Thursday, take two

Stupid Blogger ate two nice posts - one last night and another in the middle of today. (That's what I get for trying to avoid working, I guess.)

I have been having the worst time waking up this week. Odd, because it's been years at this point since I've been able to sleep in past 8am on a good day and here I am, sleeping a good hour past my alarm clock. The bright side is twofold: A)I have a new boss who either doesn't notice or doesn't care when I stroll in 15-30 minutes late, and B)I'll soon be transferring to my old department, where my hours will begin at 10am. (Yes, that means I'll be there until 7pm, but when you live 10 minutes walking distance from work, the word "commute" tends to disappear from your vocabulary completely.)

The moral of the story is: I'm going to bed early tonight. Hopefully I'll manage to squeak out of bed on time and be ready to meet the Wienerschnitzel truck! Pictures forthcoming...

-J.

This post was sponsored by the The Hissing of Summer Yawns Committee.

Wednesday: Post 1oops!!

I've been so thrown off this week. It's a rough life, with all the days off I've taken in the last month. This week is my first full workweek since mid-May. I woke up on Monday and almost stayed in bed - not out of laziness, but out of habit. I also managed to fast forward a week in my head. I thought Superman Returns was releasing today and that my plans for a midnight-ish screening were for last night. Thankfully, I figured that one out before trekking down to Hollywood. I'd hate to be like those Star Wars fans who turn movie lines in a geeky Woodstock. (They pass around six-sided dice and licorice instead of drugs...)

Also, it's the first day of summer and I haven't even started a tan yet. The parts of me that hide from the sun are ghost white. If you think you've seen scary, you've never glimpsed me below the ankles. Seriously, I've got to get some sun. Of course, I have to be in decent enough shape to go out shirtless in the sun before I can tan. So I'm a gym slave for the time being. Which wouldn't be so bad if I weren't constantly being cruised by the two groups of men I don't have anything in common with: really old men or teenage boys (aka the Baby Gays). So, either I look younger than I am (which, sadly, I don't think I do anymore) or I look like a pedophile. I'll continue to delude myself that I just look that good when I'm sweaty and blasting Cyndi Lauper on my iPod.

I'm sure I'll have more after cruising the elderly and pre-pubescent tonight.

UPDATE: I can't believe I forgot to mention this - Wienerschnitzel is bringing lunch to my work on Friday!!! I hope they have a Wienermobile like the Oscar Meyer truck....I'll SO take a dirty picture with it.

Squeeze the handle, blow out the candle...

So I'm out of racist food pics for the time being. Instead I've got a slate of sexually suggestive food pics on tap. The current crop came from a candy store up in Sausalito - besides the obvious taffy jokes, there were plenty of unintentionally gay-themed candies. I'll be using them to spice up posts for the foreseeable future. The one to the right, duh! LEFT reminds of what I really want for my birthday..

So I've got a belated birthday party on the schedule for Saturday. Times were that I used to throw themed parties but this year all I've managed to do is send out the Evites and buy hamburgers and hot dogs from Costco. Still, seeing as it'll be the first party FB and I have thrown as roommates, so the pressure is on. We could have our gay cards suspended or our toaster oven taken away! For his part, the roomie is insisting on a floor show. Personally, I'm leaning toward a school cafeteria theme. I've got all of the cheesy food serving stuff from the Target dollar aisle.

One of my favorite parties past was the Under the Sea - I think it was for my 25th. We draped blue streamers from the ceiling and bought cheesy fish decorations and served seafood. My heart of course was most into the superhero bowling party I threw a couple of years before that. I was Clark Kent with the Superman shirt peeking out (years before Brandon Routh stole the idea). For the cafeteria theme, I just need a hairnet, an ugly mole and a bad attitude to properly play the part of Disgruntled Lunchlady. But uncharacteristically, I'm not in the mood for costumes.

My point? The bar* has been set and I've got standards to live up to. Thank God almost none of the people I used to hang around with are still around. At least I can repeat a few ideas without anyone knowing. And all suggestions are welcome. Anyone?

-J.

*which reminds me - I need to get the place stocked for the drinking games and such...

This post was sponsored by the No Pressure, No Pressure... Committee.

