The end of August meant the first official vacation of my life. Not counting trips as a kid with family and short escapes home for the holidays. It was me, friends and a week on the beach.
The last four years I have worked my butt off and not for a single second allowed anything to be priority. Breaking free of the phone and laptop was a terrifying thought, but somehow I managed to do it - for the most part. Arriving in PR, the Animator, Shew and i made our way to the hotel. Expecting to open the cab door and arrive in the third world, I was pleasantly surprised when there was a Starbucks and...actually that's all that really mattered!
Literally for seven days my biggest concern was which pool to float in and if I should take to the beach. There was some trouble the first day as getting me to walk on sand was like trying to pull the teeth of a shark. Hate that shit, but it worked out and eventually my friends made me into the Starbucks logo with some impressively sized breast. Reference my Facebook page if you haven't had the pleasure of seeing the photos.
The gay scene was just like New York. Bars were filled with guys ignoring each other, everyone on Grindr was visiting from New York or offering up some nasty foreskin, and the beer tasted like water. All of this was made better when I forced my friends into Condom World. Leave it to me to find the local sex shop and insist on visiting. The sales girl was amazing and together we tested the flesh lights (on our fingers), which led to me buying souvenir dildos for friends and a glass one for my mother. Yes, for my mother.
A sex toy grab bag was a must and then the ultimate purchase - legal roofies! Once they offered this up I spiked everyone's drinks, like a good friend should. Incredibly the only person that got lucky on the trip was the Animator. Though at one point I thought he and Shew might kill each other as they were getting a tad testy. I'm used to gay tag-alongs so my patience seems to be expanding.
Other than leaving a few souvenirs in the hotel room it was amazing and now I need to rob a bank so I can afford to run off this winter to a warm location with friendly brown people.
Saturday, September 29, 2012
Sunday, September 23, 2012
Retail Me
Retail Me [ree-teyl] [mee]
Irrational Pronoun
1. The irrational case of I, able to tolerate all the crap people provide.
2. A conveyer of upbeat on positive personality to mask contempt.
3. What everyone wishes I was once they've gotten to know me.
It is this splinter of my personality that is to blame for the idiots that come into my world and instantly turn into love hungry psychos. Our example is a gentleman aged twenty years that lives on 110th Street. First strike! There's no way I'm going to travel past 96th Street for anyone, it physically pains me. It's hard enough going to Midtown to meet friends, and at least cabs want to take you there.
This gentleman has found text messages to be his preferred vehicle of communication. For the first week sending roughly ten messages a day, with only a single response from me every other day. It wasn't a game on my end, I just truly didn't care to respond - why feed the flames. The messages in week two became fewer and desperate. Week three found silence that I thought had laid everything to rest. However, week four brought us back to week one. "I want to get to know you." "I want to spend time with you."
Are you kidding me? We spent one hour together, one night in a completely platonic manner. What I took from him was that he had little personality and nothing to offer. He on the other hand apparently took from me that I'm the greatest Retail Me out there. I do confess that I'm annoyingly bubbly when I'm cornered with a single person. Except last night at the bar when a guy with poor looks and worse breath leaned in to say, "Hi." To him I was a dick because he invaded my bubble.
Now I'm not sure what to do with this one. I've flat out said there's no way and he just comes back with, "I want to get to know you." It's like he is able to write and send two test messages, but doesn't have the ability to read. perhaps I should invest in some hooked on phonics and send it his way before the next message invades my phone.
Irrational Pronoun
1. The irrational case of I, able to tolerate all the crap people provide.
2. A conveyer of upbeat on positive personality to mask contempt.
3. What everyone wishes I was once they've gotten to know me.
It is this splinter of my personality that is to blame for the idiots that come into my world and instantly turn into love hungry psychos. Our example is a gentleman aged twenty years that lives on 110th Street. First strike! There's no way I'm going to travel past 96th Street for anyone, it physically pains me. It's hard enough going to Midtown to meet friends, and at least cabs want to take you there.
This gentleman has found text messages to be his preferred vehicle of communication. For the first week sending roughly ten messages a day, with only a single response from me every other day. It wasn't a game on my end, I just truly didn't care to respond - why feed the flames. The messages in week two became fewer and desperate. Week three found silence that I thought had laid everything to rest. However, week four brought us back to week one. "I want to get to know you." "I want to spend time with you."
Are you kidding me? We spent one hour together, one night in a completely platonic manner. What I took from him was that he had little personality and nothing to offer. He on the other hand apparently took from me that I'm the greatest Retail Me out there. I do confess that I'm annoyingly bubbly when I'm cornered with a single person. Except last night at the bar when a guy with poor looks and worse breath leaned in to say, "Hi." To him I was a dick because he invaded my bubble.
