Note to self: shaving is not optional

My stomach and I had a brief disagreement this morning. Whereas I thought that a big bowl of Special K Red Berries was a wonderful idea, my digestive tract had a different stance. I believe that the disagreeable reaction was influenced by the cup of Green Mountain French Vanilla coffee I had at the same time, which was too sweet even for my taste buds. The resultant falling out was brief, but rather unpleasant.

Because of the time and energy lost to that intense inner struggle, I went out to buy non-French-Vanilla coffee without shaving. To anyone reading this who may been at the Bed, Bath & Beyond, I offer my sincere apologies for having to see me in my sorry, unshaven state. (I have one of those fancy-pants coffee pod systems, so I couldn't just run to the local corner store.)

In the cold weather, I look a bit unkempt even on my best days. Despite growing up in Massachusetts, I cannot handle temperatures below 50, so my fashion sense takes a back seat to warmth. I try to buy clothes that are both warm and stylish, but they inevitably wind up looking like something rejected by the Salvation Army outlet when I put them on.

Mind you, if I'm going somewhere or doing something important enough to warrant either half an hour of readjusting layers and/or shivering any time I step outside, I can look decent enough. As long as I shave, that is. Add stubble to the equation, and it's just not a pretty picture. But I figured the mall at 10AM would have a fairly lax dress code. Oh, how wrong I was. Apparently the employees of Bed, Bath & Beyond are not accustomed to seeing unkempt men without a female companion strolling through the aisles at 10AM on a weekday.

I was greeted, and asked if I needed help, by each staff member I passed, each time I passed them. They refrained from explicitly reminding me that items need to be paid for and that the homeless shelter actually isn't located in the mall. Their tones and facial expressions, however, managed to convey that message perfectly well with a simple greeting.

Thank God tomorrow is supposed to be warm enough for clothes that don't make me look like a homegoods security risk.

Is it wrong to steal a meme from someone you don't know?

I took this thing way too seriously, but I'm one of those people who listens to music and constantly thinks, "This would totally be the song I'd put in a movie in the scene where [something] happens." Plus I woke up way too early on a Sunday to do anything productive, so I had to do something to kill some time. Originally found it here.

The Soundtrack of My Life

Opening Credits: A Rush and a Push and the Land is Ours - The Smiths

Waking Up/Car Driving Scene: Close to Me - The Cure

High School Flashback Scene: Spit on a Stranger - Pavement

Nostalgic Scene: Beautiful Friend - Cranes

Bitter, Angry Scene: The Queen is Dead - The Smiths

Break-up Scene: By Starlight - The Smashing Pumpkins

Regret Scene: Release - Pearl Jam

Nightclub/Bar Scene: Mother of Pearl - Roxy Music

Fight/Action Scene: Golgotha Tenement Blues - Machines of Loving Grace

Sad, breakdown scene: Little Earthquakes - Tori Amos

Death Scene: Death of a Disco Dancer - The Smiths

Funeral Scene: Severence - Bauhaus

Mellow/Pot-smoking Scene: Homesick - The Cure

Dreaming About Someone Scene: You - Vast

Sex Scene: Heaven Sent - Esthero

Contemplation Scene: Do You Know Who You Are? - Texas is the Reason

Chase Scene: The Calendar Hung Itself - Bright Eyes

Happy Love Scene: Avalon - Roxy Music

Happy Friend Scene: Elderly Woman Behind the Counter in a Small Town - Pearl Jam

Closing Credits: The Boy with the Thorn in his Side - The Smiths

But I Want a Performer at MY Party!

So I'm sure you've at least heard of MTV's latest trainwreck-on-video, "My Super Sweet Sixteen." I wish I could say that I only saw a couple of minutes, was immediately disgusted, and vowed never to watch it again. But actually, I have a sick fascination with it.