It's the tights, isn't it?

In case you haven't been keeping track, here's the Hot & Fresh! Gay Geekly round-up:

Superman isn't gay, although he may be Jesus. (Maybe Mel Gibson should direct the sequel.)

Batwoman definitely is a lesbian. (Doesn't change the fact that outside of hardcore Batfreaks, most folks think that's a typo for Catwoman or a post-feminist Batgirl .)

Spider-Man comes out. (He "swings" through New York all day long. Are we really surprised?)

Anyone paying attention to the X-Men franchise can see that the geeks and the gays operate on sides on the same thin line. Hell, some of us even occupy the grey area that connects us. If Superman's crotch or a lipstick lesbian heroine help anyone out, I'm all for it.

Now, if you'll excuse me, there's a new Wonder Woman in town and an issue of Astonishing X-Men waits for me. And I've got to pre-order those tickets for the midnight premiere of Superman Returns.

-J.

This post was sponsored by the Nice "S" Committee.

Homecoming...

(<= Brought to you in La$ Vega$ Drunk-O-Vision)

Alas, all dreams must come to an end. And so it is that I must experience my last four-day workweek for some time. I've had a full month of three-or-more-day weekends and next weeke resumes my life as a full-timer. But I'm tanned, rested and $130 richer, beyotches! I was down to my last nickel on a penny machine when I hit a bonus game and got PAID!!! That so makes up for the fact that the pool was under renovation.

Lemme just say that downtown Sin City is the place to stay. The Strip is a nice place to visit and gamble and gawk, but nothing compares to old Vegas. Officially it's called the Fremont Street Experience, but I call it A Window Into Despair. The living are outnumbered by the undead here - lifeless husks clamoring for their free vodka tonics and 99 cent shrimp cocktails. In short, it's a people watcher's dream.

Honestly, I spent most of the trip reading and relaxing. I'm not much of a gambler and I can't get drunk in front of my family. Still, it was a great way to spend the birthday. I got well wishes from every spectrum of life - dinner and gambling money from the fam, calls from FB and Armi, a funny card from Chip, a text message from David, an email from Jason - thanks to each and every one. And not a single lesbian hit on me.

OK, OK, onto to racist foods! (For future posts, I've got sexist foods and candies for the gay grocery aisle.)


What's up with the cocoa hippos? And is it not OK for people of a lighter skin tone to consume this Coke? Makes you wonder who that Crystal Pepsi was meant for...*cough* tweakers.

Also: the HomoMojo gig begins again soon. The site's been rebooted and relaunched and I'll be posting as JaySix there from here on out. More details as we get them...

See ya tomorrow kids! Good to be back.

-J.

This post was sponsored by the Slotty Mouth Committee.

Before I head to Vegas...

...to gamble my birthday away, I leave you with this.

I promise to get back to posting next week. Those racist food pics aren't going to post themselves!

-J.

Sponsored by the Turning 29 Tomorrow Committee.

Sorry for the delay, kids – I forgot that the tornado known as my family was coming into town as of last Thursday. It’s an interesting thing – having a roommate in the process of moving in and having your family come and take over your living room, kitchen, bathrooms (my mom redecorated the downstairs john – she even bought candles!). On the one hand, it’s great to have Mom do grocery shopping. On the other hand, I like to curse a lot more freely – and not worry about running the washer because somebody’s in the shower. A family visit wrap-up could be coming soon – although who knows, we’re heading to Vegas to celebrate this prodigal son’s birthday. In the meantime, let’s finish up that long overdue San Francisco post:

After the fun that was Martuni’s (actually, to be there on showtunes night was downright odd) we headed. At one point, the piano man burst out into “Hello Dolly!” – naturally it turned into a sing-along. While getting hit on by that lovely and confused girl, I apparently missed his impression of Bette Davis singing “Over The Rainbow.” Doesn’t get much gayer than that, folks. We called it a night after a couple of drinks and wandered ourselves down to a local all-night diner. The drill from here is pretty much the same as always: sit, talk, philosophize, joke around, get tired, head home.

