Thursday, April 25, 2002

When we last left Chris, he was talking about his dull weekend and silly expectations…
Oh my, how the week has turned weird.

Carla, my boss, has been hospitalized—I have been forcibly put in charge. Why must the least qualified be forced to lead? Carla (a wonderful boss)* has numerous medial issues and is undergoing diagnostic work. It couldn’t come at a worse time as Sandy is on vacation and deadlines for reviews are rapidly approaching. I haven’t had this job long enough to know what the F’ I’m doing, so I am going to have to wing it. Christ, I’m gonna F’ this up in a heinous manner.

I’ll just refer to this time as either “The Grand F’ Up,” or “The Amazing Learning Experience, Where I Got My Ass Sh**-Canned.” The former sounds great, but I have a feeling the latter is most accurate.

On to other things…

I put a personal ad on line at an online gay personals site. We’ll see if anyone contacts me. Actually, a few have noticed. True, these people probably have criminal records, poor vision and some sort of freaked-out fetish, but it’s always nice to be appreciated.

I’ve e-mailed JD a few times, indicating I’d like to ask him out. He seems receptive, but I’m not sure how receptive he is. Is he just being nice, or is he really interested? I get a lot of “Yes, we should meet sometime” kinds of messages. I think I’m expecting him to show some more enthusiasm for some reason, or at least send a “call me right now and we can talk” instant message. I’m too wimpy for words, aren’t I? Most people would just call and accept whatever happens. Me? I have to analyze the crap out of something until it almost disappears and then whine about it.

I think my fear is that he is just being polite and that he really doesn’t want to go out with me. I will find out tonight, as I’m going to give him a call and see when we can meet. I don’t want to talk him up, or put me down too much, but I keep thinking he can do a lot better than me.

I’ll see tonight.

If you’re curious about what I wrote on my personal, here it is:

I am a man of many contradictions: I believe in following the rules, but believe it is everyone’s right to occasionally break them. A deep understanding of important issues is critical, but all I know seems to come from Dateline (damn that Stone Phillips with his handsome face and sexy, deep voice!) I’m a die-hard liberal with an intense conservative streak. I believe everyone needs to grow up, although I’m the least mature person you will ever meet. Procrastination is something to avoid, but it is my most effective descriptor. I love athletics (particularly, the Olympics) but have the grace and athletic abilities of a refrigerator. I think everyone should exercise everyday and vow someday I will start. Smoking is horrible, but I love my cigars. Television is a vast wasteland, yet I watch it all the time. I adore music, but couldn’t name a song or group if I tried—and I am painfully tone-deaf. I adore books, and have shelves of partially read books to prove it. Movies are mostly crap and should be avoided, and I would do so if I weren’t going at least once a week. I love just about any home improvement show, but put a hammer in my hand and I have the mechanical abilities of a manatee. Speling is important.

One should be passionate about important issues, unfortunately, I am only passionate about trivial items, such as (in no particular order):
Saturday Night Live should just stop already.
Comics should be funny and non-repetitive (hear that Cathy, Garfield, Family Circus, and The Big Picture?)
Lego is the greatest toy ever invented, no ifs ands or buts.
Dogs are better than cats.
Toilet paper goes over.
I think The Simpsons is the greatest television show ever.
The Osbournes is a close second.
Fart jokes are funny.
The ampersand (&) is cooler than at (@).
The word ampersand is one of my favorite words.
Keyser Söze is the greatest character name in all of moviedom.
David Diaz De La Questa is the coolest name of anyone I have personally known.
Sex is great; love more so.
Coke is better than Pepsi.
Nick at Nite is the best cable network (although Discovery, Showtime, HBO, and TLC, are pretty cool too).
If he’s a man and alive, what’s not to like?
Friends are to be kept close; fuck ‘em otherwise.
Fuck is the most useful swearword ever created.
If you can’t take a joke, you should not be within 50 yards of me.
Most important quality in the world: brevity.