The whole time I watch it, my mind vacillates between the following thoughts:

• "Wow, that girl is one stuck up, self-absorbed asshole. Thank god I didn't grow up with money, because I would probably wind up like that, and ew."
• "Wow, that girl's parents are total pushovers. I wish I grew up with parents who would buy me a $40,000 car if I pouted. Damn, I wonder what kind of mileage that thing gets. How high are her insurance premiums going to be? Does Allstate have a rich spoiled brat discount?"
• "Wow, you'd think that with that much money she'd be able to buy some clothes that weren't totally awful. Or at least have a style consultant who would force her to throw out half her wardrobe. And oh my GOD is she really going to wear that to her party? In front of the cameras?"
• "Wow, it's going to suck for that girl a week after the party, when she realizes that people have been sucking up to her for a year to get invited, and now that the party's over they have no reason to put up with her little power/ego trips."
• "Wow, I totally wish they would show the footage of her walking around school a week after the party, with everybody ignoring her and throwing eggs at her brand new $40,000 car."

As you can see, I feel very conflicted about the whole show. But in general, my response is: so totally awesome. Because, really, sometimes it's just fun to watch people who have no real worries freaking out over nothing. "The streamers are PURPLE!?! Oh my [bleep]ing GOD! I said I wanted PINK streamers and now the party's ruined and all my friends are going to hate me and how could you do this to me mom I hate you I hate you I hate you!!!"

Anyway, the episode that's on now is even more over-the-top, because apparently there are two incredibly spoiled rich girls in this town, and they're locked in an intense battle over whose party is going to be better. And the girl whose party is first totally steals the other girl's theme, and the other girl's superstar performer, AND the other girl's fire dancers! And at the end they both watch the episode together (MTV has gone meta on us?), and they try really hard to be nice to each other for the camera. But the whole time, they have these looks on their faces like "You bitch!" as they exchange backhanded apologies. So awesome.

Top Ten Signs from my Childhood that I was Destined to be a Big ol' Queen

1. When I was 6, I spent hours playing with my friend's easy bake oven. And spent the next 6 or 7 years asking for one for Christmas. (Incidentally, I still want my damn easy bake oven. Cough it up, Santa.)
2. When I was 7, my favorite toy was a skip-it. And my second favorite toy was gimp. (You know, that flat plastic string used to make lanyards and bracelets. What exactly is a lanyard, anyway?) My favorite colors of gimp were glitter, neon pink, and purple.
3. Also? When I was 7, my favorite song was "From a Distance"...by Bette Midler.
4. When I was 8, I watched Ghost with my family. This, in-and-of itself, is not a dead giveaway. However, when my mother noted that Patrick Swayze was cute, I said, "Yeah, he is!"
5. When I was 9, I watched "The Golden Girls" and "Murder, She Wrote" religiously.
6. When I was 10, I was in the cub scouts. Again, not a notable sign of the homo-ness to come. Until, that is, you take into account the fact that I repeatedly got into trouble at meetings for getting into "pinch fights" with one of my troop-mates. The same one each time, actually. Does that mean we were a couple? If so, I think that may qualify as my least dysfunctional relationship of all time.
7. When I was 11, I quit the school band, because the other children just couldn't learn the songs fast enough. I was such a diva.
8. When I was 13, I borrowed my girlfriend's nail polish, and spent about 3 years with painted nails. Did I mention that the aforementioned girlfriend (the only one I ever had) now has a girlfriend of her own, and they're engaged? (Hi Crystal!)
9. When I was 15, I wore blue glitter (and occasionally silver) lipstick, eyeliner, and eye shadow. I also bought a custom-made shirt that said: (Front) "Yes, I'm Gay" and (Back) "No, I wasn't checking you out".
10. Finally, when I was 16, I painted "I ♥ MEN" on my book bag.

(I promise, not every post in this blog will be homo-centric. I just felt like reposting this from my myspace page, because I get a kick out of it.)

