Freak Accident

Theme Song: "Bodies" - Drowning Pool

...All I wanted was some delicious Wendy's...

Sunday night. 11:40PM. The office network has crashed, bringing all production to a screeching halt. In an effort to utilize our down-time, the supervisors send us to lunch early. Excited by the prospect of eating real food--not sketchy gas station rations--my fellow encoders and I excitedly haul ass to the Time Clock and proceed to the pitch-black parking lot.

I hop into my sweet ride and set my sights on the closest/quickest restaurant around: Wendy's. I've never been to this location, but it's just off the highway, so I won't need my GPS. At the intersection, I'm left with two choices: Go straight into the desolate woodland road and hope for a side entrance, or make a right onto the Highway and make a quick left into the combo Exxon/Wendy's. I choose the latter.

Now on the highway, I see that there's no turn left lane into the Exxon, so I'll have to wing it. I pump my brakes in preparation, and in the distance, I see over a dozen pairs of headlights slowly creeping toward me. To avoid a 3-minute wait, I quickly hang a left, my eyes searching the ground for some type of entrance markings. Nothing.

That's when I hear it. A sound I've only ever heard on Sound Effects tapes, the indistinguishable sound of crushed metal. I glance to my left, expecting to see a crash on that poorly-lit side road, when suddenly my windshield goes WHITE and I see something sandy over my hood. I attempt to swerve before letting out an "OH SH----!" I'm airborne.


POP! Within milliseconds, my vehicle implodes upon itself. My CD collection is sprawled across the floor, both air bags have deployed, my glasses have been knocked off, and my neck is craned backwards like a Pez dispenser. I can't see a damn thing. Gasping for air, all I find is smoke. The temperature has easily risen from 60 to 90 in an instant. For a moment, I just lie there. It feels like someone has cracked a baseball bat across my throat. Weakly propping myself up, I tell myself to just stay calm and wait for the paramedics. Then, I remember those headlights barreling toward me...

I never got married, I never had kids, I never even left the country: I AM NOT GOING TO DIE HERE. Frantically, I pound my fist into the airbag and slide my hand down my stomach, trying to find the seat belt release button. Beads of sweat form across my forehead as I finally find the button and squeeze for dear life. Got it. I try to shift into Park but the gear shift won't budge.

Fuck it, I just need to get out of this box. Sans my glasses, I ram my shoulder into the door and am bombarded with cool wintry air. Leaving my keys in the ignition, I stumble into the street as cars go whizzing past. Run away from the sounds of traffic, James. I sprint into the Exxon as my car gushes buckets of fluid at an alarming rate.


Oh wait, actually before I run into the gas station, I leap back into the car and turn off my radio, 'cause I sure as hell am not gonna die with Rihanna's "S&M" blaring... not unless I do a jackknife out of my bedroom swing. Inappropriate.

I enter the gas station and the cashier has no idea that I've crashed right outside his door. I quickly fill him in and ask if I can use his phone to call 911. He replies, "This is a gas station." OK... what's the address here so I can tell the police? "Ummm... This is a gas station." Great, that's the only English phrase he knows. I can work with this. I grab a used receipt off the counter, take note of the address, whip my cell phone out, and dial 911. Five minutes later, as I'm calmly pacing around the store, I hear:

WHOOP WHOOP WHOOP!!!

 HOLY SHIT. They sent a fire truck??! 

Keep it down, it's not that serious!

Hesitantly, I go outside and claim the car. The ambulance driver asks me if I'm OK and if I wanna go to the hospital. Even though my neck is still on fire, I politely refuse, because the last thing I need right now is another hospital bill. I'll just walk it off. Seriously, it took me months to pay off last year's $600 ER visit after a weekend of Livin' la vida Lohan. Besides, there's no need to get my Mama's blood pressure up by being a Drama Queen. Once the cops have arrived on the scene, they instruct me to move my car, as it's leaking every fluid imaginable. Although the steering wheel is unbelievably tight, I manage to move Cesare to an open parking spot.

The officers kindly give me a ride back to work. As I sit in the manager's office, I call my mother and ask for a ride. Heidi, one of my supervisors, swings by to check up on me. As with everything in life, I smile and respond, "I'm fine." Once she leaves the room, it hits me. That all-too-familiar smell is emanating from my jacket; it's as if I've been doused in gasoline and lit on fire. I look down at my trembling hands and realize that I could burst into tears at any moment. I just wanna go home.

Back at the house, I take my mom's advice and check my body for any soreness. As my fingertips make their way down my neck and chest, I close my eyes and hear that terrible "BOOM!" *twitch* Luckily, there's no visible body damage.

The same goes for Cesare. From the looks of it, his pristine body has remained untouched and according to our mechanic, should be fixed up in no time. Unfortunately, after a couple of days, the story changes. Although there's barely any body damage, the bottom of the car is shot to hell. And of all the rotten luck, that's where all the important stuff is (ie. Transmission, brake line, etc). TOTALED.

Dressed all in black, I'm ready to say my Goodbyes to my first car. Before my arrival, the mechanics have "taken the liberty" of emptying him out and sending him back to the manufacturer. Dammit. Well, in the short time that I had the car, we had some really good times: Shannon & Rob's wedding, Homecoming, Gettysburg's Apple Festival, among others.

CESARE the SOMNAMBULIST

September 2010 - December 2010

Live fast, Die young, Leave an Exquisite Corpse.

