun around in grease by a room full of men.

The video's fairly raunchy- scenes of Milian undresing are intercut with animation of a flower opening up its petals- and I find it exhilirating. Why am a gay man, do I love hot slutty girls?

I think I secretly want to be one.

Check out the video here. (You might need to have a Yahoo Account)

It's Been A Long Time...

2005-10-02T12:02:00.000-07:00

Who's not cut out to be a blogger?! ME, bitches.

I've been way too busy with work and the general BS that goes along with life to write.

But here's a recap for the few friends that take the time every now and then to read this. In the past few months I've come to the realizations that:

1) As I had originally thought, ME and Fag Hags don't mix. I don't like strange co-dependent relationships where my time is manipulated by some needy fat chick who can't stand being alone. In fact, fag hags bug the fuck out of me, and I found myself being mean to the one I was hanging out with. I'm not proud of that. It's not cool to be mean to someone just becuase you find them annoying. (It's loads of fun, but it makes for very bad karma) So I decided to check out of that friendship.

2) You can have too many friends. Having moved to LA, I've met a lot of people. Most of them retarded lame-asses with no real ambitions other than bar-hopping and gym routines. I'm starting to value my lone time more than hanging out with a bunch of socially-stunted gays with the mentalities of high school girls.

That said... I think the biggest differences between LA and NY so far have been:

1) Driving. Duh. Totally sucks when youre used to downing a dirty ketel martini with a couple xanax. That doesn't really work when you have to get your car from valet, sit behind the wheel, and navigate the streets of LA- where I swear everyones drinking and driving.
2) The people. I'm sure there are great brillant ambitious people in this city. I've met several, but they're diffused in this sea of half-witted wannabes who seem to comprise the majority of the young demographic in this city. There's not the pulse of intelligentsia that reverbs through Manhattan, and a lot of that has to do with the entertainment industry. The museums here suck, the LA Times is a piece of shit, and people tend to know more about the new fall TV line-up than Bush's current foreign policy. So yeah, LA people are tacky dipshits with ugly clothes.

So yes, I'm moving back to New York sooner than later. In the meantime, I am enjoying LA despite my greivances.

I'm off to the gym and beach now. Ta ta.

Are you a Kristen or a Lauren?

2005-09-13T12:16:00.000-07:00

When watching such thought-provoking television as MTV's Laguna Beach, you can't help but ponder the philosophical quandry- Am I a Kristen or a Lauren?

Or worse, am I a Jessica?

The show is so fucking engrossing that I find myself talking about the pack of spoiled blonde bitches as if they were my group of friends. Pathetic? Completely. Especially since I'm a 26 year old (gasp!) faggot who's social life really should have moved on from high school dramatics.
But it hasn't. So get into it.

Bush: Race Had No Part in Recovery Efforts

2005-09-12T16:47:00.000-07:00

"The storm didn't discriminate and neither will the recovery effort," Mr. Bush told reporters at a news conference after touring parts of New Orleans in the back of a military truck. "The rescue efforts were comprehensive. The recovery will be comprehensive."

Ha! Let me know when your comprehensive recovery efforts are going to start, Bush. I'm sure the good people of New Orleans can wait on your schedule.

And you can say all you want about race not playing an issue, but its abudundantly clear that class certainly did, because the government had no plan on how to evacuate those citizens whom depend on public transportation.

I'e totally fallen in love with Anderson Cooper. There's a great article about him in the NYT in which they label him the "anti-anchorperson" for wearing his heart on his sleeve during his coverage. He's cried twice on the air, and angrily questioned Senator Mary L. Landrieu's, Democrat of Louisiana choice to thank on-air federal officials for their response to the devastation.

"Excuse me, Senator, I'm sorry for interrupting. I haven't heard that, because, for the last four days, I've been seeing dead bodies in the streets here in Mississippi. And to listen to politicians thanking each other and complimenting each other, you know, I got to tell you, there are a lot of people here who are very upset, and very angry, and very frustrated.

"And when they hear politicians slap - you know, thanking one another, it just, you know, it kind of cuts them the wrong way right now, because literally there was a body on the streets of this town yesterday being eaten by rats because this woman had been laying in the street for 48 hours."

To be an American

2005-09-08T12:28:00.000-07:00

I can honestly say that I am embarrased to be called an American.

Hurricane Katrina showed how little our federal government cares for the social welfare of our poorest citizens.
Why it took our President three days to show up in New Orleans is beyond me. THat Condi Rice was out shopping on Fifth Avenue buying Ferragamo shoes the day after the hurricane disgusts me.

Look, Condi, you may be Secretary of State, but as an elected official of the highest level, you are expected to act in an appropiate and responsible manner. That means no vacay with shopping sprees and Broadway shows while a horrific natural disaster destroyed the lives of thousands. That's just fucking retarded, you dumb Republican piece of trash.

I like how Bush is now heading a special committee to investigate "what went wrong" with how our goverment reacted.
I'll save you the time, Bush.
What went wrong? It was the fact that those affected were poor black folk. The next time a hurricane hits, we'll make sure it affects only rich white constituents, and I'm sure your ass will cut your vacation short to get to the ravaged city.

Last night Gov. Schwarzenegger released a statement informing the residents of CA that he will veto the CA Legislature's Gay Rights Bill. To that I say fuck you. I defended you before, Arnold, but no more.

I'm likely to continue ranting like this for some time now. I'm truly disgusted by how our nation's leadership seems to care less about civil rights and social welfare than it does securing access to oil.

Eyebrows?

2005-08-30T15:54:00.000-07:00

Methinks that whatshisface from I-Candy doth pluck too much? What you think?

Reality Check

2005-08-30T10:57:00.000-07:00

I'm not in Vegas. No, I'm at my office in downtown LA nursing a bad stomach flu that I got from the EX.
Fucking bitch. I curse anyone who gives me the shits...except that the EX is still the sweetest piece of man candy in the world. Grrrr...As much as I would LOVE to HATE him, I can't!

So this past weekend was spent with me lying on the couch moaning, passing gas, and watching Laguna Beach reruns. How very UN-GLAM! SEE HOW THE MIGHTY HAVE FALLEN?! I've become Anna Nicole pre-TrimSpa. I used to be thin, gorgeous, and in demand.

Altho I felt like complete ASS, I let myself get dragged out to I-Candy in WeHo. That's the bar being featured on that cheesey ass reality show on Bravo with the buff muscle queen with the overly plucked eyebrows crying about how he came out late in life because being gay in LA is so hard. YAWN.
Go watch some hurricane coverage bitch, get off your cross, and realize how lucky you are that youre a rich white man living in California. You may suck dick, but at least you're not starving. Actually far from it. Cry me a river, faggot.