With the exception of the scary people who have sent e-mails, all I can hear are crickets chirping...

*UPDATE (6/2006) Much happened shortly after that post--I'm just now going back over them and correcting anything positive I ever said about that unbelievable lying bitch from hell. Seriously, she's the most evil person ever. Spread lies everywhere, blamed everyone else but herself, and when she started to crash and burn, she made a point of trying to take us all with her. Pure fucking evil. If I were to ever see that bitch on the street I'm torn if I should just turn and walk away or tell her how she ruined dozens of lives. Hopefully, a cliff will not be nearby, because it would be too tempting not to push her off it. Evil fucking bitch. Good thing I'm not bitter all these years later...

Monday, April 22, 2002

I had a pretty quiet weekend. I was hoping and expecting something wild and fun, but it turned out to be rather dull. Oh, those expectations, how they will disappoint you.

On Friday I didn’t do much of anything. Laundry, played on the computer and went to bed before 11:00. All week, when I had to be up at 5:30, I never got to bed before 1:00am. But when I can sleep in, I’m in bed at an early hour. Go figure…

Saturday, I cleaned the house—will the fun never stop? It took an hour to clean my bathroom (always too disgusting for words). I have no idea how in a room where I use nothing but soap can get so disgusting. You’d think it would somehow self-clean. At least in my dreams.

Saturday evening, a buddy and I were supposed to go to the Lonestar together, after talking and planning for the last week, he chickened out. It totally pissed me off. Not because he chickened out, but the way he did it. He was excited about going until a few days before when, suddenly, he remembered “previous plans.” He said might not be able to leave in time and I told him we didn’t have to leave until 8:30. He kept saying it might take longer. The event he was going to started at 3:00 and we weren’t leaving until 8:30—I think 5.5 hours is enough for a damn barbeque, don’t you?

About 5:30 he left a message for me saying he would meet me up there, which is his way of saying, “I’m not going, but don’t want to admit it, so I’ll give you the false hope that I’ll see you, but no F’ing way am I going to do that.” I immediately figured out the excuses he was going to use: 1) too tired (from the 5.5 hours he spent at this party), 2) too drunk to drive, 3) didn’t know how to get to the bar (even though the last time he held the map as we drove up there). Any time we have ever had to drive to SF he freaks and can’t do it. He’s scared to drive up there.

So, I went alone.

Not nearly as much fun as last time. I was hoping at least to talk to someone… I didn’t speak to anyone—except the bartender. Sadly, there was no sighting of The Cutie, which I am still bummed on two days later. Lonestar had a totally different crowd this week: there was some sort of Leather-Thing going on at The Eagle and they filtered their way to Lonestar. I am not a leather-boy in any sense (my jacket is fricken suede for crimminy’s sake!). So I had two beers and a cigar (a lovely Hoyo de Monterey), then headed home.

The drive is much longer when you’re not floating on air…

I woke up early on Sunday (first words out of my sister: “YOU were home early.” i.e. YOU didn’t get laid last night.”). I made Scott McCandless’ birthday card (a picture of Lukas Ridgestone and a wonderful Buddhist quote about happiness being all around oneself).

I set off for Scott’s BD brunch at Bella Mia—was late and yet still was the first to arrive. No one I know is ever on time. We are the latest group of people in the world. I don’t know if any of us have ever arrived to anything less than 15 minutes late. Well, we’re nothing if not consistent.

Bella Mia normally has a really nice brunch, but my eggs seemed oddly shaped and somehow I felt disappointed in my eggs. How does one become disappointed in food? I know it seems impossible, but I did it. We then walked around downtown checking out the construction and slowly drifted apart as people had plans.

Eventually, Scott, Larry and I went to see “The Fluffer,” at the Towne. For what it was, it was alright. The ‘fluffee’ was unbelievably hot. Just incredible to look at—I couldn’t have hoped for a better looking dude. He was very convincing as a porn star—man, I wish he was one.

