Ahhhh Stereotypes

It is both liberating and frightening to be a gay man in American society. On the one hand, I live in a society (and place) in which I do not have to fear for my life. On the other, more frightening hand, I often find myself at the receiving end of some sexual conversation of which I want no part. I am speaking of women who, because I am gaaaaayyyy, think it's totally cool to spout off about their bras, menstrual issues, lactation or other such delicate topics. I would also add that not every woman opens her mouth like the explosion of Hoover Dam when she finds out I'm gay. Some women have, what's the word... boundaries.

I consider myself fortunate to hear about this side of a woman's life. Many men have no idea how long a period is. They talk about "bleeding" when it is about "sluffing". Big difference if you ask a woman. But enough menstrual education for now. My point is that because of my sexual orientation, I find myself socially as the "in between" of masculinity and femininity. I don't think it's that simple and I really don't think such a division actually exists. That, however, is for another blog post. Regardless of what I think, women I barely know like to tell me stuff. Stuff that they would probably never tell their husbands/boyfriends. Stuff that god probably doesn't want to know. In fact, I know god doesn't want to hear about it because we kick it old school every Thursday. Y'ever seen god do a keg stand? It's righteous; pun intended.

Anyway, I work across the hall from such a lady. To protect the innocent (from her), I'll just call her "Clarice". Let me first begin with how it always begins with these types of women. Contrary to popular belief, I don't show up on the first day of work with a rainbow pin on my chest, pompoms and too-tight designer jeans. That's the second day of work. It begins because I make no excuses for my relationship. I don't hide Robin or pretend he's my roommate. I call him my partner. That word, "partner", coming from me (who let's be honest sounds a *little* gay) means the dynamite in the dam just went off. The realization is usually followed by the same look - (GASP! A co-patriot! An ally! Someone who wants to hear about my body no matter how gross it gets!). Again, I do not mean to sound callous towards the confidence these women place in me. Then again, sometimes it's just yuck, do you need to tell me about your favorite dildo?

Today Clarice called me across the hall. I would like to note, for reasons that will soon become clear, that this took place right before lunch. In fact, I was about to grab my lunch from the fridge before she called me in. I stepped into her office and she waved me excitedly towards her computer. "Omigod!", she proclaimed while pointing at her monitor, "Look what my friend just sent me!" I timidly stepped in view of the monitor and saw what appeared to be an elderly woman's vagina. The labia were spread and she had not one or two or three or fifteen, but twenty-seven piercings all over her vagina. Don't worry, I didn't try to count grandma's coochie piercings; I knew it was twenty-seven because the title of the pic was ("Lucky 27!"). Oh, did I mention there were dragons tattooed all over her naughty bits? Because there were actually lots of them, twisted together, slithering in between the forest of pubic hair.

The conversation didn't stop there, oh no. After what must have registered on my face as sheer horror/disgust/about-to-puke, she said, "Isn't that CRAZY??" I took a second to swallow the vomit that did make it to my mouth and could only eek out, "That's yuck." She took the initiative to tell me that she had her own piercings, but it was only her "hood" that was pierced and one on her left "lip". Oh, and she has a tattoo close to her vag but couldn't fathom how grandma stood the pain. Her tattoo is only a few inches up from her clam and it's just a simple rose. A rose like a flower. A pierced, pubic hair covered flower. I mumbled something and walked back into my office. I didn't eat my lunch for another 45 minutes.

Now you know. Now you understand what a gay man is open to because people think you'll be cool with anything. Sure, I'm pretty cool with most stuff and I don't shy away from sexual topics. But it's not like I ever went there with Clarice. I have always been professional in the office, never gave an inkling that I was into the macabre (shout out to my man Eric!), but that's where society places me I guess. It's like, sure I can have the liberty to live my life as I want with who I love, but the price is a twenty-seven times pierced dragon tattooed grandma snatch. Bon apetit!