Btw, looking at that hurricane coverage, it makes you realize one important lesson: When the government says to evacuate an area, you do it. Apparantly about 50,000 peole chose to ignore the evacutation notice and ended up realized they made a big mistake once the water filled their houses. That's fucking scary shit there people. I'm including the victims of the hurricane in my prayers.

And now back to my shallow life:
Last night I had to say good-bye to Kirk, my geeky animator, who's off to Italy and New York for two months to work on a series of coffee commercials. Am I sad? Ehhh...uhh... not really.
I told him to have fun, fuck hot D & G models, and to get tan.

And as of Thursday, I finally have health insurance. HEALTH BENEFITS, WHATS UP!??!
One of the few perks of having a boring fucking job.

Chow Chow

2005-08-25T10:12:00.000-07:00

So it occured to me while working out last night that many of you have no real feeling for who the important people are in my life.
So here, for you, is the start of a series of handy reference guides using current pop culture fixtures.

Chow Chow, one of my most favorite people in the world, is very much one-half of the Skeletwins (TM Pink is the New Blog) meets John Cho from Harold and Kumar go to White Castle with alot of Patsy from AbFab. And a big heap of Janice Dickinson.

He spends more money on clothes a month than most people spend on rent, and he's a vicious she-bitch with sharp claws and a razor wit. I'd say he's part Naomi Campbell but everyone wants to be Naomi, including myself. Namoi is without a doubt the world's preminent Supermodel. No one else comes close to working the attitude that really defines the spirit of SUPERMODEL realness than Ms. Campbell. Go slap the help, sweetie, and do a kilo of coke off of your Louis Vutton luggage while touring Africa on some Goodwill Ambassador tour. While giving face. That's nerve.

I called him last night as he was out partying with our mutual friend Carly who's sexual orientation is harder to pin down than a greased pig at a Weight Watchers convention.
In mid-conversation, he began yelling at some car, "Take your ugly Jetta elsewhere, Jersey bitch!

What Happens in Vegas...

2005-08-24T18:06:00.000-07:00

im being sent to vegas for work this weekend for the biggest fashion-buying event in the country.
MAGIC.
Bring it.
Alto I must say Vegas is disgusting. It's full of hick trash wearing oversized tees and ugly khaki shorts.
And there are NOO hot gay men there..its sort of a wasteland for the fags.
So am I excited about going? Eh.

I'll probably kill some anorexic blond bitch...or make tons of best friends.

Anyone know of a hot slutty gay stripper with tons of club and drug hook-ups?

The Best Week Ever

2005-08-24T10:15:00.000-07:00

So last week was an incredible week for me.
My best friend Owen came out from Chicago to hang out with me for four days. He goes to medical school at Northwestern and he'll hopefully become a plastic surgeon someday and suck all the fat out of my ass when I'm 50 and look like Jabba the Hut.
At Stanford, we were the crazy druggie stoner bitches who thought we were so cool because we would cook K in the dorm kitchens, but honestly hanging out with him has always been more adventure and comraderie than just getting high.
Together we're like the Hardy Boys of the Circuit.
In his company though I've done some of the most rash and ridiculous things...he seems to be a catalyst for impulsive behavior.

One time during gay pride, I was drunk...natch...and while waiting in line to get into the END UP in SF (the most cracked out place on God's green earth...PERIOD), I met this FOBBY asian guy who barely spoke a word of English but was saavy enough to flash me his vial full of K. I did what any self-respecting crack head would do and proceeded to make out with the little rice paddy while swiping his K and handing it to Owen.
Karma bit fast becasue the both of us entered K holes and had to jump into the nearest cab...only to wake up on my bathroom floor the next day with a pool of drool around my head.

But this past trip was different. I had to work that weekend, and most of our time was spent catching up and working out. He's grown up to be a gorgeous man... but is refreshingly more concerned with life than looks. All in all...even though this reunion lacked black trannies, k holes, and a big party, it was nice to hang out with the man who's become my brother.

But the next time...it's on, bitches. I'm talking about Black Party/Alegria/Junior marathon, and I'm taking the House of Aviance with me... I want runway on K with a thousand buff daddies surrounding me while Abel spins. Work.

On Friday I arrived in Ptown and hung out with the EX and his friends. It was of course messy. And emotional... but completely worth it. because im criminally insane.

I could spend the rest of my life in his arms. He's coming out to visit next month and I can only hope that things become easier for us.

I love him so much that there are times I hate him. Loving someone complicates things, especially when the two people in love are control-freaks.

Well that's the update for now...
I'm going to Barry's Bootcamp sometime this week. An intense bootcamp work-out in which you do cardio for half an hour followed by free-weights. Some hot trainer I met at Crunch last night talked me into it. Supposedly they used to give t-shirts away to people who threw up, but they were giving away too many t-shirts, so now when you puke, you just get to take a break. It's totally the sick sadist shit I love.

Reporting from Ptown

2005-08-21T19:48:00.000-07:00

I took the red-eye Thursday and got into Provincetown early Friday morning. In all, I got less than 3 hours of sleep, was wired on a gallon of coffee, and lost my toiletrie bag, but the four days have been worth it.
Ptown is a small paradise, and spending time with my ex has been a gift.
I'll write more on my time here when I return to LA.

What?!

2005-08-09T15:49:00.000-07:00

A friend...I won't say who sent me this text this afternoon:

Our friends dog just ate our used condom. What do I do? I am so embarrased but afraid hes' going to vomit it up and there'll be a condom on the floor. Aaah!

Woody Allen on LA

2005-08-09T15:46:00.000-07:00

I don't wanna live in a city where the only cultural advantage is that you can make a right turn on a red light.