BOOK REVIEW: The Sexy Book of Sexy Sex by Kristen Schaal & Rich Blomquist

THE SEXY BOOK OF SEXY SEX
by Kristen Schaal and Rich Blomquist
(Published 2010, 191 pages)

✮✮✮✮✮

As I perused the New Releases bin at Books-A-Million, it was love at first sight when I saw The Sexy Book of Sexy Sex. And from the time of my purchase to the book's climax, I was overcome with hysterical laughter.

How Not to Use This Book

As you read, you will no doubt come to associate this guide with pure erotic pleasure. However, under NO CIRCUMSTANCES should you insert this book into ANY orifice for purposes of sexual gratification. It is bound with cheap Chinese glue that will POISON YOU (Schaal & Blomquist, 10).

With this off-the-wall sex guide, real-life couple Schaal and Blomquist succeed in pulling off a clever artifice. At first glance, the book looks like your average run-of-the-mill Sex Advice book, but once you reach the lofty Table of Contents, it's obvious that you're in store for a sleazy satire of epic proportions.

• CHAPTER 1: Sex in Nature
• CHAPTER 2: The History of Sex
• CHAPTER 3: Cupid's Toolbox
• CHAPTER 4: Masturbation
• CHAPTER 5: Regular Sex
• CHAPTER 6: The Gay Chapter
• CHAPTER 7: For Sexperts Only
• CHAPTER 8: The Dark Side of Sex
• CHAPTER 9: The Future of Sex

As with a standard Biology textbook, each chapter focuses on one particular topic and is broken up into mini-lessons. Lessons are played out in short stories, fake diary entries, and historical timelines, peppered with fascinating "fucktoids." Personally, one of my favorite short stories involves Anne Boleyn and King Henry VIII sneaking away for a disgusting latenight tryst.


A veritable hodgepodge of various forms like comic books, screenplays, and retro advertisements, this META element makes The Sexy Book of Sexy Sex incredibly comical on multiple levels. There is never a dull moment because the book frequently and effortlessly bounces back and forth between different formats. From an aspiring screenwriter's standpoint, I laughed hardest at the role-playing games and the TV Fan Fiction scripts (erotic re-imaginings of classic shows like ALF and The Golden Girls). Seriously, as soon as I get my hands on a Yeti costume, my boyfriend and I'll be acting that one out. *growls*


Adding to the meta element are the book's completely ludicrous countdowns, modeled after ones readers might find in women's magazines like Cosmo and InStyle. My best gay, Paul, and I shared a good laugh over a countdown entitled "20 Things Not To Think About While Masturbating." Topping the list are mass genocide, the Trail of Tears, and your grandmother... as expected.


With this irreverent sex How-To guide, Schaal and Blomquist do an excellent job of presenting both the male and female point of view, with equal amounts of hilarity. And of course, I must give them props for including "The Gay Chapter," embracing the Gays where most sex guides are heteronormative and gloss over homosexuality altogether. So with that, I say, RUN, do not walk, to your local bookstore and pick up this laugh riot... At 191 pages, you can go from cover to cover within an hour.

PLAYER 1 Has Re-Entered The Game!

Theme Song: "Cinderella" - Britney Spears

I don't understand. I do everything I'm supposed to do: I eat right, I exercise, I hit the gay bars every couple of weeks, and yet... BITCH CAN'T GET A DATE. >_< Don't get me wrong, I get a little side action once in a blue moon (chest massage, squeeze a left nut, whatever), but that's not something you can build a life on.

Believe it or not, I am a closet romantic, and while I do have an extremely healthy sexual appetite, at this stage in my life, what I really want is a committed long-term-ish relationship. By no means am in a rush to go out and buy HIS & HIS towels or hire a commitment ceremony planner... I just want a fun-loving steady fella with a minimal amount of baggage. Is that SO much to ask?

ORIGIN STORY

As embarrassing as it is, I'll reveal my silent shame: I ♥ Online Dating. That's right, I said it! :P Online dating is tailor-made for a picky obsessive-compulsive perfectionist like myself: it's easy, it's convenient, and in the words of Hal Sparks, "Nobody ever got genital warts from a chatroom!" It's an excellent way to weed out the unfuckables right off the bat and search for guys based on your own dating criteria... it has taught me to be more flexible with my standards. But on the other hand, if I'm gonna spend days/weeks/months on the computer boyfriend-shopping, I'm gonna compare all the merchandise and find the best possible match.

I inadvertently joined my first dating site, OKCupid, back in 2004. I was a senior in high school and at the time, the site was much more famous for its extensive amount of user-created personality tests than its matchmaking abilities. Back then, online dating was something you did with the lights off and a blanket over your head. Membership was EXTREMELY low, so Good Luck finding a potential mate within a 100-mile radius.

MY DATING DIAGNOSIS

Just for the hell of it, one of the first tests I ever took was the "OKCupid Dating Personality Test." Since I'm constantly evolving, I try to update my results every year, and my most up-to-date result is...
THE POOLBOY.

Description is as follows: A teen at heart, you anxiously move about your daily tasks, hoping, praying for a good, instant lay. You’re carefree, enthusiastic, and rarely discouraged. Love is cool, but it’s not for you right now. You know what is? Crotches. You’re a fun person in both big and small groups, and your friends trust and love you. Inside you, meanwhile, your lust is only growing. Imagine your beating heart sprouting pubic hair. Exactly. Try shaving that. If you’re not scoring enough—which you aren’t—you should adopt new strategies. Lower your standards. Be aggressive. Pool Boys are often submissive and hope (desperately) sex will find them. Realize that passiveness will not hook the horny guys you desire. A bolder approach and sheer repetition will.