I know they were trying to be ‘mainstream’ in this film, but there was no edge to the film. The sex could have been much more erotic without ever having to show something. Instead, they showed nothing—and based on the looks of this guy, I was hoping for a little something more. Sex consisted of sound effects of sucking and a guy throwing his head back saying, “yeah.” Porn is about sex—mainstream is more about eroticism. They could have made those scenes more exciting than any porn I’ve seen. Especially considering that Wash West was a co-writer/co-director on this.

Wash West is a very well known porn director, particularly for his extremely erotic porn videos. There is a wonderful scene in a film called Animus (a surprise because it had 1) a plot, 2) good acting 3) great sex). Picture it: two “tops” are fooling around, neither is willing to bottom, so they end up simulating anal sex, rubbing against each other in a way that was more erotic and much hotter than any penetration scene I’ve ever seen.

Frankly, I had much higher expectations.

I decided to go home and read before I watched the greatest show on television: Six Feet Under. I am reading a wonderful Buddhist book called “Chasing Elephants.” The premise is not to look outside yourself for happiness—don’t expect others to do things for you and be disappointed by them. My favorite quote is “Only our searching for happiness prevents us from seeing it.” You have to let things be as they are: “It is what it is.” A fascinating premise. So, I started to re-evaluate my weekend and it turns out it was pretty good.

Saturday may not have been what I had hoped it would be at the Lonestar, but I was out among men I enjoy. I may have not been what those men were looking for, but I was there, I was out, the evening was lovely and the men were fun to watch.

The movie may not have been all that I wanted, but it was still a fun movie.

The nice thing about this is that it puts me in a more relaxed state. If one expects too much from others, they are disappointed. If one lets people be as they are, then we open ourselves up to new feelings and adventures.

I just hope the book gets better—I was expecting an easier read…

Friday, April 19, 2002

Robert Blake has been arrested… I think the Hollywood curse that people always talk about happened to The Little Rascals. None of those got anywhere without some horrific tragedy.

Most went broke, Alfalfa died after being shot in his bar, Darla committed suicide when she could no longer find work, Buckwheat died of a heart attack at age 49, Jackie Coopers’ parents spent all of his money… and the list goes on.

These poor kids. While they may have enjoyed a unique childhood, no one ever prepared them for the realities of adulthood. They were given so much as kids, nothing in life could measure up. They peaked by age 5… how can you compete with that?

Rarely does a child actor make that move from child to adult star. Jodi Foster did it. Michael J. Fox did it. But for every Jodi and Michael there is a Dana Plato and a Macaulay Culkin… and a Annison Jones (Buffy, Family Affair)… and the cast of both Diff’rent Strokes and The Facts of Life. Oh, it goes on and on and on… and on.

I feel bad for these kids… the fact that they are forgotten. Mostly, I feel bad because I really don’t care. It’s not their fault their lives are not as wonderful as their initial promise, but neither are most people’s. It’s just that the former child stars have something to compare it to.

Life’s a bitch. It’s nothing new.

My gosh I’m awfully cynical, aren’t I? As a duly registered minister I should come up with some sort of helpful bit of advice… Note that I did not say I would come up with some helpful advice, I only acknowledged that I should come up with some helpful advice. Good advice is hard to get—and even harder to give. Just look at Ann Landers. The woman speaks to millions but continues to F’-up every chance she gets. It’s downright embarrassing.

Maybe I should advise her?

Let’s move on to other issues, shall we? The weekend is here at last! Thank God (remember, I’m allowed to say that). I was hoping to go to a Stanford Baseball game on Saturday—but their in Seattle, so maybe I’ll go for a walk to Lexington Reservoir. It’s a good long walk and the view is wonderful (by “view” I mean hot-looking guys). A buddy and I will be heading up to the Lonestar Saloon on Saturday—I’m hoping to see JD and make up for not being polite last week, but I’m not counting on it. As Shawn said, “There’s a difference in him liking you now and liking you right now.” The truth hurts, Shawny-baby. Thankyousoverymuch for pointing that out to an already insecure individual.