Listing

2005-08-02T11:01:00.000-07:00

Soooo much has happened and Im so busy at work I cant really write it down:

1) Went to birthday party for friend's personal trainer on Friday. Everyone there had a SICK ripped body. I felt skinny fat so I turned to patron gimlets. I kept wondering.. where the fuck do you find the time to work out so much? Oh yeah, that's your fucking job. The party was at Fiesta Cantina, which I realized is the high-school cafeteria for West Hollywood gays. We sat at a big table out in front...and at one point this salty gaysian friend of Kirks asks him, "Why are you sitting with all of the plastics? They're all porn stars and personal trainers."
And its then I realize those are the heros and idols of the shallow gays... and Im as shallow as a kiddie pool for midgets.
Just kidding..I'm not, but I did allow the body facism at the table to dazzle me and to make me feel bad about myself at the same time. After a couple drinks though, I was all about groping feels and hanging with Kirk.
2) I saw Carrie at the Hollywood Forever Cemetary with Kirk. So much fun. Tons of young 20 somethings packed the big lawn in front of the mauseloeum and drank their concoctions and ate their picnics. Kirk brought New York Style Deli sandwiches and cookies from Stolichnaya Bakery.
3) Met a really cute dressing-room guy at Club Monaco. But its hard for me to figure out whether or not I think he's cute because he's actually cute or because I'm a sick flirt and I like to make out with dressing-room guys.
4) I hate being poor. In trying to dress well for a job that's involved with fashion...how do you pull off a cohesive look without going broke? Shoplifting? That would be tragic. Look at Winona, she's never really recovered.
5) Michelle took advantage of Sephora's return policy which is the best in the nation. While working for her former PR agency, she got a BUTTLOAD of expensive facial products, didnt use any of them, and took them into Sephora claiming she got them at the one in SoHo New York.
She got herself a 300 credit. Now how do I convince her to get me some Strivectin-D?!
6) Jake's in town. He's still so hot it makes my head spin. He got asked to enter a stripping contest last night. Its only when you're with a really hot guy that you realize that you're not super fucking hot yourselfbecause the world all seems to fall all over itself to talk to Jake. If I wasn't fucking him, I'd hate him.
7) Work's really busy so I'll be quiet again for the next several days.

XOXOXO

Spank Me Daddy

2005-07-29T14:57:00.000-07:00

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

2005-07-28T19:29:00.000-07:00

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...

2005-07-28T13:34:00.000-07:00

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

2005-07-27T16:43:00.000-07:00

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

2005-07-22T18:15:00.000-07:00

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

2005-07-21T16:14:00.000-07:00

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

2005-07-19T18:05:00.000-07:00

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

2005-07-18T17:19:00.000-07:00

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

2005-07-15T14:39:00.000-07:00

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

2005-07-14T15:17:00.000-07:00

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

2005-07-13T17:32:00.000-07:00

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...

2005-07-13T16:30:00.000-07:00

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

2005-07-13T12:21:00.000-07:00

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

2005-07-13T12:17:00.000-07:00

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

2005-07-13T12:11:00.000-07:00

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

Let Go Already!

2005-07-13T11:50:00.000-07:00

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

2005-07-12T17:52:00.000-07:00

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

2005-07-08T17:15:00.000-07:00

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

2005-07-07T13:38:00.000-07:00

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

2005-07-06T13:50:00.000-07:00

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.

Turning 26

2005-06-28T17:09:00.000-07:00

I approached my 26th birthday with apprehension.
A year ago, I sat at at an outdoor table at the Maritime's La Bottega with about 10 of my best frends and my sweet hot boyfriend. It was a great night because I felt a lot of love, and I was in New York where I felt I belonged.
...BUT the EX and I broke up a month later. I now live in city I have mixed feelings about and I've been dating a string of "nice" but stupid guys.
So I knew right off the bat this birthday would be different.
No big party, no close group of friends, and no EX to carry me home after one too many shots of Patron.
What I had was two options.
1. Spending my birthday with my parents. Oh dear god.
2. Spending my birthday with my few friends in LA who all are on the brink of marriage and whose sense of adventures seems to have died.

So I looked at those two options and booked a flight to San Francisco...where at least I had Jake, my bartending hottie, where GAY PRIDE festivites filled the city, and where I thankfully DID NOT HAVE TO DRIVE.

25 was a hard year for me. I lost one of my best friends and my EX and I broke up. I left my bar job, and moved to LA.
So I sorta wanted a low-key birthday, and I knew that would happen in SF.

I slept alot and attended very few Gay Pride activities becasue frankly the event scares me.
I used to throw gay parties at Stanford for the gay community; so one of my best friends suggested that I should look into planning a city's gay pride event.

My response:
oh dear god jules, i hate gay people, i mean i like myself and my
friends, but the rest of them are awful.
if i planned gay pride parades, id have to institute dress codes and
exclude all sorts of ridiculous embarassments.
if you wear assless chaps, then you won't be allowed to march.
think more marc jacobs and less cirque du soliel.
----

But don't listen to this queen, because GAY PRIDE is supposed to be about loving thyself and self-expression...it's just that I find the whole affair to be tacky and slightly ironic.
And I'm all for costuming... but assless chaps?

Whatever.
I can't even write about GAY PRIDE without feeling conflicted about it. What's GAY PRIDE even mean anymore?
We're catty shits to one another. We propagate vicious body facism and elitism. We're fairly segregated along class and racial lines, and most of us live in gay ghettos.
And we celebrate pride over what? The new season of Queer Eye?

Most of the guys I know use Gay Pride as an excuse to go to big parties, get fucked up, and hook up with a couple of out-of-towners. Which I'm all for and while it is an excercise in faggotry, I don't know if its anything we should be calling Gay Pride.

But whatever, this rant isn't anything new to anyone.

I ran into my old hairstylist, Jay, at GIANT, the tea-dance, and he blessedly now seems off the crack because he has stopped shaking.
A hideous looking tranny walked by to which he remarked, "Look at the tranimal."

So that my friends is the word of the week, "TRANIMAL."

I woke up Monday morning to about 15 messages from friends, family, and my EX. All very sweet voicemails which reminded me that I'm a very lucky guy.

I may not have spent this birthday with my posse of friends, nor am I in the city in which I love, but after my stupid car accident last week, I'm very thankful to be alive and to have the great friends that I do in my life.

And SF was a suprisingly refreshing break from the ugliness of LA. Who would have ever thought I'd be happy to be in SF?! But I was... so I'm taking this opportunity to thank my friends for extending their love to me on my birthday. It means a lot to me.

Character Description

2005-06-22T10:08:00.000-07:00

"Elliot: 25ish, American, happy-go-lucky, intelligent, but a bit geeky,
lives for the moment, good looking, but unaware of his looks."

My first reaction: "A Big Geeky??"

Jules' first reaction: "When are you not pretending to brood or unaware of your good looks?"

In Entertainment.

2005-06-21T17:31:00.000-07:00

On my way into the gym on Sunday night, I ran into Chris, a former child actor turned television producer who I've had a slight flirtation with for the past several years.
I met Chris at Crunch on Lafayette where him and his buddies would usually hold court near the water fountain.
He's incredibly sexy with big arms, a big mischevious smile, and crystal blue eyes, but he's also a total player.