Super Duper Customer Service

Every morning before I work out, I grab a clean towel at the check-out desk in the SRC. The desk is always staffed by a student worker, one who is usually doing something other than just sitting there. As the job requires the student to swipe your ID card, hand you the requested item and check a box on the computer screen, I understand why their bosses allow them to read, work on homework or talk amongst themselves. I'm not expecting some enthusiastic response to my presence; it's early and I'm not trying to make friends. I do, however, expect them to acknowledge my presence, especially because their only job is to swipe and click, swipe and click.

I approached the desk this morning and saw the epitome of bad customer service waiting to happen. She was reading US Weekly, talking on her mobile, working on homework and certainly not looking up at those who required her services. More than her actions, her facial expression fell somewhere in the realm of, "what the fuck do I care", so I wasn't expecting much. In fact, I was expecting to get a pair of goggles plopped in my hand and when I informed her that I actually asked for a towel, she reaches into her pocket and hands me a dime. That's the level of competence I was about to deal with.

The girl in front of me waited about five seconds for the employee to acknowledge her. Visibly perturbed, she said, "Hello? I need a towel please". Okay, she said "hello" kinda bitchy but at least she followed it with a please. I'm not kidding you, the employee looked up, said "Hang on, some girl needs a towel" into her phone and completed the request without looking at the girl. At least she got the towel she wanted. Who knows if the employee clicked the right box in the computer, probably not, but at least the girl could shower.

I figured that since I was standing a bit to the side of the girl in front of me, the employee would continue looking up, knowing that I was next in line. Yeah, no such luck. I walked up to the desk and she was back on the phone. In probably the whiniest voice I've ever heard, she yelled, "Whaaaaaat? Noooooo! Todaaaaaaay! We have to go todaaaaaay!" I naively expected her to see me standing right in front of her face, but after a split second of remembering the previous girl, I took the initiative. The words "Look you little bitch, get off the fucking phone" were like, milliseconds from coming out of my mouth. I was still tired and cranky. Thankfully, I gracefully mustered "Towel please", as I held out my ID card.

This is where I'm not quite sure what happened. I sort of, um, fell into a blind rage and, um, kinda yelled at her when she said into the phone, "(SIGH) Hang on, some guy needs a towel". I know the words "pathetic", "excuse", "for an employee" happened to cross my lips. Oh, and I think "manager" and "I want to talk to" came out as well, because before I knew it I was talking to her manager.

All I wanted was to inform the manager that there is no excuse for her to behave like this. I calmly explained that I was sorry I lost it at his employee, but I also explained how I saw her treat the previous girl, how she treated me, and how in times past with this employee, I had similar issues. He took in everything I said, was gracious and apologized for the incident. He explained that while those particular students are allowed to work on homework or read, they shouldn't be on the phone. He asked if there were any other incidents I had at the SRC and to be sure to let the on-duty manager know in the future. I was completely placated. I was sure he heard me, was thankful that I was opening a dialogue with him about his employee, and that effective measures would be taken. That's all I wanted. My ego sated, I skipped away to the locker room.

I had a great work out today. After some sweat-inducing cardio, I was ready for my shower. I shaved, got dressed, and returned to the check-out desk in order to drop off my towel and re-swipe my card (yes, they charge you for cheap, $2 terrycloth towels if you don't return them). The same girl was sitting there. On the phone. This time reading People. I noticed that her homework had been worked on some more. Blood rushed to my face. I thought, "whatever, all I need to do is turn in my towel". I did so, she clicked the box and I looked up to see her manager standing directly behind her, throwing a basketball into the air, catching it and throwing it again. I was stunned. He caught my eye, smiled and continued to throw the ball as his employee, directly in front of him, continued her phone conversation.

My brain jumped in before my mouth could. I received a direct order from the mothership: "Walk away, Patrick. Just walk away." I love when my brain saves me from further embarrassment, because I was about to let fly on that manager. The system works.

Spider Man 3 (Sadly, My Second Movie Review)

Oh my god. OH MY FUCKING GOD. Robin and I just got home from possibly the worst "hero" movie ever. E V E R.