HARSH. I'm not that horny, I swear! And when it comes to relationships, I'm anything but submissive, Thank You. :P

PUTTING YOURSELF OUT THERE

Online dating sites are all about selling yourself, and what better way of hanging a big gay OPEN FOR BUSINESS sign around your neck then with a skanktacular profile, complete with photos hot enough to fog up any computer screen? I don't know why, but whenever I express myself artistically, I often come off as an extroverted sexpot. I've never understood it. Ever since middle school when I started dancing in public, it's like I un-corked some kind of SEX MONSTER; after every performance, I always had adoring fans--girls and guys (mostly straight)--calling me "sexy." When it comes to writing, dancing, filmmaking, what-have-you, I'm always uninhibited and out to create some kick-ass art.

ONLINE SUITORS

Typically, with that sort of behavior, you don't stay single for long, and Believe Me, I have been beating the 40-year-olds off with a stick since Day One. *gag* But when you're looking for more than what you've experienced in the past, when you screen potential mates extensively before even giving them your phone number, and when you refuse to meet anyone from the internet without feeling 120% comfortable doing so, you might as well check into a monastery! For six long years, I've perused the pages of OKCupid and have literally rejected over 600 guys after viewing their profiles. So far, I've genuinely connected with roughly a dozen people, and those have all occurred in the past 2 years.

Among the top contenders who I've actually engaged in conversation have been the latino dance choreographer, the teenage Warlock, the pro wrestling fetishist, and an FTM teenage drag queen (who actually wanted to go on a date with my drag alter ego, Janine). Unfortunately, I am the son of my parents, and as such, I'm extremely paranoid and have a tendency to catastrophize any given situation. More often than not, after having deep conversations with people, I start looking at their answers to OKCupid's Match Questions (usually about politics, religion, sex, relationships) and find something I don't like. And once I've found something I don't like, I immediately nip it in the bud, gently let the guy down, and move on. On the bright side, I get to have stimulating conversation with interesting guys without having to shave my belly hair or put in my contact lenses; plus, you can never have too many images in your Spank Bank. ;-)

I'VE MET SOMEONE

Lo and behold, after years of finding something wrong with EVERYBODY, I randomly receive a message in my inbox, from a cute LOCAL 20-year-old. I'm shocked because he describes himself as a shy guy... and yet he made the first move--That takes fuckin' BALLS. Of course, I'm extremely flattered that he would take such a risk by approaching me, and after a day of letting him sweat it out, I send a detailed response.

Every night for the rest of the week, Jared and I have 3-hour conversations, in which we discuss life and love. I know we're in trouble when we've exchanged over 400 text messages in under 2 weeks, about 380 more than I usually send in a month. Needless to say, within days, I'm YEARNING to meet him in real life... something I've never experienced with any other guy before. We set a date, in three weeks, because my social calendar is booked solid this season.

THE BIG DAY

Three weeks later, the big day has arrived: Saturday, September 25th. I get off work around 3:00, we've made plans to find a moderately-priced French restaurant off Dupont Circle, and I'm just staring at my watch with a ridiculous grin on my face all day. On my way home, I get a new text message; Jared's younger brother has fallen ill and he has to babysit. Awww, I totally understand, how old is the poor thing? "He's 17... but he acts like he's 12!" Seventeen? That's practically a grown man, he can watch himself! Once I'm done reassuring him that it's OK that we have to reschedule for tomorrow, I hang up, call my girls, and go see Easy A at the multiplex.

Sunday rolls around and I plan on meeting him in D.C. around 4-ish. Surprise-Surprise, his orientation at H&M ended THREE HOURS EARLY and now he's stranded at a Starbucks downtown. Upon hearing this, I immediately hose myself off, make myself presentable, and hop into my convertible, traces of shampoo streaming down my ears. After flooring it down 83, I finally reach downtown with time to spare. What I didn't count on was the COMPLETE AND UTTER LACK OF PARKING in the city. It's insane! I can't find a parking garage, all the empty spaces are either bus stops or fire hydrant zones.

After literally 45 minutes spent driving circles around the city, I finally find a huge underground "Event Parking" garage for $8 an hour. I park the car, call Jared, step into the elevator, and once the doors open, I find myself inside a high-security government agency! Somehow, I've slipped past the armed guards and the metal detectors, and I'm just wandering around aimlessly.

Immediately, I put away the cell phone, ready to throw my hands in the air and scream, "Don't Shoot! I'm not a terrorist!" Once the security guards have finally taken mercy on me and have shown me the exit, I turn around and catch sight of the address: 1300 PENNSYLVANIA AVENUE. WoW, it's a good thing the elevator stopped at the International Trade Center and not the goddamn Oval Office... as undoubtedly cool as that would be.

Outside, I call Jared again and since he's walking around, we're gonna try and meet halfway. Of all the luck, my keen sense of direction finally kicks in and within minutes, I hear him say, "I see you." Blushing, I see him on the opposite side of the street, we make our way to the crosswalk and I strut my way over to him. My breath is taken away because it's so good to finally see him in-the-flesh; as hot as his pictures were, in-person he's much more physically appealing than I imagined.

We briefly drop by another Starbucks (he's a Rewards Card carrier) for some chit-chat, and then we go pick up the car: Don't think I forgot that damn parking garage was charging me an $8 hourly rate. *sassy gay finger* I whisk him away to Dupont Circle, where I find the tightest parallel parking space ever... I made it in and nobody lost a headlight, so all is good.

To tell you the truth, while promenading around the District, I find myself... losing more and more interest in him. As a Political Science major, all he talks about is local and national politics... big mistake on a first date. He's a HUGE Hillary Clinton supporter and constantly belittles President Obama. It gives me flashbacks to when I went canvassing door-to-door for Barack Obama's campaign back in Gettysburg, and that fuckin' French frog pulled me into his house and wanted to debate me on why Obama would do a better job than Hillary. I don't hate Hillary--in fact, she and Obama have very similar political views--I just don't like or respect her, especially with her mudslinging campaign... That sort of behavior should not be rewarded with the Presidency.


