Slap & Tickle

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.