And I also made the biggest ass of myself with him right after we met.

While my buddy Kyle and I were walking into the gym, the subject of who we'd screw at our gym came up.

Me: "Well I think Chris is really hot, but he's a huge player, and really short. I mean he's like 5'6."

Kyle: "Um, what?!"

Me: "What do you mean, what?! Whats wrong with you? Chris is short, I mean he's not a midget, but you said yourself that he's not as hot as he could be becasue he's on the shorter side."

Kyle: "Hey Chris, how are you doing?"

I turn around and of course Chris is standing there.
In a panic, as I'm turning I drop my cup of coffee on his shoes. I help Chris clean it up and I go hide in the bathroom for the next 15 minutes.

Well he was shooting a pilot at Crunch here in LA and he apparently forgave me for my horrible transgression. He asked me if I'd be interested in being an extra.
I said yes not realizing that being an extra really sucks.

They shot a scene where a newcomer to LA runs into his friend at the gym, with gay men working out around them. I was on the flys and after about 45 minutes of having to do the same exercise repeatedly, I was ready to go home. Maybe Chris was punishing me?

I gave Chris my number but I sincerely doubt I'll be hearing from him; he's flirty but he's like that with everyone; it's the way he interacts with people. And he probably remembers what a dick I was.

In sort of related news, I recieved an e-mail from a guy I tricked with last October.
He's a British actor who resides in London, and had been visiting New York for a week.
I met him at my bar,and after a brief conversation, we ended up hooking up.
We hung out for the next couple days while he was in town, and had a really fun time.
Well, he wrote me letting me know that a play that he wrote has won a series of awards and is being performed at a festival. And that the crux of the story is a british actor going to New York where he meets a sexy American.
So he was writing me to let me know that his play has a character based on me.

How very sweet? I havent read the script yet but I hope I don't come across as too much of a slutty lush.

Crash

2005-06-20T10:53:00.000-07:00

On Friday night, on my way home, I ran a red light and crashed into a BMW.
My cell phone had fallen onto the floor in front of the passenger side and when it rang, I went to grab it.

I don't know how I missed the fact that I was about to drive through an intersection.
I'm stupid. I'm so fucking dumb. And I'm so incredibly lucky I didn't kill anyone.

I remember looking up and realizing I had just run a red light and was headed right for a car.

The next 10 minutes were completely unreal. The sounds of two cars crushing each other, the feeling of the shards of glass raining on my face, and the smell of burnt rubber and gasoline.

I immediately panicked. Is the other person ok? I couldn't open my door so I climbed over the airbags and out of the passenger side window, and ran to the BMW.

Inside I saw a terrified woman hysterically crying. I asked her if she could get out.
She couldn't.
I held her hand and cried. I cried for her pain, knowing that I had caused it all.

The police came, she was able to get out of her car, and thankfully she was fine.

Said "If there's any car you ever want to get in an accident in, it's that one."

She gave me a hug, and reminded me that we were both alive.

I'm so very sorry.

Throughout it all, the only person I wanted with me was my EX. I wanted his embrace more than anything. I wanted to feel safe again.

I called him and he stayed on the phone with me until I got home and into bed. My body aches, my nerves are fried, but god damn, I'm still alive.

Voicemails from Sample Sales

2005-06-17T17:54:00.000-07:00

"Amazing, amazing, amazing.
Green bathing suit, green sleeveless hoodie top, and a tank top.
Ash got pants and some other shit.
Simply amazing"
That was the message Tom left me on my fucking voicemail after leaving the Y-3 Sample Sale in New York.

2005-06-16T17:25:00.000-07:00

I live with a couple from the Midwest. I've called them trashy before, but that's because they are trashy.
Uneducated, racist, and fans of demolition derbies.
I'm not saying they're evil. Quite the opposite actually. They're sweet people who just happen to like Bud Light, cigarettes, and hawaiian shirts. It's sort of like living with the Simpsons or relatives of the Bundy's.

Last night they came home from a dinner party. They were both drunk, meaning one of them was behind the wheel intoxicated of course.

They were in the midst of a tense fight, ignoring each other and only speaking to me making me the medium by which there dumb angry comments were filtered.
Btw, don't do that to people, if youre fighting don't drag others into it. It was horribly akward for me....Ok, i'm lying...i thought it was really entertaining. Imagine Jerry Springer Live in your living room. Priceless.

She then ends the game by informing him that she was going to make a microwave pizza. He demands that she not eat anymore, and come to bed so they can have sex.
She refuses, I go to my room to laugh, and I hear him telling her she's in "deep, deep trouble."

She then pops open two bud lights and motions me to join her out on the building's balconies to smoke a cigarette.

It's there that we have our first real conversation since I moved in three weeks ago.
She tells me of her failed relationships, the friends she's lost, and the heartache of her current situation.

She showed me pictures of her circle of friends back in Chicago, of her father, and of her ex-boyfriends.
She's really lonely out here since she moved out here to be with her current boyfriend; a guy she met while waitressing at a TGIFriday's type restaurant.
She has no friends here, and her life is basically her administrative job and her boyfriend. He's kind of a jerk to her; telling her what to wear, demanding sex every night, and telling her she's lucky to have him.
I've heard firsthand all of his bullshit, and up until last night hadn't said anything.

She asked me what I thought she should do.
I told her to break up with him because she's in an abusive relationship. She deserves better than that.

I don't doubt that the guy loves her. He just needs to understand that he can't treat her like shit.

Blowjob on Aisle 4

2005-06-15T15:59:00.000-07:00

So last night I stumbled upon a phenomenon that others had warned me was prevalent in Los Angeles; grocery store cruising.
I was buying my oatmeal, golden delcious apples, and reduced-fat peanut butter when a college kid wearing a UCLA sweatshirt gave me the look. I brushed it off and continued on with my shopping, getting my Silk Soymilk and turkey burgers. I had had a long day and wasn't feeling particularly sexy in my post-gym smell. Especially because someone had swiped my year-old sneakers while I was in the shower. Yeah, I don't get that either. I go to a gay gym so either one of the custodians took them or some fetish queen into smelly gym shoes. Whatever. have fun with them.