The topic of past lovers also rears its ugly head, and while it's fun to trade war stories, it really turns our lunch date into a divalicious meet-and-greet with zero intimacy. To make matters worse, we end up at the WRONG Cosi restaurant, thanks to his crappy cell phone GPS; instead of the romantic open-air cafe with balcony seating, we're at the carryout location. It's like a French SUBWAY sandwich shop. EW.


We cozy up in a booth, watch some funny YouTube videos, and talk some more, as we are the two slowest eaters in the world. He regales me with stories of his friends back home in Michigan. The evening reaches an ultimate low when he shares with me one of his favorite pastimes: he and his friend, who works at Abercrombie, bark loudly whenever they're around "ugly" people. That is SO mean. And that's when I say to him half-jokingly, "You're a horrible person."

We head out, listening to Lady GaGa all the way home, I drop him off, he says that we should go out clubbing next weekend (I'm busy but RAIN CHECK), we hug, and I bid him Adieu. We cap off the night by text messaging our reactions during the season premiere of Desperate Housewives.

Yeah... I think it's safe to say I should keep looking! XD

MUSIC REVIEW: Teenage Dream by Katy Perry

TEENAGE DREAM by Katy Perry
(Released 2010, Capitol Records)

✮✮✮✮✮

Last time we saw Katy Perry, she was newly engaged to "comedian" Russell Brand, starred opposite 3Oh!3 in their video for "Starstrukk," and three singles from her debut album dominated the Billboard Hot 100 chart ("I Kissed A Girl," "Hot & Cold," "Waking Up In Vegas").

Ever since she released her controversial singles, "Ur So Gay" and "I Kissed A Girl," Katy Perry has been a polarizing figure in the GLBTQ community because she constantly sends mixed signals. Personally, I love her because I've realized while that she may not be a die-hard GLBTQ Rights advocate, she is a champion of sexual freedom and experimentation, and I respect that. In fact, I've always been drawn to female singers who openly express their sexual desires, like Madonna, Britney, and Janet. With her newest album, Katy does a marvelous job of paying tribute to the ideas of Hollywood fantasy and hormone-driven teenage love/lust.

The entire album appeals to twenty-somethings like myself, as Katy takes a lyrical stroll down memory lane and reiterates that she's still got the sexual appetite of a teenager. For that reason, I love the title track, "Teenage Dream," in which Perry roars lines like "I'll let you put your hands on me / In my skin-tight jeans / Be your Teenage Dream tonight!" On that same note, the lead single, "California Gurls," is more of an homage to Hollywood perfection and immortality. The tune is pure sex, literally so hot it'll melt your popsicle. Honestly, I hated the song during its first few months of airplay but NOW that I've heard all the other crap on the radio, it stands apart as an 80s-inspired bubblegum pop song.


Another favorite of mine is "Peacock," for its brashness and unbelievable lack of subtlety. The song is SO ridiculous with an explicit chorus that within a week of the album's release, it already had dozens of YouTube tributes and parodies. "Peacock" is a legitimately fun song with a synthetic Spanish guitar giving it some extra texture. Next on the album is, in my opinion, the best track, "Circle the Drain." A song about a self-destructive lover (we've all experienced them) with a ballsy chorus, "You fall asleep during foreplay / 'Cause the pills you take are more your forte / I'm not sticking around to watch you go down / Wanna be your lover / Not your fucking mother / Can't be your savior / I don't have the power / I'm not gonna stay and watch you Circle The Drain."


Other songs also brought me back to my teenage years, most notably "The One That Got Away." I'm sure we've all looked back on the past and wondered, "What if I dated/fucked/married so-and-so? Would my life be any different?" This track talks about a missed opportunity at romance. Later on the album, Perry once again pays homage to the 80s with "E.T." about an extraterrestrial lover. With its depressing lyrics but upbeat background music, the next song, "Who Am I Living For?" simultaneously sounds like an 80s club song and Justin Timberlake's "Cry Me A River."

Katy wakes from her "Teenage Dream" with two of my favorite tracks off the album, "Pearl" and "Not Like The Movies." "Pearl" is a ballad so sad that it literally makes me want to cry, because so many times, I've seen my friends change when they start dating someone. It's a lament about wasted potential: "She is a pyramid / But with him she's just a grain of sand / This love's too strong like Mice & Men / Squeezing out the life that she'd be leading." And finally, "Not Like The Movies" once again pays tribute to the idealistic and unrealistic concept of Hollywood romance, "cinematic and dramatic with the perfect ending."

With "Teenage Dream," Katy Perry has definitely taken it up a notch from her debut album, "One of the Boys." She's still growing as an artist, and this latest effort features an excellent balance of sensuous dance tracks and haunting lyrically-driven ballads. Kudos, Katy!

Release The Kraken!

DISCLAIMER: As you've probably noticed, I've spent most of my time archiving my old posts and releasing stories I haven't touched since my hiatus back in 2008. It kills me because SO many things have changed since then and I'm anxious to share it all. So, tonight I'd like to give you a special treat--a glimpse of the glorious future, or rather, the present. Enjoy!