Sunday is Scott MC’s birthday brunch and we have a group of nine showing up, which is pretty good considering it was last minute and no one in our group ever wants to RSVP for something.

All in all, I’m hoping for a relaxing weekend… but with my luck it will be nothing but chaos and hookers, chaos and hookers. You realize that is just wishful thinking, right?

Have a good one!

Wednesday, April 17, 2002

I spent the day doing interviews.

Man, what a load of crap. We actually had two GREAT interviews, the rest were junk. Some people just do not interview well. We were interviewing some temps who working the very jobs they were interviewing for and if I didn’t already know they were great employees I would never have hired them.

Some of the questions are tough, but I want to see how the interviewee is going to react to things flying at them from left field. It’s amazing how many stupid answers we get. Especially, when they don’t understand common terms like “initiative,” or “prioritize.”

A number of people had no idea what the term “seat of your pants decision” means.

“Tell me about yourself” gets the oddest of answers. Tell about your work abilities that are hinted at in your resume, but I am not concerned with your personal life—especially, your collection of tea cups.

“What is your greatest weakness” is an opportunity for you to shine and take your “weakness” and make it a strength. “I work too hard.” “I never give up.” “I have a 10-inch dick.” Okay, the last one was just something I’d like someone to say sometime. You know, some kid actually said his weakness was coffee? You are correct if you assumed he was not hired.

At one point, I ask the interviewee about a time in their work where theyfailed and what they learned from it. I want to see two things: 1) the ability to take responsibility and 2) what they f’ing learned. Do you know how many people bring up items that someone else did wrong? Sometimes, they don’t even have anything to do with work—Sarah told us all about her vacation 10 years back and how things went “horribly wrong.” I wanted to ask her if the interview was sort of a déjà vu of her vacation.

Worse, they never seemed to learn something other than “never do that again.” Yeah, well, I wouldn’t try to run a skunk over either—but I knew that without having done it, Sarah.

And then there are the liars…

These guys are great. We ask them if they’ve ever done something (mail-merge, large conference set up, etc.) and when they say yes, we start asking specifics. …and then it all falls apart.

One guy said he did mail-merges all the time, but when we started asking specifics, it turned out he knew not one damn thing about mail-merges. I’m not sure what he thought it was, but it had nothing to do with duct tape.

When the bright and shiny ones come in and blow us away, we just sit there amazed. Are they truly that great, or are all the others just that f’ing bad? Now, many would feel that working at such a prestigious university, we are snobby. No, I just expect you to be able to spell. For Christ’s sake, if you are going to say you are an expert in “Wrod” and “Exell”, you are certainly expected to use the spell-checking option.

A personal joy is when their references reveal “the truth” about them. One person, when told that we were going to hire her ex-employee, said “Run. Run as fast as you can.” She ended up getting a job in another department on campus and they have been trying to rid themselves of her from day one. I guess she didn’t expect anyone to check her references—and it’s obvious that the idiot that hired her certainly didn’t.

Tomorrow, hopefully, a bunch of people will cancel like they did this morning and I’ll get some work done.

I’m tired and I’m gonna go home, so I can wake up and do this again tomorrow.

Until then, my friends!

Tuesday, April 16, 2002

Well, JD never sent me an e-mail at work… I was a bit bummed. As my friend Shawn said, “There’s a difference in being attracted to someone and being attracted to them right now.”


Probably true. I don’t think he gave me another thought after that. However, last night I was checking out some Bear Personals when I found this cute cub. Guess who? Yep, it was JD. So I e-mailed him.

Naturally, I waited about 15 minutes to get the courage to send him the e-mail. I asked if he was the same guy that spoke to me and that I was sorry I sort of ran off. Then, I told him about yesterday’s Blog. I’m sure I looked even more like a freak, but I wanted to make sure he knew I wasn’t trying to blow him off, that I was stunned that someone I thought so attractive was interested…

…And he responded!