As I was checking out, the guy ahead of me in line gave me the unmistakable look over and smiled. I don't know what was making me so appealing last night...maybe guys are into b.o. Maybe he liked what I had in my basket.
This guy was in his early thirties, wearing the kind of casual clothes that are made to look casual and expensive at the same time. Deconstructed pima cotton polo, madras shorts, and haviana flips.
Really polished and styled. But looking to get it on as he was checking out.
He waited for me to exit the store and in the parking lot, he introduced himself with his business card. I was slightly freaked out and intrigued.
In a city like LA where you don't walk by people on the street, do people shop for prospective dates by shopping for food?

Well yesterday was one of those unexplainable days when you get lots of attention despite feeling like you look your worst.
On my way to the gym earlier that day, an ederly man entered my apartment building's elevator with his dog. He turned to me and said, "Youre quite the attractive man."
He kept looking at me, creating an incredibly akward moment. As he exited the elevator, he turns to me and smiles, and then the elevator door shuts on his face, the dog goes beserk, the old man falls back, and I have to then help him up.

He was totally embarrased, but I was so flattered. I was that much of a knockout for the guy.

Mysterious Skin

2005-06-15T11:09:00.000-07:00

I saw Greg Araki's latest film, Mysterious Skin, a couple weeks ago with my friend Brian from New York. Brian used to work in the admissions office at Columbia, and he was the guy who would decide which bootlicking egomaniacal applicant would be offered a spot in the undergrad program.
Like many LA residents, he moved out to the city of angels to pursue his dreams of being in showbiz. Brian is an aspiring director; exactly the kind of guy who I like to watch movies with because I like to tear movies apart, and do it who has an educated opinion about it.

Mysterious Skin examines how childhood molestation affected the life trajectories of two young men. One's a hooker, the other a mama's boy dweeb. The hooker gets off on the dangers of turning tricks, the mama's boy has blocked out his molestation experience, and believes that the missing time in his life is due to an alien abduction.
The juxtaposition of the two tales bothered me because the hooker's story was dark, and the other boy's situation a comedy of errors. I thought it fucked with the pacing of the film, but others have loved it.

The movie really romanticized male prostitution, and I found myself wistfully reminiscing about my own experiences.
Like other sex workers, I too, was molested, and of course I can't help but wonder how much of that played into my decision to do it.

I know that I have had complicated feelings toward older men. A part of me had wanted to be eroticized by them, the other was disgusted by them.

That conflict is largely resolved. I think being a hooker was strangely therapeutic for me for a great number of reasons despite the fact that it does fuck with your head.

Sex is rarely ever just about sex, and in the case of prostitution its rarely just a financial transaction.
Most male hookers don't do it because they need to; you can get a real job, you aren't a gimp. But it's a hell of a lot easier to make 250 an hour sucking an old man off than it is working at Subway for minimum wage.
But it goes even beyond that. Hookers do it because it gives them a sense of affirmation, a sense of danger, and it makes them feel special. And I suspect that for some it gives them a way to deal with molestation.

Through my experiences, I think that most men hire prostitutes in order to feel intimacy. There are a lot of lonely people out there, and the need to feel someone else is basic. We as human beings need to feel affectionate touches. As I've gotten older, I don't demonize the older men who hit on me becasue they aren't the men who molested me as a child...no, those are pedophiles. Men like Michael Jackson who are sick, depraved, and need intense therapy and castration.

In the end though, I'm trying to fully exit (I still occasionally do it for the extra cash, and the rush I'm sure) the sex industry for several reasons.
One, it is dangerous. I never had that bad of experience, but shit happens because people are fucking crazy. You can't even imagine how many men tried to convince me to have sex bareback. Or to do crystal with them. Retarded.

Two, it makes you total crazy and inappropiate about boundaries. You start to completely seperate sex and emotions, and you end up fucking up your romantic sex life. You think that having group orgies on a regular basis is okay, and bascially debase the spirtual connection that makes sex so wonderful. If you're having sex with other guys more than your own boyfriend, then there's something wrong there.
If you need to proposition men for threesomes on a regular basis, then there's something wrong there. Sex should ultimately be about sharing an intimate experience with the man you love. And no, I doubt you can love half of Chelsea and West Hollywood, although you wouldn't be able to tell that by my own past behavior.
I'm not saying I'm about monogamy, because child, I'm not about to make myself a hypocrite, but as a full-time sex worker, you're basically having sex all the time.

Three, because of the amount of money you make, you strap on the same golden handcuffs that afflict bartenders. No job will ever pay you as much money as the sex industry will, and you'll end up wasting years of your life with no credible career momentum.

Interestingly enough, Raging Stallion approached my bartending hottie, Jake, in San Francisco yesterday to see if he'd be interested in being a model for them.
He thought it was funny that they said "model" instead of porn actor/star as if the euphemism would somehow fool him into being interested.
Like I've said before, this isn't the first time he's been approached off the street. Falcon and Hot House have both tried to scout him, but he has no interest in doing it. Says he doesn't want that kind of attention in his life, and doesn't want to have the type of extreme sex shown in movies. Which is part of the reason I think Jake is so hot; he's a porn star without having made a movie.

2005-06-14T16:29:00.000-07:00

I had a second date last night with this Crunch hottie named Matt. Buffed tattooed and sweet, Matt is another guy that on paper should work out perfectly, but I feel as if he's hiding some dark secret.

I met him a couple weeks ago when he was working on his chest. He has gorgeous green eyes and an array of beautiful tattoos on his biceps and shoulders.

On our first date he showed me pictures of a trip he took his mom on, and beautiful dark wood furniture he made himself.

So even though his anxious shy demeanor stifled our conversations, I gave him another chance because I know that Matt has a good heart and spends time creating. (I fall hard for artsy types) That and he has the best ass god ever created.

He had been out celebrating LA Pride this past weekend, so he was yawning all through out our date. He eventually fell asleep while watching a bad movie. Now that's cute if you've been dating for awhile, but this is our second date. Muster up enough interest to stay awake.

I couldn't help but feel a little jipped. He knew our date was coming up and yet didn't make the effort to be rested up for our encounter.

He also let it slip to me that he doesn't change in the locker room, because he's uncomfortable with gay cruising, hates any form of gay PDA, and is seemingly annoyed by fey gay men. So in short, he has some issues with outward expressions of homosexuality.

For most people, that would be enough to drive them away.
For me because im clinically insane, I find it endearing. Matt is hiding a lot behind his good looks, a lot of internalized homophobia and somehting else i can't put my finger on , and I can't help but feeling like I should help him.
But thats why my dating life is a complete horror show.

You don't date projects.

I'm actually going on a second date with Ryan, the med student, in a couple days. The stalker, Phil, has called me literally 11 times since Saturday.