As I was washing my face, I couldn’t help but bring up the attempted girl-on-girl action of the evening one last time: “I still can’t believe I was hit on by a lesbian.” Dear, sweet, tipsydrunk FB’s response was surprisingly nice: “Princess is probably right – it was low lighting and the girl was probably drunk.” Before I could utter a “thank you” he continued, “Also, all of that damn metal in your ear couldn’t have hurt.” Have I mentioned how much I love having a brutally honest best friend?

The rest of the weekend was a blur of coffee, chocolate, and clam chowder. We saw one of our favorite baristas - it turns out he moved up to SF and works at the Coffee Bean in Ghiradelli square. In a show of moderation - I spent only $80 at H&M (as is my style, I got some cute undies). And we crossed the Golden Gate Bridge and took a trip to Sausalito. (I even walked the bridge! Proof the meds are working...)

Oddly, I wasn't sad to leave when the time came to go - I was just happy to have had the time off. We spent the last day talking about our lives and directions of some delicious & cheap pizza and salad. Life doesn't get much better than that.

Now if only FB would stop calling me a lipstick lesbian...

Later tonight: The Return of Racist Foods (and Friends)!

-J.

This post was sponsored by the Committee.

Pt. 2 Night In The City

Apologies for the lateness of this one - stupid internet threw me into a panic and went out for a few hours last night. It was like being in the dark ages!

You know you're in San Francisco when, of all places, Tower Records has an entirely unsubtle "Gay Porn" section that shames the generic “Adult” section it sits by. Naturally, I walked out with a Madonna single, the new Dixie Chicks CD and Campfire Twinks*.

The car ride up is a blur of sunlight fading and reappearing. While sleeping (I do that on long car rides), I overhear my old friend/new roommate say he doesn’t really care for my cartilage piercing; something about it being “too young” for me. (When I mention that I heard this later, we agree that it will look better once the starter stud is out and I can put in a ring or something. The Princess makes sure I overheard the part where she had my back. Duly noted.)

Cue the requisite stop at Pea Soup Andersen’s and a couple of potty breaks later, we finally arrive in beautiful Oakland, California. Commence the locking of windows and the obligatory, “Welcome to Oakland, bitches!” routine. Commence also the lookout for Hammer’s former place. Pay the $3 toll on the Bay Bridge (editor’s note: I’m willing to pay to leave Oakland, but to get back in?!?!). Finally, we’ve arrived: the highly recommended Nob Hill Motor Inn will be our home away from home. The kindly girl behind the counter makes us feel welcome and points to our room. Lo and behold, it’s 103 - the same one we stayed in last year! Kismet, I tells ya. Kis. Met.

It was previously decided that there would be no repeat of last year’s fiasco, where the Princess and FB both fell asleep and I ended up hitting Martuni’s (a local piano bar/dive) alone. The plan this time was simple: hit the room, change and shower, if necessary and hail the cab. All goes according to plan. There’s standing room only at the back, where they keep the piano. Then things get interesting. As I'm buying a round of drinks, a nice girl approaches and strikes up conversation while waiting for the bartender to come back around and take her order. She explains that she's been at the bar since 8pm and is celebrating her graduation. I congratulate her and we talk a little about how some her friends sang at the open mic. Gathering my drinks, I tell her it was nice meeting her. Apparently, it was good for her, too because her response was to pat my ass as I walked off.

Normally, being hit on my a girl wouldn't faze me. In a cruel twist of fate, I think more women are attracted to me than men. But being hit on my a woman in San Francisco is a more surreal. And in the dark of a bar, being hit on by a girl with short hair, dark-rimmed glasses, and a polo shirt causes even further concern. As I set the drinks on the table, I turned to my nearest and dearest and spit it out:

"I think I was just hit on by a lesbian. And I'm pretty sure she thought I was a girl."

The Princess,, without missing a beat, tried to be supportive:

"It's the light in here. And it's loud. Or maybe she wasn't a lesbian and just thought you were cute."

FB response, on the other hand, was, well, you decide:

"It's your hair. Very lesbionic."

Have mentioned lately that I love these guys SO much?

Part 3 later tonight...

-J.

*I kid, I kid. It was Campfire Twinks 2.

The Long Weekend, Part 1.

Friday, May 30th
Sunlight.