He told me he was flattered, but that he’s “just an average guy.” If the average guy is extremely cute, then I guess he’s an average guy.

He sent me several URLs for his webpages and I perused them to great lengths. Not a lot in content, but plenty of pictures of him and that was fine with me.

He also sent his phone number, which I was tempted to call, but didn’t want to appear too F’ing desperate. I’m not saying that I’m not desperate. I am. Lord knows I am, but I just don’t want to appear desperate. I feel enough like a stalker as it is.

JD never e-mailed me on his own, I have a feeling he probably wasn’t and is just being nice. In fact, I asked him several times if he was going to the Lonestar this weekend and he never answered the question. He doesn’t drink, so maybe it was my offer of buying him a beer to say thanks? I could always buy him a coke… even a Sprite. If he says Dr. Pepper it is SO over, baby.

Anyway, I was pretty excited that I found him—I just hope after reading all that I wrote he doesn’t think I’m some sort of nut. Appearances… appearances…

Speaking of nuts…

Scott Mc’s birthday is Sunday. So I offered to set up a little something this weekend (praying he wouldn’t say Saturday night, because I really want to go to the Lonestar). He’s going out with his “other friends” and agreed with my suggestion that Sunday brunch at Bella Mia would be nice.

However, he stated that he didn’t want to make a “big thing” out of his birthday, and to let people know it was okay “not to go.” What the hell is that? “Hey, you’re invited to a birthday party, but if you don’t want to go, you don’t have to.” It’s like telling people you really don’t want them there.

I sent an e-mail out to all of Scott’s friends, letting them know that his birthday was coming… and naturally, the smart ass in me couldn’t hold back. I created a flier for a “fabulous and sumptuous meal” with “celebrities and porn stars” at the Fairmont and then put a banner across it, canceling the extravagance out for a “Quaker Style Breakfast” (i.e. no porn stars).

Scott thought I was encouraging… or did he say “not discouraging” people to attend his birthday. What is so wrong with celebrating a birthday? (This, of course, is a rhetorical question to all my Jehovah’s Witness friends.)

Who knows if anyone is going to show up? I’m sure they will, everyone loves Scott, even if he doesn’t seem to think so.

My life is filled with such trivial crap. I’m not complaining, I’m just observing. That’s what I do: I observe.

I’ll observe some more tomorrow (or the next day… or the day after…)

Monday, April 15, 2002

On Saturday I went to the Lonestar Saloon in San Francisco alone. Yep, Mr. Chicken went all by himself to a bar. As I drove up I told myself I had to have two beers and then I could come home. As I walked in the bar, I changed it to one beer. I was so damn nervous…

The Lonestar is a ‘bear bar.’ Meaning, it’s full of burly, bearded men and “working class types.” For a guy like me, I feel so out of place in those disco-y bars with all the muscle-boys taking off their shirts and throwing attitude around. The Lonestar is full of guys who enjoy each other. You may not find the guy that finds you attractive, but you thank him for the interest—attitude doesn’t fly.

I found a wonderful spot in the back patio, where I could lean against the wall and bump my head against a wagon wheel precariously hanging on the wall all night. It was a great spot to watch everyone come and go, as I was right by one of the entrances to the patio from the main bar inside. Sure I might get a concussion, but what a place to be.

I finished my first beer (Guinness—ON TAP!) and decided to get another. Since the outside bar was, literally, three steps from my spot, I got another beer, only to find upon my return that someone had stolen my spot. I stood there, in the middle of the floor, like a complete moron for five minutes, waiting for a spot to open up against the wall, so that I could stand THERE like a moron.

“My” spot cleared and I again took my place… banging my head against that damn wagon wheel. I suspect the only reason the person moved on was because he was in danger of a permanent head injury.