So what does this all mean? I really need to get that fucking dog.

The Story of the Marc Jacobs Bag

2005-06-13T15:46:00.000-07:00

For some boys and girls their obsessions lie with shoes. For others its jewelry, and for me, as strange as it sounds its t-shirts. (yes, im trashy that way)

For my friend Josie, it's certain bags that carry her fancy. I think it started out back in college when she lusted after a coach saddle bag. then came the gucci bag, followed by the birkin. im not really good with remembering the types of bags out there, not like josie and her extensive knowledge of hobos and totes.
about a year ago, josie became obsessed with a certain green marc jacobs bag.
she talked about it endlessly like a new boyfriend. had me call her from a computer so we could look at it online together.

so when she stumbled upon one on ebay, the temptation was just too great. the photos of the green marc jacobs bag haunted her. it was the bag she so desperately wanted, and it would cost much less than if she paid retail. she placed a bid and anxiously waited for the results.

well josie got her bag. it was shipped to her within 4 days. but instead of getting what she saw on the photos of ebay, she got a cheap knockoff with a tear in it.

and that my friends is the other problem with trying to find dates online.
no matter what the product is, be it designer accessories or potential suitors, there's an element of advertising that's based on deception.
in the case of ebay handbags and online dating sites, the pictures are of products that are too good to be true; and more often than not, they are.

Men will always put their best pic up, tell you how hot and sexy they are, but I suspect that half of them are using someone else's pic, or are about 5 to 10 years older than they say.

The famous internet adage is that there is a difference between "internet inches" and real inches.

So if you find yourself cruising online, subtract about an inch from his cock size, add about 5 years, and prepare yourself for stalkers and tweakers.
What people should do is post their ugliest photos and tell the absolute truth about their statistic so that people will think youre more attractive when they meet you.

The Perils of Being Fresh Meat

2005-06-12T13:30:00.000-07:00

As I posted a couple days ago, I had to work this weekend, and report to the office by 8am. Well, I talked them up to 9am, and that hour makes a world of difference.

Work has been easy despite the fact that I'm dealing with vicious female retail buyers who walk in their strappy wedge sandals with enough attitude to cut through Kimora's diamonds.
Buyers are used to being catered to since they wield in their well-manicured hands hundreds of thousands of dollars and the livelihood of designers.
They ask questions, don't grace me with eye contact, and since they know I'm new meat and thus lack experience, they'll ask me the same question repeatedly, hoping they'll eventually get the answer they want.
I'm used to dealing with this alpha personality, seeing as I tend to date and befriend it.
All in all, working this weekend has been fine. The job's not that hard, and I managed to go out for a bit last night, which was enough of LA Pride for me.
(Because frankly all PRIDES are the same fucking thing, plus or minus a couple of drag queens and GHB overdoses)

I met up with Ted, a buddy of mine from NYC. He's a law student who realized that being a law student in New York sucks. You're broke (even though his parents paid for his posh digs on the Upper West Side), you're saddled with a huge amount of work, and you're always missing some great party. Even JFK Jr. let the insanity of New York affect his studies while at NYU Law. The prince failed the New York bar twice.
Ted's trying to transfer to a LA law school, but for the summer he's interning at a firm downtown.
Ted and I have the same taste in guys- we like masculine laid back men who are comfortable in their skin- and that often means guys in their thirties.
We hooked up about a year ago after I stopped dating one of his best friends, pussy boy.
Pussy boy got his name from an intimate experience where he demanded I fuck his pussy.
Afterwards, PB asked if he could fuck me. My response "You have a pussy, there's no way you're ever fucking me."
Anyways, Ted called me up yesterday asking me if I'd be down to meet up for a drink.
I said yes knowing quite well that I might be bringing a date along.

I have a confession: out here in LA I've started chatting on online gay sites with the actual intention of dating and hooking-up. Something I used to do back in high school. I much rather prefer meeting guys in real life because it's much sexier to met a hot guy in a bar, not know the exact dimensions of his dick and asshole, and discover a man's story before knowing his turn-ons.
But I've gotten lazy with work and the gym, and in an attempt to meet guys, find online chatting easy and convenient. And I suspect that online chatting is a big thing out in LA where the bars kind of suck.
In the past, I'd simply swap pics when I was bored, because getting laid off the internet is just way too easy. Easy sex for me = boring.
And on the internet, you'll find your share of meth heads, sex addicts, and completely socially inept losers who's life is wholly comprised of the gym and sex websites.
You'll often find guys who have 14 pictures of themsevles with a long edict as to appropiate chat behavior, exclusionary clauses, and overuse of abbreviations. (No Fats, Fems. Be Masculine. Hot, worked out, you be too.PNP, BB, WS, FF for e.g.) To those people, I say walk the fuck away from your computer and walk out your door.

Saying that, I myself logged onto the internet, and after chatting for about half an hour, I met two potential suitors.

One is this recent Berkely grad who's a personal trainer. Ryan's about to start med school in the south, but is interning in LA for the summer.
He's sexy, has a great thick body, but is so cocky about being "the whole package" that he often comes across as a total tool.

The other kid I chatted with was Phil, a young gym bunny from Long Beach. Cute sexy kid, but it seemed thats all he really was. Perhaps too young and too aimless for my taste.

Phil and Ryan both asked to hang out last night, but seeing as Ryan was probably a better fit, I invited him to meet up for drinks before I was to meet Ted.
I figured that if Ryan was cool, i'd invite him along to meet Ted and keep things chill and casual. If not, I'd tell him I had to go meet my buddy.

Well a couple hours before I was to meet Ryan, Ted called me up to let me know that his friend Phil from Long Beach would be joining us. I laughed my ass off. Small fucking gay world.

Ryan, the gay med student, picked me up at my aparment and we started walking over to the Abbey. On the way over, we share dating horror stories, one of which is about a stalker of his. He tells me he's been hesitant to meet off the internet because he he had a really bad experience. Apparantly a guy he met off the net wouldn't take a hint and would text him 20 times a day, instant message him, email him, and call him. And true to stalker fashion, follow him home.

I stopped in my tracks, however, when Ryan mentioned that his freaky stalker was from Long Beach. The gay world got even smaller. Phil was in fact his stalker, Ted's friend, and my other online suitor.

I thought it was fucking hilarious. Of course this would happen to me. See what happens when you shop for dick online.