You shouldn't expect any sort of "review", because there's nothing plot-worthy to discuss. This movie was such a huge pile of crap that I'll be scraping the stench of a weeping Kirsten Dunst and gurgling Toby McGuire out of my clothes for months. Between the two of them, they probably cried 7,302 times during that movie. I can't tell for sure; I lost count after 7,300.

I'm never disobeying rottentomatoes.com ever again. Spidey 3 garnered 61% and the only good reviews came from people who said, "The costumes and special effects were amazing! Who cares about the plot when you have the Sandman whose every detail is rendered with exacting precision? McGuire played the tortured Peter Parker, a Libra with an Aquarius rising, with such passion! The Aquarius really came through! And Kirsten Dunst, why, is there a finer actress? Is there??? And also, I believe in unicorns!"

The oily texture of theater popcorn still lingers in my mouth. The sweet, sweet release of a brainless hero movie was not bestowed upon me this day. I could have smoked crushed granite and gotten a better high. The more I think about the constant sobbing, the pedantic dialogue, the meandering plot, the FIVE characters whose development never makes sense, I just want it to stop. It was like paying $22 for a horrible acid trip and Kirsten Dunst was there!!!

I was so pissed that I went home and immediately imdb'd Sam Raimi (the director). How could he possibly have made such a terrible movie when he executive produced Xena, Warrior Princess? He directed episodes of Hercules for god's sake! HE'S REMAKING EVIL DEAD!!! What's wrong with our universe? How could someone so talented make such a gross error in directing? I've pretty much lost hope in humanity. But mostly, I've lost $22 which I could have gotten drunk with, given to a bum, wiped my ass with, eaten, or paid to get my balls ripped off; all of which would have been better than seeing this "movie".


Grade for the movie: F- times infinity

Would I recommend it to a friend? I'd tell them it'd be better just to have me spit in their mouth after I eat a hot dog made purely from roadkill.

It's Really, REALLY Happening

FYI: I just picked up my cap, gown, tassle and honor's chord at the Bookstore today. I'm graduating whether you like it or not!!!

I'm Addicted

To life! Just kidding. I hate life. But I LOVE feeling good and having manly muscles and I'm well on my way to both!

I've been true to my self-made promise made in my head to get myself to the gym five days a week. I lift weights on Monday, Wednesday and Friday for 40 minutes, then I do 30 minutes of cardio on one of those ass-kicking new-fangled elliptical machines. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I do anywhere from 45 minutes to an hour on the machine, based on how drunk I still am. And by the way, I'm not talking about the first generation elliptical machines, I'm talking about the new gyroscopic, heart-monitering, hill-climbing, quad-wrecking, calf-burning monsters. Seriously though, I love them. If you go to a gym, don't be intimidated by their size and functionality. Instead, be intimidated by the fact that you'll probably die the first time you use one. I died twice already but I have infinity lives because of up, up, down, down, left, right, left, right, b, a, b, a, select, start.

Going to the gym in the morning is a wonderful, wonderful thing. Part of the downside to the Student Recreation Center (SRC) is that anytime after 5pm, you're F'd in the A to try and get any machine or any decent weight lifting in - there are far too many people. It's great that all those tiny fetuses want to put on muscles they don't need and lose weight they don't have, but it cramps my style y'all!

Looking to the near future, I want to be really, really active this summer. Phaedra was down this past weekend and we were lamenting that when we camp, we usually just sit around all day. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, but when there are incredible nature trails to discover and cuddly bears to chase, we just aren't using our time very well. Weight training and cardio exercises will help me do just that! I always forget how much energy I have when I work out. Now having worked out for three solid weeks (this is the fourth), I'm just brimming with talkativity! Robin is super pumped.

Besides the physical benefits, my mental activity is in overdrive. I know there's a "science" devoted to this, but the mental benefits of working out are radical. That's right, I said radical. Wanna fight about it? Anyway, I noticed this weekend that in working on my thesis, my memory was better, I was crafting arguments at the speed of sound and I could somehow turn the oven on and off with my mind. I could even set the temperature! Still working on the burner controls. I'll let you know.