Now I'm not sure what to do with this one. I've flat out said there's no way and he just comes back with, "I want to get to know you." It's like he is able to write and send two test messages, but doesn't have the ability to read. perhaps I should invest in some hooked on phonics and send it his way before the next message invades my phone.
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
You're Cabbage
Some cities are amazing as far as the crap people produced. I'm writing my next three blogs in reverse chronological order due to life events. I've been silent for many weeks because my blogs are being used against me in litigation by entitled millennials trying to make a free buck - how selfish we become.
I'm outside my comfort city tonight and I decided to give a guy a chance. We chatted on Grindr while I was at dinner...if you don't know Grindr get your Google out and do some research. After finishing dinner with friends I walked down the street to meet him at a local bar. What a freaking shit hole. I know this town is ghetto but seriously, you have two bars and this is as good as it gets?! We chatted for about five minutes before someone walked up and interrupted us. It appeared to be a friend, though Dick Guy tried to excuse it, so maybe it was an earlier hookup. He suggested we leave and obviously that meant go to my hotel.
We get here, pee, and of course I need a beer. Heading down the street we buy a few beers from a bar - who knew you could do that - ghetto! I noticed that Dick Guy paid with a Visa gift card. Ok, that's a little white trash no matter how you cut it. I mean, you can't whip out $8 actual dollars? How poor are you? Anyway, we head back to my hotel and get frisky.
Let's go through all of the parts that went wrong. First, you need a boner. It's the first rule of sex - so simple. Though Dick Guy kept mentioning allerigies, I'm pretty sure he'd had some Christmas tonight. He was limper than a raw hot dawg...grosss. So, we tried to get it up but that wasn't working. Then he wanted to be the bottom. That's fine, but when I tell you I don't have the necessary supplies (lube and condom), it's not happening. This was the most interesting part. Dick Guy suddenly says the meter on his car is about to expire.
If you plan to lie - lie well. You told me an hour before you didn't have to move the car until 7:00 AM. That means you just want to get out of the room. Just say I want out and leave, it's as easy as the click of an email - I don't care. So as he rushes out the door giving me a piece sign I chuckle to myself. Because I can't help myself I sent this amazing ass a text asking, "what sent you running?" It's a research question I feel important to answer. However, he did not reply so this is my thought: Because this guy is an easy slut he'll screw anyone without protection and if that screw is compromised he'll stop at nothing to get it. That may mean returning to the bar or corner to find another guy. I'll say good luck to him, but herpes isn't for me. Happy Monday!
I'm outside my comfort city tonight and I decided to give a guy a chance. We chatted on Grindr while I was at dinner...if you don't know Grindr get your Google out and do some research. After finishing dinner with friends I walked down the street to meet him at a local bar. What a freaking shit hole. I know this town is ghetto but seriously, you have two bars and this is as good as it gets?! We chatted for about five minutes before someone walked up and interrupted us. It appeared to be a friend, though Dick Guy tried to excuse it, so maybe it was an earlier hookup. He suggested we leave and obviously that meant go to my hotel.
We get here, pee, and of course I need a beer. Heading down the street we buy a few beers from a bar - who knew you could do that - ghetto! I noticed that Dick Guy paid with a Visa gift card. Ok, that's a little white trash no matter how you cut it. I mean, you can't whip out $8 actual dollars? How poor are you? Anyway, we head back to my hotel and get frisky.
Let's go through all of the parts that went wrong. First, you need a boner. It's the first rule of sex - so simple. Though Dick Guy kept mentioning allerigies, I'm pretty sure he'd had some Christmas tonight. He was limper than a raw hot dawg...grosss. So, we tried to get it up but that wasn't working. Then he wanted to be the bottom. That's fine, but when I tell you I don't have the necessary supplies (lube and condom), it's not happening. This was the most interesting part. Dick Guy suddenly says the meter on his car is about to expire.
If you plan to lie - lie well. You told me an hour before you didn't have to move the car until 7:00 AM. That means you just want to get out of the room. Just say I want out and leave, it's as easy as the click of an email - I don't care. So as he rushes out the door giving me a piece sign I chuckle to myself. Because I can't help myself I sent this amazing ass a text asking, "what sent you running?" It's a research question I feel important to answer. However, he did not reply so this is my thought: Because this guy is an easy slut he'll screw anyone without protection and if that screw is compromised he'll stop at nothing to get it. That may mean returning to the bar or corner to find another guy. I'll say good luck to him, but herpes isn't for me. Happy Monday!
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