After a bit, a group of guys stood near me and were chatting away, one guy mentioned he liked their spot because “the wagon wheel isn’t banging my head.” He looked to me, and I smiled and said, “You mean the way it’s banging mine?” He laughed and rubbed against me in a very sweet friendly manner.

Okay, it wasn’t much, but for someone that gets nothing, this was Something. Well, it was more than nothing, which may not be “Something,” but it was “something.” They were very fun and very loud and I eaves dropped on their entire conversation. They had some wonderful times in the Eighties…

I kept looking at the night sky rather than my watch, so I didn’t look like I was timing how long I was going to stay. It was a clear night in San Francisco, and there were only a handful of stars in the sky. There was one star to the North and I said a small wish upon it, hoping someone would notice me. I decided I would now stay until that star moved to where I could no longer see it: I was thinking about an hour or so—hoping it would be less.

I got another beer, again my space was stolen and again I claimed it back. I so wanted to shout, “I claim this space in the name of France!” But I just KNEW I would be forever dubbed as that idiot that actually claimed his spot out loud. As I was standing there, banging my head against that damn wheel, a guy who was in line to get a beer was looking in my direction. Being the bold person I am, I kept looking down or away whenever we made eye contact. Lord knows, I certainly didn’t want to meet anyone… I mean, what if he were to speak to me? What would I say? And how did I know he was even looking at me? Maybe he was wondering why the fuck there was a precariously hanging wagon wheel on the wall and who was this idiot standing beneath it banging his head? I continued to look away out of embarrassment and possible severe head trauma.

Let the word go forth to friend and foe alike: I am a total F’ing shcmuck.

It took a while but I realized that he WAS staring at ME in a friendly manner and finally, I stared right back. As he got his beer and continued to stare, I smiled.

He stopped.

I blanched.

He walked over.

My stomach dropped. I feared I would belch… loudly. Or worse, send it out the opposite direction.

He introduced himself. Keith and from Oakland. I tried to say “I’m Chris from San Jose,” but it came out more like “Mgflugmklezay.” He then said he had to go see his friends. And he quickly retreated.

Okay, someone noticed me. Someone said hello. I decided to have a cigar. I looked up and thanked my star, which seemed to be slipping away over a building in the distance.

I didn’t speak to anyone else the entire evening. I just stood there. However, as uncomfortable as that may sound, I actually found it nice. In a small way, I was home. I was accepted. I wasn’t looked down upon as I would be in most gay bars, I was “part of the scene.” It was nice just to be among them, if not actually taking part.

Guys continued to walk by coming and going, coming and going. And I continued to watch, smiling occasionally and banging my head.

I watched some guys make out. I saw two men in the very back having sex. I watched a bunch of guys smoke weed. There were a lot of guys smoking weed. I watched dozens of cuties walking by. I watched this unbelievably hot guy with an amazing body, make out with this older guy, who was not very attractive. My God… is this possible? Could I ever be that lucky? The answer was assuredly no, but none-the-less I looked up to my wishing star… but that mother f’er was long gone. I had to be content to watch and dream.

The nice thing is everyone looks at everyone. No one judges, they look and smile and keep walking. If they are interested, they’ll stop. Me? I was too chicken to do anything. My father may have been a US Marine, but I am certainly not of that solid stuff. My motto: I sum esse fui futurus homo ingAvus. Loosely translated: I am a coward.

Occasionally, some adorably cute thing would walk by and it would be all I could do to keep my tongue in my mouth. I had to keep telling myself not to salivate openly. Several cute guys stood in front of me looking out at the crowd and it took all my effort I could summon not to reach out and touch them, or nibble on the back of their necks.

At 1:00am, my cigar finished and my feet tired after standing there for three and a half hours, I decided it was time to go home. I took one last look around at the thinning crowd and headed back through the bar (taking one last look around there) and stepped out onto the street.

I walked out and headed up Harrison, deciding to check for voicemails on my cellphone (like anyone calls) when suddenly, the cutest (and I mean CUTEST) guy in the bar walks up next to me and asks me if I’m leaving. I said yes, and continued walking, thinking that he was heading home too and just making conversation.