Wherein I make myself look like a bitchy queen

So, I was out for a drink on Tuesday with Josh and Aalon. We decided to go to a kind of dive-y gay bar out in Cambridge, because sometimes you just don't want to be surrounded by muscle queens. Or former muscle queens, who've had thousands of dollars in plastic surgery. They always want to tell you about their fabulous condo which they just renovated, and how the neighborhood is really great too, if you just ignore the shootings and gang fights at 3 a.m., but those won't be a problem once that developer buys out the housing project down the block and turns it into another luxury condo complex, so it really isn't that bad, and it was such a great investment, and those poor people can find somewhere else to live easily enough.

Can you tell that I really don't have a fond place in my heart for the South End overly-moneyed fags? (And I get to say that, since I'm gay, so nyah!) They're Boston's equivalent of NYC's Chelsea Boys. And, for the most part, they make my skin crawl.

Anyway, we wanted to get away from the trendy gay spots, and venture a bit off the beaten path. I was thrilled as soon as we sat down and I found out they had Sam Adams on tap. Is there anything better than Sam Adams draught? (I guess in some ways I really am a Beantown Boy, as much as I hate to admit it.) We had a fun night of chatting, laughing at the ridiculous 80's porn that was being shown, and making fun of Josh's froufrou drink selections. Then, things took on a bit of a Sex in the City vibe. I swear, I must have fallen into some sort of parallel universe based on the misadventures of Carrie Bradshaw.

First, I was outside having a cigarette, minding my own business. (I know, I know, it's disgusting. But oh boy, did I suffer for that cigarette.) All of a sudden, these two straight girls came out of the bar and started asking me what kind of men I liked, why I wasn't putting money in the male strippers' speedos, and whether I was really gay. Then one of them told me that I was the best looking one in there, and asked me to show them my "goods." (She didn't phrase the request so politely.) What?! I'm wearing bootcut jeans with embroidered embellishments, I have Morrissey hair, I'm standing in front of a gay bar, and a woman is asking to see my "goods"? Granted, she at least complimented me first, but still. What!?

So I ran inside to tell my cohorts what had happened, when I discovered that one of those 50 year old guys who's had too much botox -- and thus looks like a plasticized version of a badly aged 30 year old -- had taken my seat, and was hitting on both Josh and Aalon. I waited for him to get up, took my seat, and told them about the trauma that had unfolded outside.

Then, just as I was finishing my story, some guy came up behind me, started rubbing my back, and whispered in my ear "Hey baby, you like how that feels?" I reacted with a facial contortion that can only be produced by an unseen guy rubbing your back and whispering in your ear after you've had a few beers. Then I turned around and saw that it was the plastic-faced guy who had taken my seat. Aalon and Josh instantly burst into uncontrollable laughter and I tried desperately to give him a nice, "Sorry, but I go for guys who are a bit more on the chubby side of things," without finishing it with, "and by the way, WHO THE HELL rubs a stranger's back without permission?" Clearly, not somebody who was very successful at come-ons. So I really wanted to be gentle about letting him down, despite the creep-out factor.

Unfortunately, when I meant to say "chubby", I instead said "bigger". Which wouldn't have been a faux pas, if not for the fact that he was *ahem* a bit on the short side of things. He kind of fumbled with his drink, mumbled something and walked away. And I felt like a gigantic asshole. But seriously -- seriously -- why would you do that to a stranger?

The thing is, if he hadn't been trying so desperately to look younger than he was and to act suave, he actually would've been kind of cute. I like older guys. I especially like older guys who aren't afraid to come up and start talking. I don't, however, like older guys who try to refuse the aging process, or any guy who starts groping before he starts talking. Especially if they start groping before you're able to see who's starting to perv out on you.

So, to Creepy Plastic-faced Back Rubbing Guy: I'm sorry, I really wasn't trying to insult your height, and I didn't mean to be rude. But next time, say "Hi" before putting your hands on a stranger's person, and maybe approach them from the front so they can actually see you. And for the love of god, go easy on the Botox.