All in all, things turned out fine. We all met each other, Phil turned out to be crazy, but he was more freaked out by the whole thing than anything. Had a deer in the headlights look to him all night.
And I consider myself very lucky for having been warned ahead of time of a run-in with a lame guy with too much time on his hands.
But perhaps I too have too much time if I have time to chat with random guys on the net. Next time I get lonely, I'm going to get a dog, go to the park, and use that as a means to let guys talk to the "new meat" of LA.

Fighting Fists of Jealousy

2005-06-10T12:16:00.000-07:00

its funny how hypocritical i can be with matters of the heart and my cock.

my EX and i had a friendly conversation last night in which we mentioned recent dates. this morning i saw that i recieved a text from him at 5am.

being strung out from exhaustion, i subtracted 3hours instead of adding them, and figured he texted me at 2am his time...thus assuming he must have been out hooking up with someone and texted me on his way home.

And impulsively I became jealous.
Ree-tard-dead.

Instead of bringing out the best in us as relationships should, too often they make us jealous jerks. And nothing, absolutely nothing ever good comes out of jealousy because its rooted in insecurity and mistrust.
If someone flirts with your boyfriend, why give a fuck--- someone just sees what you see in your man- and you need to trust your man to not do anything to hurt you.

Well in this case, I have no grounds to be jealous. We aren't together, havent been for a year, im still seeing the SF bartender and dating out in LA-- but there are still times I get caught up in jealously when it comes to my EX.

But if anything its an indicator that I still have romantic feelings for him despite everything.
With my other ex's, I could give a flying fuck if they showed me photos of them getting fisted by my best friends.

Family Ties

2005-06-09T10:04:00.000-07:00

I'm so tired. I'm on my second cup of coffee and I've only been in the office for an hour.
Being tired at work is akin to chinese water torture. You keep looking at the clock, hoping that somehow time will speed up, and that the day will end...but it doesn't, and in fact the day goes by even slower. And off in New York, my old co-workers from the bar are still asleep despite the fact that they're three hours ahead. Lazy whores.

For some god foresaken reason, I can't fall asleep before 2am despite the fact that I've been getting up at 7:15a. My over active mind keeps me up. I read, jerk off, read some more, and then drink a glass of wine.
Well last night I miracously nodded off at about 12:30....only to be woken up by a phone call from my drunk aunt Ricki.
Don't get my wrong, Ricki, is awesome. At only 5 years older than me, we grew up acting like siblings. She's crazy, outgoing, and a full on dyke.
She blessedly made my coming out easier because she was such a wreck.
I may have been a fag, my parents thought, but at least he's going to Stanford, not dating a stripper, and not riding a harley. (Little did they know that their golden boy just did a better job of hiding his dark skeletons)

In the middle of a night, I was awoken by my alarm clock.
Scratch that.
It wasnt my alarm clock.
It was my cell phone, and it was only 1:30a. I had been sleeping for one hour.

Me: "Uhh..hello..."
Ricki: "uhh.....(sounds of crying)...Hello?"
Me:" Yeah, whats wrong?!"
Ricki: "Oh, im just really drunk. I love you! (more crying)"
Me: "I love you too. Whats going on"
Nameless girl/probable new girlfriend: "I'm sorry, we're really fucked up. We'll call you tomorrow"
Click.

WHAT THE FUCK?!
Toxic, thats what that was.
Get your shit together, Ricki, and if you need to talk to me don't do it pissed drunk.
Yes, I'm a little callous, but I've learned (from my own behavior with my EX, mind you) that you can't coddle such behavior.
It's ridiculous, rude, and selfish.
And once again, I'm not saying im immune to such antics.

Dressing Your Age

2005-06-08T11:49:00.000-07:00

Last night my mom called me while I was at the Coffee Bean refueling for the gym. As we chatted, a well-perserved 40-something trophy wife pulled up in her Lexus SUV wearing a tight tank top and True Religion jeans. She was a size 2 on a fat day and had her long blonde locks were pulled up in a pony-tail. Inside she pulled off her Louis Vutton sunglasses and revealed a face that only a plastic surgeon could have concocted. Tight shiny skin. Large bee-stung lips, and an obscenely narrow nose.

Instead of looking hot, she looked like a plastic whore with her bright make-up and heavy cleavage. But I think that pretty much sums up the look of the ladies of LA.
There's absolutely no subletly in fashion here.It is all vulgarity.
The prescription is for the tight items- and that applies to the men as well as the ladies.

An otherwise hot buff daddy at Crunch last night had cut his t-shirt down the middle to mid-sternum, creating a look that reminded me of the J.Lo green dress at the Grammy's. I totally gave him a puzzled look. Why make your t-shirt into a sports bra when you're a man? And a hot one at that?

I'm starting to believe that while the fashion icon of the ladies of the East Coast is still Jackie-O, the fashion icon of LA is Pamela Anderson.

And the men all think they're Ashton Kutcher- even at 40. I saw a salt and peppered man wearing cameouflage shorts at the gym with an abercrombie tank-top. Why is it that the older people get in LA, the more it seems they are more determined to dress like juvenile deliquents.

It makes me think that LA lacks real class. The ladies who lunch in New York are real cunts, but at least they were clothing that while appropiate for their age, is still gorgeous. Think Vivienne Westwood tops with chunky jewelry and Chloe Jeans.

And while men in New York strive for masculine looks; pinstripe suits and vintage t-shirts, deconstructed, and slightly baggy jeans, the men of LA tend to wear skimpy Urban Outfitter type tees with faggy jeans.
If you're a man, try to stick to simple jeans like Premium Levi's. The flashy adornments on the ass are touches of feminity that look ridiculous on most men. That rules out most of the designer jeans. I mean, that's just my opinion, but I think that guys (and especially men over the age of 30) look absolutely retarded in True Religion Jeans, your ass highlighted by oversized buttons on pockets with thick stitching.
Only if you're a fashion icon like Chow can you pull this shit off, because he'll pair it with his Adam Plus Eve thin cashmere sweater and his school boy jacket. Hot look. Down.
I know that with time, my own fashion tastes will be influenced by LA, and I'll end up buying too much Diesel, and looking like a man afraid of showing his age.

Cash Money Ho, PS.

2005-06-07T14:11:00.000-07:00

Btw, why the fuck is gas so expensive? At 2.50 a gallon, I miss New York City subways...anything to not drive, get tailgated by that bottle-blonde bitch in her tacky beemer convertible, and then to have to gas up at 40 dollars a pop.

Cash Money Ho?