We got to the corner and I was waiting for the light and he introduced himself.

Let me say that again: the CUTEST guy in the bar and introduced himself... to ME! His name is JD. I believe I introduced myself as “Krmflking.” Then JD asked ME for my e-mail address. I was stunned, to say the least. I couldn’t think of my e-mail address… hell, I couldn’t breathe. I have issues with speaking to people I find unbelievably attractive: my mind shuts down. My dick, realizing my brain is in overdrive, executed a coup and gained full control of all functions and frankly, my dick can’t think worth spit. Well my fully in charge and inexperienced dick had me just stand there looking like a moron and staring blankly at this totally cute guy.

Nervously, I pulled out my wallet and I shakingly handed him my business card. He might have been a psycho, he might have been a killer, but he was so adorable that I did it without pause (except to shake nervously). He looked at the card and looked at me and looked at the card again. I think I freaked him out somehow, but he read my name aloud (HE read MY name OUT LOUD!) I corrected his pronunciation and the light changed.

I started to walk across the street when he said, “Well, I just wanted to stop you before you left,” and he headed back to the bar.

It was half a block later that I realized what he said, that he chased after me. Each word sort of hung there: HE. CHASED. AFTER. ME. I was sought out. I was desirable enough—in his obviously alcohol clouded eyes—to follow me out of the bar and introduce himself.

I stood there for a moment wondering what to do. Do I go back? What would I say? The only thing I could think of to say was, “What the hell were you thinking chasing me with all these really cute guys all around you?” There were tons of hot men in that bar, and for some reason he took pity on me and expressed an interest in me. I decided that I would F’ this up even more if I had to go back, so I just wandered off to my car.

I flew home. Literally, my car was 10 feet off the ground. I couldn’t believe such an amazing guy would find interest in me.

About 30 minutes later, I suddenly realized what an idiot I was and frantically started looking for an exit to get back to the bar. Then I looked at the clock and realized that I wouldn’t get back there until 2:15am, well after the bar would have closed and my chance at getting to know this guy was gone.

I arrived home exhausted… but couldn’t sleep. I even woke up early. Yes, I woke up early on a Sunday.

I prayed all weekend that JD would e-mail me. You know, with my recent status as a man of the cloth [see last Blog], I would think that might have some weight. Wishing on a star worked and that is Pagan. A Reverend praying to the Lord gets nothing. What a world.

However, realizing my luck with men so far, I finally decided that in the likely event that he didn’t send me an e-mail, I should be happy with that moment that he gave me. That feeling of acceptance; of being desirable. He made me feel comfortable with who I am in a very uncomfortable way, if that makes any sense.

Well, it is now Monday and no e-mail from JD. He probably sobered up and looked at my card on Sunday morning and thought, “Who the F’ is this loser?” However, if I ever see him again, I need to buy the boy a beer and thank him. He rocks. He rocked my f’ing world, made my night and weekend.

I’m going back this Saturday with some friends, so hopefully I’ll be able to see him and thank him… or maybe I’ll just have a nice time ogling the men. That’s the nice thing about the Lonestar, you can ogle to your hearts content and everyone loves it and encourages it.

Wednesday, April 10, 2002

Today, I am a reverend!

I was listening to the radio this morning (the FABulous Sarah & Vinnie) and Schutte (a producer) mentioned his status as a reverend. He got his certificate off the internet and is now an officially ordained minister.

Naturally, the first thing I did this morning was check out the site, get absolution (I’m clean as a whistle!) and then get ordained as a minister. Actually, I got ordained first and then got absolved.

The Universal Life Church (ULC) believes in just about anything I do—as long as it is legal. And you know, whatever a man and another man and another man and a donkey do in the privacy of their own home is legal as far as I’m concerned. God Bless the internet! As a legally ordained minister, I can bless the internet like that.