Theme Song: "Somebody To Love (Remix)" - Justin Bieber & Usher

INCOMING TXT MESSAGE:
And just so you know, I'm showering at your place, lol.
I am literally a HOT MESS right now!
YAY. With any luck, he won't send all the hot guys running tonight! :D Once I get home from work, I give him the Thumbs Up to come over. It's 9PM when Paul pulls into the driveway. As usual, I welcome him inside and lead him into the guest bedroom. I've taken the liberty of laying some sexy threads on the bed, since he has obviously stopped trying... perhaps now that he's seeing someone?

After we're both showered and dressed to kill, we head to the local Dunkin' Donuts, WOOO! Wait. That was a premature "Woo"--unfortunately, Dunkin's closes at 8:00, so we opt for the Double T Diner instead. Seriously, I don't think I've been inside the Double T Diner since Prom Night; it's waaay too "Middle America" for my liking. Not that I'm worried that it won't be "gay friendly," because frankly, wherever the fuck Paul and I go, they had best be gay-friendly to us... otherwise, we will give them some real problems. Whether it's the Double T Diner or the Lincoln Diner or wherever the fuck.

Eager to scarf down some breakfast food at 10 in the evening, I opt for a short stack, eggs, and a mimosa. For the first time in the years that I've known him, Paul (or as I lovingly call him, "McFatFat") has a difficult time finding ANYTHING to his liking on the menu. He goes back and forth between cereal, oatmeal, yogurt, and wraps until I finally tell him to just get a banana cream pie and be done with it. He obliges.


Halfway through the meal, he calls up his current love interest, Josh, and invites him to dinner. Eventually, Josh rolls in, looking EXHAUSTED from a long day's work. The first thing he does is whip out his brand-new iPhone; ironically, seconds before his arrival Paul and I were joking about Josh's torrid love affair with the expensive new gadget and how he probably just put it on Vibrate and called it a night. ;-) I give them some alone time by heading to the restroom.

When I get back, Paul's watching Josh play "QUARTERS" on his iPhone, a game in which you flick a digital quarter off surfaces into a cup. ...I am not amused. But he's Paul's steady and I wanna be friendly, so I ask him about the phone's other features. After checking out the GPS and the LightSaber application, we ultimately end up watching a FaceBook video of EJ performing in drag (under his stage name Eve D'Mure).

Once the boys are done with their coffee, we make our way to Baltimore. On the way, we're listening to Josh's mix-tapes while he loudly sings along. Gazing out the window, all I can think is, "Somebody, please get me the FUCK out of here!" From the car, I call EJ and he tells me that he's at LEON'S. Who the hell is Leon... and is he cute? He responds, "It's a Bear Bar." Oh. OHHHH, this could be interesting.

Josh parks in front of LEON'S and EJ is outside waiting. I jog toward him Baywatch-style and give him a big bearhug. While my back is turned, Paul and Josh have taken this opportunity to start making out. With a knowing expression, EJ turns back to me and says, "You should've leapt into my arms." We laugh, he takes me by the hand and leads me into LEON'S.

Oh, LEON'S. Much to my surprise, this is not a "Bear Bar," as EJ promised... it's a fuckin' nursing home. *cringe* Seriously, the four of us walk through the door and the median-age goes down by 30 years. It's literally just 15 old guys... and us. Those ain't good odds, y'all. Making the best of it, I pull up a stool next to EJ and his friend, Hunter. Unprepared for what I'm about to see, my jaw hits the floor when the bartender turns around and honestly, he's gotta be at least 80 years old. In fact, I believe he's the Oldest Living Baltimorean, showing off his guns in a sleeveless tee. SOOO many things are wrong with this situation.

Desperate for a change of scenery, I ask EJ to point out the bathroom; he escorts me over and says, "Be sure to lock the door," whatever that means! While inside, I turn around, there is no lock, and I immediately start to panic, my mind reeling with visions of men with gray handlebar mustaches bursting in to have their way with me. NOT what I'm into. I'm in and out, I re-join the guys by the bar, and once I realize that there's no dancefloor, I politely tell EJ: GET US THE HELL OUTTA HERE, MAN!


We literally shotgun our dirt-cheap drinks and sprint out the door. EJ and Hunter opt for the Drinkery (a neighborhood bar) while Josh, Paul, and I stick to the original gameplan: Grand Central. After I thank EJ for making me "The Third Wheel" yet again, Hunter tells me that I'm so cute that I won't be alone for long tonight. Awww, flattery will get you everywhere with me, Honey.

After narrowly avoiding death on the Charles Street crosswalk, we arrive at Grand Central and eagerly make our way to the dancefloor. Lo and Behold, we enter the room and the very FIRST person we see is Marty (a friend from high school). Looks like we've found our Fourth; let's call The Corners, shall we? ;-) Sadly, everyone in his crew's either out of town or in no mood to dance tonight. Bummer. We have a dancing 4-gy goin' for a while before breaking off into pairs: Paul with Josh and me with Marty.

Sometimes I forget how much Marty and I have in common as the "Eternal Bachelors." Effortlessly moving our bodies in perfect rhythm, we begin to commiserate:

James: "Honestly, I haven't had a long-term boyfriend in two years!"
Marty: "Honey, two years ago, I had an effing fiancee!"
James: "Oh yeah, that's right. YOU WIN. *pause* Marty, you deserve a great guy... but let's be real, You are NOT gonna find him here!"

At this point, I finally look into those eyes and realize that there's a lot of pain behind that smile. I should know, I was the same way for almost a year, even though I never had what Marty did. I remember meeting Colin, Marty's former fiancee, and although I was a little jealous, they were one of those gay couples I was actually rooting for. At the very least, they looked great together, but I could only imagine what ultimately lead to their messy break-up. I'd hate to pry but seriously, I think he should talk about it; sometimes, bitching and moaning is the only way to truly get over it. But I suppose we're all just a little bit damaged and it's healthy.