I wonder why I let myself go so badly. I mean, I used to be crazy active. But this past winter, I slid into some kind of lazy slouch and didn't sit up until April. WTF? My eating habits went to shit. I work in two places that are constantly bombarded with food. Meetings, events, birthdays, you name it, at least one of my offices will have plates of food sitting out every day. When I recommitted myself to a better, more healthy lifestyle, I realized that I can't scurry away with a plate of food. In fact, given the nutritional "quality" of some of the food, I had to avoid it all together. Now, after three weeks of avoidance, I walk right past it. Sometimes, I'll be almost done with my shift before I notice it's there. Now THAT'S mental power! My own mind isn't letting me pay attention to yummy foodstuffs! POWER I tell you! Yikes, I just turned on the oven.

Some of you may be thinking, "But Patrick, you were never that out of shape! Do you really need to lose weight and stuff?" Yeah, okay. I'm not the hugest person ever to grace the cosmos. On the other hand, you should see pictures of me a few years ago. Yeah. That IS me. So you can see how losing a few pounds wouldn't hurt. But it probably would hurt if I self-liposucked the fat away with scissors and my vacuum. But then again, I have infinity lives, remember? I'll probably give self-liposucking a try. I'll let you know how it goes.

A Few Short Words

To pretty much every sorority girl I've ever heard speak: Do not under any circumstances, ever, even if you think it's funny, make fun of the way someone else talks. No person who uses the word "like" 14 times in a 5 word phrase and ends every fucking statement with a "questioning" tone is NOT allowed to poke fun of the way others sound. Like, you like totally have like no right like and like stuff like like?

(work like sucks today, like)

The Instigator

Monday was perhaps one of the most beautiful days on record. It was a warm 78 degrees, complete sunshine and absolutely everything was blooming; flowers, trees, you name it. I couldn't sit around and let this day pass by without going for a walk, hike, run, or shimmy down some kind of path. I also wanted an accomplice, someone who would lend pleasurable company and a merry spirit along our walk. And I knew just the person. Her name begins with a "C" and rhymes with "Chandra". Actually, it's not so much a rhyme as that's her actual name. My bad.

Anyway, Chandra was at work but I knew that she sometimes has a little flexibility in her schedule. Ready to goad her into ditching work to the best of my persuasive abilities, I didn't have to try very hard at all. It just so happened that Chandra had just the flexibility that justified an early exit. She suggested Mt. Pisgah and I was really, really stoked. First of all, Mt. Pisgah is wonderful. Replete with an arboretum, hiking trails and river, it has lots of flora and fauna to take in. And also, Chandra used to work for Mt. Pisgah, so she's like a retired Admiral of Mt. Pisgah. While employed, she won the Purple Heart of Ass-Kickin' Nature Diva so best respect!

We met up with Courtney (who is now in the same position Chandra had) and began our walk. I've been to Pisgah lots of times. In fact, I used to get some good cardio by quickly hiking its steep incline. This time, however, it was really sunny and Chandra knew a better way to enjoy Pisgah. On the south side is the arboretum, a lush mixture of native plants and wildlife. Trails wind all throughout, but of course our retired Admiral knew the best ones. We walked past vibrant irises, cat ears and columbines. We moseyed through fields with enormous oaks and birches. I was continually having my patented "nature moment" in which I barely retain consciousness because I'm so elated to be in such a place. After a while, Courtney had to go back for a superfun dentist appointment, so Chandra and I continued on. We took a turn into a low area where lots of water settled. I can't remember what it was called, I think it was something like "Waterworld" but without Kevin Costner.

We crossed a bridge and heard the distinct "meeps" of little ducklings. Right below us were eight ducklings and their attentive mother. The ducklings were running over the lily pads, bursting with energy. They ate, splashed around and looked to be having the best time. If it were not for my size, age and species orientation, I would have joined them. Instead, Chandra and I watched from the bridge, smiling and laughing at their ridiculous cuteness.