In fact, I can bless just about anything! I blessed my computer, my mouse, and my fish in my office. My phone and paperclips have also been blessed. I absolved all of my Jack-In-The-Box antenna balls of any sins they may have committed. My plant looks healthier now that it has been blessed.

I feel so much better about the world now that I am free to minister to the masses. I have grown spiritually over the last 10 minutes since my ordination. I have a maturity like never seen before. I will no longer yell, “motherf’er” when someone cuts me off on the road. I’ll simply pray that their immortal soul doesn’t burn too much in hell where they will surely go for cutting off a truck driven my a servant of the Lord.

I will no longer take the 10th item from the person standing in front of me in the ‘9 Items or Less’ line at Safeway, and throw it back to whence it came. No, I shall merely point out that the Lord hates a liar and a thief and that they will surely writhe in agony in the fires of hell for such a sin.

I will set up prayer meetings at gay bars, “Lord, let us all get a little action tonight.” And if someone feels the need to kneel in front of me… well, they shall get a very special “blessing” and a moist towelette.

God Bless!

--Rev. cml

Thursday, April 04, 2002

Well, I’m starting this again. I’m not sure why, but I guess I’m bored enough I might as well kill some time by writing. I should be working… but it’s my lunch hour—or supposed to be my lunch hour. I’ll take a late lunch and write for a bit…

My buddy Scotty is celebrating his 31st birthday today. I kind of wish we were going to a sleazy bar in the City tonight, but we’ll have to wait a week for that. Tonight several friends are taking him to dinner, and I’ve got plans for this weekend—so next weekend we’ll go “sleaze our way across the bay.”

I’m trying to think what’s happened since I last wrote in July:
I had a birthday
The World Trade Center fell down
I went to Italy
I’ve masturbated approximately 300 times
My mother had a mastectomy (2nd on in 13 years)
I got a fish two days ago
My fish is still alive
I have not been laid once

You’d think I could have found something to write about during that time. Naturally, I mean between masturbatory moments.

From the top…
I turned 37. Good Lord, I didn’t realize how old that was until I saw it in writing. Ugh. Old. F’ing old. I still haven’t managed to graduate from college and as it stands, I won’t be doing that before I’m 40! Does working at a university count? What if it’s world renown? It had better…

The World Trade Center… not enough can be said about this, but much has been said by people more eloquent than I. Let’s just say that I cried a lot in September.

Italy. This country does not produce ugly people. They are shipped in from the US. Every man I saw was a hottie beyond belief. The women, the few that I actually noticed when I managed to tear my eyes off of the studliest men in the world, were equally FABulous.

Masturbation: Once a day at least… No lie. I have a massive collection of porn that begs to be viewed regularly…

Mom’s Mastectomy: The woman is a fighter, what can I say? She had surgery on Wednesday and a week later had 26 people to dinner for Thanksgiving. She never missed a beat. My sister and I tried to pitch in and help, but mom did just about everything (I made the gravy—sister made the potatoes). She’s finished her radiation therapy and is doing great.

Oy Fish! My boss gently persuaded me to buy a plant with a fish… Her mother makes those fish bowls with the plant coming out the top and a fish living off of the roots. It’s wonderful to look at, but I’m a killer of any kind of fauna as the pet cemetery in my parent’s back yard will attest. I still haven’t named the thing—the day I do is the day he’ll start floating, of that I’m sure.

No action at all. It’s been years—F’ing years (actually, non-F’ing years) since I’ve gotten some action. I’m too damn shy; too damn insecure, and too damn fat. Most gay men are not into fatboys. Unless their into bears…

So now I’ve been going to ‘bear bars’ in SF lately. Okay, I’ve been going to the ONE bear bar in San Fran: The Lonestar. Terrific place. Good looking men, some on the hefty side (in a terrific way), and all hairy! I just stand there and drool hoping someone will take pity on me and let me F’ them… or give them the casual BJ.

I really should get to lunch, I don’t want to actually risk losing weight and possibly become desirable.