In an effort to ensure that at least one of us will get some action tonight, I ask him, "See anything you like around here?" He responds, "Not really. But the bartender told me I'm adorable, so all my drinks are free." We share a look and I burst out laughing because we both have been around the block long enough to know this: You do not, I repeat, DO NOT, fall for 1) BARTENDERS and 2) GO-GO BOYS... That is never your Fairytale ending.

Politely, Marty offers to play Matchmaker for me as well. "You see anyone?" I do a methodical dance spin, inconspicuously scanning the entire dance floor. ABSOLUTELY NOT. Actually, that's not true. There were a few decent ones but they're all with someone. "Of course! So, what's your type?" Someone around my size, not too tall, not too short. I'm not really into "Straight Acting" guys. "Really? I'm the opposite. I only date football players!" ...Right. On that note, I decide to take another lap around the dancefloor, in hopes of spotting that elusive single hottie. Not happening. I return to my original spot... PAUL AND JOSH ARE GONE.

Those Sons of Bitches. I'm pretty sure they wouldn't just leave without telling me, but Hell, those two guys have been full of surprises lately. After wandering around the entire Dance Area for five minutes, I bust down the bathroom door, craning my neck under the stall, checking for two familiar pairs of shoes. No one's fucking in there, Thank God!

Angrily shoving my way through a mob of queens in the Bar & Billiards area, I catch sight of another familiar face, Andre. Andre was unknowingly my Main Gay back in middle school, when we bonded over our love for the Spice Girls. Although we subsequently drifted apart, it's fun to run into him downtown every now and then for some small talk. I give him and his companion a detailed description of the Missing Couple, but sadly, they're clueless. I bid them Adieu and warn them that if they hear someone screaming across the bar, "My house is not in FORECLOSURE, Bitch!" then they might wanna get the fuck outta my way.

Upon thorough inspection, the first floor has been cleared. I wander into the Forbidden Realm, ascending the stairwell to SAPPHO'S, the adjoining Lesbian bar. *cringe* As usual, it's dead up there except for three lesbians, four old guys, and a lava lamp. I shield my eyes as to not become a pillar of salt, and make my way to the outdoor patio, the last possible hiding place. BINGO! There they are.

Of course, I proceed to let the bitches have it, as I should! Apparently, they just wanted to give me some alone time with Marty. WHAT? Someone could've let me know; I tore myself away from Marty after a few songs, because I came with my friends and I didn't wanna cockblock Marty by clinging to him all damn night.

For some reason, my Fairy Godmothers have come to the consensus that Marty should be tonight's prey. I tell them that I'm not that into Marty and wouldn't want to lead him on. Josh responds, "Then why are we talking about him so much tonight?" And I bluntly reply, "Because he's the only fuckable guy in the room!" It's true, he's hot, he's eligible, but he's also my friend and that complicates things.

One by one, they each throw around words of wisdom: "Tell him you forgot his number and you need it again," "Get up on that ledge and dance like a stripper whore!" "Shake what yo' mama gave ya!" They tell me I need to be aggressive, recounting the story of how they met. *eye roll* I remember it very well, and girls, that sort of behavior is nothing to brag about.


In an attempt to get them off my back, I decide to humor them and put their words into action. The three of us return to the dancefloor when the DJ starts playing "Video Phone." Rocking my hips to and fro, my eyes are drawn to the stage, where I see Marty dancing solo. I walk to the stage's edge and cheer him on for a little bit; he extends his hand to pull me up, but I effortlessly hop up with no help at all. While Beyoncé and Lady GaGa's voices blare over the loud speaker, my body collides with Marty's as we bump and grind, my spidery fingers sensuously crawling up and down his chest to his abs to his thighs. Song ends. I re-join Paul and Josh for a bit, making sure they don't abandon me this time.

The lights start to flicker as the DJ says, "LAST CALL." Shit. If I'm going to do this, then I'd better do it NOW. When the final set begins, everything goes into Slow Motion. Taking my cue from Justin in that iconic scene from Queer As Folk, I remove the vest, sling it over Paul's shoulder, and saunter over to the stage. I wait 'til Marty and I are next to each other before I strip off my shirt and show him the goods. He approves, he applauds.


After some perfectly innocent corn-holing on Stage Right, we get into some hot & heavy maneuvers, as members of the crowd cheer us on. It's fun to watch his eyes go wide as I slam him against the padded wall and thrust my crotch into his. Our necks nuzzled against one another, we tantalize the masses and give each other a sexy rush. Once the music stops, we share a friendly bearhug, and he lets me know that I've always got a dance partner. =) We part ways and I mentally prepare myself for the car ride home with the Dynamic Duo.

MUSIC REVIEW: Flesh Tone by Kelis

FLESH TONE by Kelis
(Released 2010, A&M Records)

✮✮✮✮✩

Of course, when I first heard the news that Kelis had released an all-Electro album, my instinctual response was, "HUH?!" But despite the odds being heavily stacked against her, she actually pulls it off, almost flawlessly in fact. Over the course of eleven years, Kelis has gone from being the fiery-haired banshee shrieking "I HATE YOU SO MUCH RIGHT NOW" to the bubblegum pop girl with one irresistible "Milkshake" to the boisterously "Bossy" hip hop performer and now, the Neo-Disco Diva. I must applaud her dexterity because like a chameleon, Kelis adapts perfectly to whatever artistic genre she approaches.