Strolling further, Chandra remembered a large restoration project the Friends of Buford Park were working on. When a river swells due to flooding, it creates channels in which the extra water flows and eventually (when the river subsides) they dry out. Because this area was mainly farmland for a long time, these channels were filled in to allow maximum farming ability. The Friends wanted to re-dig these channels and had the know-how to do so with as little impact on the environment as possible. We walked through a large, vast field which was once the site of many such channels. There were several huge mounds of earth piled to the side, which Chandra explained came out of the new channels. Coming upon the restoration area, I noticed lots of new plants and trees sprouting. Most were planted by the Friends, because they used to be there anyway. We examined the older channels, the newer ones and I quickly realized how incredible this project actually was. These weren't arbitrary holes. Lots of planning, time, volunteer work, energy and commitment went into each channel. Oh, and by the way, I'm not talking about a few pounds of dirt here. I'm talking they dug tons and tons of dirt for the channels. Power to the people!

To all my (2) readers: Please, pretty please enjoy nature. Reorganize whatever you have to in order to take time and breathe deeply. To have consciousness and be able to enjoy such splendor is true luxury. Forget our fancy cars, cell phones and personal baggage. Nature is where we find what's missing from our collective spirit. But enough prophetic rambling. I could go on all day.

The day was capped with King Estate Gewurztraminer and delicious BBQ at Eric and Chandra's. Robin was there and brought his delightful smile and boisterous personality. Eric brought his debonair wit and poised demeanor. And his monocle.

Talk Drty Or No Play

The following situation happened to me once before. I probably didn't blog about it because I was too scarred. I'm way fragile. Or most likely, I didn't blog about it because I was lazy and doped up on Lady H. Whatever the case, it happened again this morning and this time, I'm not nearly as high, so I can relate the happening to you.

Yahoo.com is good for many things. Like supporting my friend Eric and giving he and his staff full-body massages twice a day and a Gulfstream V in order to lunch in Paris and dinner in Tokyo. That's nice and all, but what I like them for best is their good 'ol games such as Backgammon, Canasta, and most of all Cribbage. I'm sure other places like MSN have similar games, but I don't support MSN because they try to make you download their piece of shit browser, the ever craptastic Internet Explorer. I digress.

I logged on for a few rousing games of cribbage. My handle is "geminious2000" so if you ever get the cribbage bug (which I know you totally do), give me a jingle. But otherwise, do as I do and play random people in the "intermediate lounge". I sometimes run across chatty, friendly types like retirees or other school kids. Most often, however, I run across people who take cribbage (and their cumulative score) waaaaayyy too seriously. When I give the usual "hi gl" (hi and good luck), they don't reply, they just play. Okay fine. I'm not there to make friends either. Besides, people with that sort of demeanor have an obvious personality problem revolving around the 17 cats they own that crap all over the house.

But then there are the weirdos. Like those whose fantasies involve talking dirty while playing cribbage. If you need to read that sentence again, I completely understand. If for some reason you don't believe me, I provide the following dialogue, between myself and another player just this morning:

Me: hi&gl

Him: ...

Me: ...

(the first few cards are thrown)

Him: u sexy?

Me: what? are you serious?

Him: i bet u sexy

Me: aren't we playing cribbage?

(first hand finishes, waiting for him to throw to my crib)

Him: mmmm. I kno u sexy.

Me: look, I'm not here to get off. I just want to play. can we just play?

(three cards into the next hand)

Him: talk drty

Me: WHAT?

Him: talk drty an touch it

Me: no! do you want to play or not?!

Him: talk drty or no play

Me: fine, then no play

(He disconnects immediately)


Just when you thought the Dictionary of Fetishes couldn't get any larger, I have one to add:

Cribbage Jizzer: n. A male who utilizes an online cribbage account to initiate sex-laden dialogue with unsuspecting person. If successful, the dialogue will cause the cribbage jizzer to jizz his pants, ending in a feeling of euphoria. Uses: 1 I have never met a real cribbage jizzer before! 2 Yeah, well at least I'm not a cribbage jizzer. 3 Did you see that nice cribbage jizzer down at the barber shop?