2005-06-07T13:20:00.000-07:00

Ever notice that when you're broke, everyone else seems to be flithly rich.
Well that seems to be the case here in LA, but to the Nth degree. No one my age seems to be struggling at all...but I sincerely doubt that the greater Los Angeles area is populated entirely by trust fund kids and hotel heiressses. NO, my guess is that most people my age are living way beyond their means and doing so on credit.

Driving around in my rented hatchback Daewoo, I'm surrounded by SUVs, Beemers, and Hummers. The most common car I see being driven by people my age are Volkswagon Jettas and Golfs.

It's not fashionable or glam to be broke...in fact, you're never supposed to admit to not having money, because if you are truly a child of glamour, then the money will come to you... Where that pervasive line of thinking comes from, I have no idea, but I do know that among my friends the idea of dropping a thousand dollars at Lisa Kline on Robertson on a pair of jeans and a jacket is nothing to be alarmed at, especially if you've got the latest Farmer Jeans, that really cute Paul Smith Oxford hat, or that Etro Seersucker jacket in your bag.

One of my friends, I fucking forgot which, told me that back in the day (probably in the 50's) the theatre was attended almost purely by older people. Not because they were the only ones who wanted to attend, but because they were the only ones who could truly afford to go- Now that whole concept; that certain luxuries should only be taken with a decades-worth of hard work has seemingly escaped the supposition of the world today.
It certainly has been something that's taken most of my early twenties to notice.
Maybe it's because we live in a world that's a "live for today" mentality- which translates into instant gratification and induldgence.
Especially since we seem infatuated with young girls with more capital than most African nations. Girls like the Skeletwins (Linday and Nicole) and Paris who are young and get to live lavish lifestyles. It's not enough to be rich at 40, now what people want is to be rich, hot, and young. Or at least appear as if they are rich and young.
Alls I know is...I'm broke- and I need to worry about apartment deposits and cars before I even consider a new pair of Blue Cult Jeans.

Out by 10p

2005-06-03T17:01:00.000-07:00

I dont think I've ever fallen asleep before midnight unless there were several klonopin involved. Well I slept ten hours and still managed to wake up by 7:30. Craziness.

So do I like LA more than SF? Well, there's certainly more stimuli for my ADD-addled brain, but the standard of living is not as high as it is in the Bay Area. But I'm liking it more and more. I don't have a great circle of friends, nor am I being invited out to many parties, but it's a refreshing break. My liver is recovering. My skin is clearing up, and I've managed to gain another five pounds of muscle.

The guys here are waaay to fucking primp-y even for this queen. I'm talking about Ken dolls, people. Waxed, brushed, plucked,and tanned. I like to look hot without it looking like I was groomed by a staff of twenty.

Everybody wants to come to Hollywood

2005-06-02T15:43:00.000-07:00

Okay so it's been a week and in that past week I've:
-Eaten too much In-n-Out. I'm afraid my digestive system is permenaently backed up, and frankly, I think it's worth it.
-Have spent about 10 hours in traffic. It's really that bad. There have been times that I've convinced myself that I entered a black hole/space time continum vortex and have backtracked. And other times, I figure I might as well park on the 405 and walk home.
-Attended the Sunday T-Dance party at the Standard Downtown. Think NYC fashionistas with better tans and more coke. I saw a girl in a white thong with cellulite. My friend Joanne told me that the THONGed one asked her for a tampoon in the bathroom. Quelle horror. Our friend who's a manager for the Standard invited us to the "in-crowd" event where everyone sported labels and flesh. It felt like everyone was trying really hard to be cool, and I found the dancing on furniture and smiling to be annoying as fuck.
My favorite over-used phrase, "My goal is to be bi-coastal." Duh, fuckwad, but I doubt you'll achieve that by shoving a kilo of coke up your left nostril.
-Have met more crazy people than my last visit to grandpa's mental unit. Including potential roommates. One girl was a complete sweetheart, but she told me she's really into going out to gay bars and hasn't had a date since high school. She's now 28. I had to pass on that one. I'm not Will, sweetie, go become someone else's Grace.
I don't do fag hags. Period.
-My hottie bartender came down to visit, and of course every where we went people approached him and asked him if he wanted to be an actor, model, or porn star.
I was offered a drink.

Have to go back to work. It's my second day here. will report more later.

I FCK LA

2005-05-26T15:27:00.000-07:00

LA so far has sucked.
My apartment is ghetto. My roommates are white-trash wackos from the Midwest, and I'm driving a hatchback.
At least I've finally found out who the fuck buys Sketchers. LA people do!
I dont have internet access at home so right now I'm at the Apple Store at the Grove.
I'll have to wait till I get to an internet cafe to provide a legitimate entry.

In the meantime, please pray for me!

Closing the bar down one last time

2005-05-25T06:49:00.000-07:00

I've thrown parties for myself before, and I have no shame in doing it. I feel that throwing a good party is just as much a present to other people as it is to myself. It gives people a social event to go to where all of their friends will be in attendance, and most importantly it gives people a reason to get dressed up....not that my friends have ever really needed an excuse. (Yes, that's you Chow Chow)

But last night my four best friends decided to throw me yet another going-away dinner, except that this was the
final one. They swear.
It wasn't a very dramatic affair since we know that I'll be visiting New York soon enough, and I'll still call every one of them waaay too often when I'm bored in traffic. But it was a strange feeling knowing that for now, this was going to be my last night as a New Yorker.

We ate dinner at Mercadito. My friend Annie from my time in Berlin stopped by. Even the EX made an appearance.

We drank and lauged at Beige. I had decided that I would go to the one gay event in New York that I find the most annoying and retarded in order to assauge my longing pains for gay New York. Instead, I had probably the best time anyones ever had at the outdoor garden without having recieved head.

Beige has been around forever. The guys who make it a point to go every week have their heads up their asses, but they make sure their brows are tweezed and hair is sufficiently gel-ed.
There's a lot of akward tension among the boys there. I think it's because they've all just moved to NewYork, or they're the gay equivalent to bridge-and-tunnel trash so they're trying too hard to be hot.

Lila stopped by after her Hamptons Magazine party at Blvd. (there are sooo many fucking wrong things with that statement. Hamptons magazine is two small steps above HX.) Made an effort to stay for awhile, but hot girls bore easily at gay bars.

I laughed a lot last night. Laughed out loud. And thats how I know I've got some really fantastic friends. They buy me dinner, give me advice, and before I realize it, the bars done last call, and I've had the time of my life...

I'll be boarding my JetBlue flight to Burbank later today. Wish me well New York. God knows how much I love you.
LA, get ready, I'm going to rock your world.