Not very often does this happen with me and CDs, but one of my favorite tracks on Flesh Tone is the "Intro," a hypnotic electro romp with a catchy chorus: "You draw me in, Every time I think I'm free you win, Just like a sin, though I know it's wrong, I still give in." The intro melts perfectly into "22nd Century," a hardhitting neo-disco dance track that explicitly sets the futuristic tone for the entire album. The rest of "Flesh Tone" grooves along with that same post-modern vibe (retro yet futuristic). Of the rest of the tracks, my personal favorites are "Brave," "Scream," and the lead single, "Acapella."



Truth be told, it actually took about a week for me to embrace this album. That's because I was listening to individual tracks, out of chronological order... You can't do that with this kind of album. Flesh Tone isn't just an album, it's an Electro dance experience. You start at the Intro and just let it run its course. Thanks to the surprisingly beautiful segues between tracks that are not-too-long but not-too-short, the album has a spectacular flow, to the point where sometimes you won't realize where some tracks begin and others end.

Congratulations, Kelis, not only have you made an excellent dance album, but it comes across as a genuine work of art, not some manufactured product cooked up by record executives to capitalize on the Dance market.

BOOK REVIEW: Imperial Bedrooms by Bret Easton Ellis

IMPERIAL BEDROOMS by Bret Easton Ellis
(Published 2010, 169 pages)

✮✩✩✩✩

It's official: Bret Easton Ellis is one of the most overrated American fiction authors out there. His latest effort, Imperial Bedrooms is a huge disappointment on every level. A sequel to his iconic novel, Less Than Zero, Imperial Bedrooms revisits the original characters, namely Clay, 25 years after the original.

Basically, he spends the first 1/3 of the book criticizing the film adaptation of Less Than Zero (starring Andrew McCarthy, Jami Gertz, RDJ), because it sanitized the scandalous source material for popular consumption. I can buy that--the book was edgy and controversial but the Brat Pack flick was a heavily censored coming-of-age film. After his diatribe against the film adaptation, the author focuses on Clay's debaucherous lifestyle as a screenwriter with a mysterious stalker.


The author assumes that everyone has already read Less Than Zero, as practically none of the characters are given a decent backstory, goals, and motivation (especially Blair). The whole stalker/murder mystery element--which basically takes up the entire book--is laughable and just makes the entire story seem ludicrous.

What I dislike most about Imperial Bedrooms is the use of gratuitous sex scenes and tales of drug usage; I am definitely not a prude, and I must say that these graphic scenes contributed absolutely nothing to the story. It's sad that Ellis had to stoop this low to capture the reader's attention--it's true, I was snoring for the rest of the book. The scenes come out of nowhere with no apparent motivation. For instance, blah blah blah, another TXT from my stalker, blah blah blah Julian's lying about Blair AGAIN blah blah blah I'm fisting two teenage prostitutes in the desert. WTF!

This would all be OK if the author actually offered a world view or some sort of commentary about these behaviors; I was hoping that he would take a moment to ponder WHY all these things (ie. orgies, drug abuse, plastic surgery) are taking place and what does it all say about our society. That would be much more interesting than a bunch of simplistic sentences merely describing the naughty behavior taking place on any given day. And I literally do mean SENTENCES. If he's going to discuss these subjects in a somewhat realistic manner, he might as well go into juicy detail.

It's ironic that a novel that begins as a diatribe against the mainstream Hollywood machine ends with the most ridiculously predictable conclusion possible. The murder mystery (that only really had one OBVIOUS suspect) is solved and there's room left open for a sequel. As always, Ellis' writing is very cinematic and unfortunately, this simplistic screenplay-esque style robs "Imperial Bedrooms" of any depth it potentially had.

If you want to read a complex murder mystery that includes salacious details about the New York and L.A. nightlife, then I recommend Jackie Collins' latest bestseller, Poor Little Bitch Girl. It includes masterful storytelling on her part.

BOOK REVIEW: Billion-Dollar Kiss by Jeffrey Stepakoff

BILLION DOLLAR KISS

THE KISS THAT SAVED DAWSON'S CREEK AND
OTHER ADVENTURES IN TV WRITING
by Jeffrey Stepakoff
(Published 2007, 336 pages)

✮✮✮✮✩

Honestly, I spent the first 2/3 of this book YAWNING, because it reads like more of a Television History textbook than a TV writer's memoir. But I would just attribute that to bad marketing--looking at the cover, my expectations were a little off. The early chapters of the book, while full of facts & figures, deserve thorough reading because they explain important aspects of the Television industry such as industry hierarchies, average salaries, Nielsen ratings, ad revenues, etc.


The last 1/3 of the book was surprisingly breezy and full of fun insider accounts from the set of Dawson's Creek. Finally, the novel began to live up to its title, Billion Dollar Kiss, referring to the game-changing kiss between Pacey & Joey (Josh Jackson & Katie Holmes). That said, I think it takes a lot of guts for someone to claim responsibility for the WORST seasons (aka everything after Season 2) of the laughably bad WB melodrama. The book works because Stepakoff is well aware that he was aboard a rapidly sinking ship, and he admits that the success of the show was due entirely to the WB's whitewashed advertising campaign as opposed to the actual writing.

Up until I reached the first-person tales of working on Dawson's Creek, this book review was stuck at 2 stars, but the extensive accounts of TV industry politics were well worth the price of admission.

BOOK REVIEW: You'll Never Blue Ball In This Town Again by Heather McDonald

YOU'LL NEVER BLUE BALL IN THIS TOWN AGAIN

ONE WOMAN'S PAINFULLY FUNNY* QUEST TO GIVE IT UP
(* FUNNY FOR HER, PAINFUL FOR OTHERS!)
by Heather McDonald
(Published 2010, 256 pages)

✮✮✮✩✩

What an appropriate title for Heather "LongBoobs" McDonald's new book! I sped through several chapters on Heather's past (sexless) relationships, eager to see exactly how she lost her virginity at age 27, and when the moment of truth finally comes, the entire ordeal is described in ONE MEASLY SENTENCE!