It never fails: even when I set the alarm clock to wake me an hour later than usual, my body wakes up at 7am. Sure, I had grand plans to rise before the dawn and get to the gym early, but we all knew that wasn't gonna happen. Still, sleeping in for an hour doesn't seem like so much to ask of the universe. I try my best for a half an hour to at least keep my eyes shut and pretend to sleep. I excel at losing this battle. Grumpy and hungry and still plenty tired from the night before, I crawl to the edge of my bed, where I sit silently for what seems like forever. The clock blinks at me: 7:45am. The dilemma becomes thus: to shower or not to shower. The cable guy is scheduled to arrive at sometime between 8am and 12pm. I decided to greet him stinky. I’ve got some things to do and I’m just going to get dusty and dirty up myself anyways. This is what I argue back when the voice inside my head calls me a “lazy ass” over the sound of my toothbrush. Which reminds me – it’s time to take my Prozac. (And clean my ear - I got my lobe piercings reopened and a cartilage done all on the left.)

I realize at just abou 8am that I've forgotten to drag the computer desk downstairs into the spot where I want the connection hooked up. More precisely, I was too damn tired to drag it all downstairs at 3am when I got home the night before, but the point remains the same: the desk needs to be in place and this guy could be here any minute now. It takes me less than half an hour to nearly kill myself while dragging the desk downstairs. Setting up the computer takes me less time than that - and induces no life threatning injuries. It's at this point that I realize it's nearly 9am and I've done everything I can. Cleaning would require moving too many things around and showering would require going upstairs. Thankfully, the TV is in place and so is the GameCube.

16 rounds of X-Men: Legends II (Gimme a break I'd just seen a midnight showing of the latest movie with three hot guys!) later, Mr. Cable/Internet/Phone man still wasn't there. Seeing as FB and the Princess would be ready for San Francisco shortly after 1pm, the time to shower had come. I leave the cell phone where I can hear it ring and make a quick bathroom run. Inevitably, I miss FB's call that he parked in the garage downstairs and forgot he didn't have keys to get in the security doors. As I make my way out front and see my dearest friend turning the corner, the cable guy shows. The time is now 12:30p.

"Hey, I realize you don't have a security key yet, but why didn't you punch in the code? You do have a key to the actual apartment." I can't resist.

He looks at me with narrowed eyes, knowing I'm right but not believing I just said it, "I panicked."

I change the subject. "The cable guy's here at least."

"Fucker's late. And you have a lot of earrings in your ear," says he with a disapproving tone. He can't resist, either. This roommate thing is either gonna be a blast, a bloodbath, or a blast of a bloodbath.

Two hours later, my clothes are out of the dryer and packed and the fella is almost done installing the phone. Great - my first day with cable and internet again and I don't even get time to enjoy it. I can't help but feel this is my fault for scheduling the appointment on a day I needed to get somewhere - somewhere far. So shoot me - I already had the day of and I'm taking two more for the family trip to Vegas on my birthday. But back on point...as soon as the slowpoke (a very nice slowpoke, but a slowpoke nonetheless) is done, we call the Princess and make our way to her little castle. A quick trip to the gorcery store rounds up our L.A. need and we're off. So long cable. So long internet. So long DVR - I think I'll miss you most of all.

Part Deux to come in the mid-morning...

-J.

This post was sponsored by the Life, Liberty & the Pursuit of Broadband Committee.

Currently hanging in my kitchen...

I got it for less than ten bucks and it relates to my little corner of the blogosphere...

The place is still a mess - but the fridge and TV are in place. Internet, cable, and new phone service will be connected Friday morning. In the meantime, I can play video games and play DVDs to pass the time. (Thank God - all the reading last week was making my brain hurt!)

I'm sneaking time at work to prep a few posts for next week, when full time blogging will resume. On the slate for then:

• Rockin' a five-year old's birthday party 'til dawn!
• San Francisco!
• More racist food products!
• A Pop-locking monkey dance troupe.

Yes, nonsensical (but hilarious) blogging waters are ahead. You've been warned...

I might be able to check before the week is out. If not, just imagine the breakdancing primates and know that it will be as good as it promises to be.

-J.

This post was sponsored by the Holding Pattern Committee.