As we all know, Heather ultimately got her happy ending with a loving husband and children, but that part of her life is described in give-or-take 15 pages. As the title promises, I literally felt "blue-balled" once I reached the story's end. Although Heather often talks about her dry humping expertise, the book lacks a thorough discussion of sex and what it really meant to finally give up her V-card.


By far, my biggest complaint is that the book rambles on so much that it feels like a stream of consciousness writing. I say that because each chapter starts with one story but somehow will lead to ten different tangential stories from Heather's life. With the interminable amount of spatial and temporal jumps, I could never keep any of the stories or character names straight. Almost every chapter was so convoluted that I never understood the significance of the chapter titles. Very haphazard. By the end of the eighth flashback, I would ask myself, "What the hell were we talking about again?"

In spite of its flaws, You'll Never Blue Ball In This Town Again delivers some funny moments--McDonald is a comedy writer/stand-up comedienne, after all--but it's not nearly as laugh-out-loud funny as Chelsea Handler's memoirs.

Last Friday Night

Original Air Date: 02.20.2010
Theme Song: "Shots" - LMFAO feat. Lil' Jon

I receive a phone call this afternoon. It's Jiselle (my sister) and she's asking me to come downtown tonight to celebrate her 28th birthday. ...ME? I'm as surprised as anyone because my sister and I have never been that close. She and my brother are both five years my senior, they grew up with the same people, and unlike me, both have reputations for being "reckless." In my family, I've always been the squeaky-clean youngest child who everyone left the hell alone. So of course, I realize I'm the last person on her call list... above Mom, maybe. Sensing her desperation, I agree to accompany her.

8 hours later, EXHAUSTED, I'm outside the FedEx building, serving food to the 2nd shift guys. My sister pulls up and honks the horn. I grab my backpack, hop in the car, and we're off. We arrive at the Sheraton and put down our stuff. Jiselle tells me to hurry, so we can take advantage of the Early Bird drink specials. Sadly, Baltimore is pretty dead after 1:30AM, so you've gotta make the most of it. This leaves me with barely enough time to scrub the stench of blue collar work off my skin and change into something that showcases this hot body.

While strutting our stuff downtown, Jiselle is recognized by a massive group of girls. After a brief conversation on the sidewalk, they invite my sister to join their posse, so we stand in line with them outside MIST, a local nightclub. I can't believe there's a bouncer outside the door, like it's effin' Studio 54. Well, it ain't. After waiting in line for a few minutes, he lets ALL the girls into the club, no questions asked, but stops me and simply says, "Can't come in with those shoes." WHAT?!

You've got to be kidding me. I'm always shocked when any club in BALTIMORE excludes potential patrons based on looks. In Los Angeles, people get rejected once and return even more determined the next night, because there's a chance they might rub elbows with some record execs or dryhump an Olsen twin. But around here, none of that's gonna happen--there's no A-LIST BALTIMORE! So until you mop up the pool of piss outside your club's entrance, y'all need to lighten the fuck up.

It's only been a half-hour and I'm already homesick for Mount Vernon, also known as the gay ghetto. Where it's No Shirt, No Shoes, and I still get service. ;-) And frankly, I feel bad that Jiselle's stuck with me for the night and just had to say Goodbye to her pals. I'm raining on her parade and I seriously need to make up for it FAST! So, we just walk down the block to the Powerplant Live club complex and hit Mosaic, the Top 40/Techno dance club... aka the closest thing to a gay bar in this neck of the woods.

 

We make a beeline for some empty barstools and just let the men come to us. I immediately chug two vodka tonics (my sane limit) so I'll loosen up and feel comfortable dancing around my sister. Within minutes, some dorky guy in a fratboy blazer buys us both a round of shots. After taking one, I tell Jiselle that I should stop so I stay clear-headed. Her response: PUSSY! So I do what any man would do: toss back three more. Worst. Idea. Ever.

After our third round, Jiselle hops off the bar stool, turns to me and says, "DON'T LOSE ME." WHAAAT?! I've never had this responsibilty before. So, as my sister grinds with this sleazeball, I'm about 5 feet away dancing with some hot Asians, keeping her in the corner of my eye. She tells me she's going to the bathroom, so I walk with her and wait outside the door. 20 minutes later, I start getting worried so I knock on the door, "Jiselle?" No response. I walk inside and call out, "Sis?" Some random girl walks out of the stall and glares at me like I'm a psychopath.

OK, she isn't in here. I walk out and guess who I see dead-center on the dancefloor... frickin' HOUDINI! I breathe a sigh of relief that she's safe and I join her. She must've walked right past me and I didn't even notice. That's when it hits me: I'M FUCKED UP!

* BLINK *

I'm lying on my back atop a mattress. I'm soaking wet from head-to-toe. My pants and shoes are still on. My contact lenses are hanging off my eyeballs. Breathing heavily, my mind reels with all the possibilities of what's happened: Oh my God, that bastard slipped me a Roofie and dragged me down to his basement dungeon. Instinctively, I check for rape. Jiselle walks by with a suitcase and I'm at ease. "You're up? Good. Luckily, you got all the alcohol out of your system last night." OMG, I'm so sorry I ruined your birthday. "Nah, it's OK. Usually, I'm the drunk one; it was good to learn how to take care of someone else for a change." ...Great.

We spend the rest of the morning in awkward silence. As a writer, I'm naturally curious because it would make an epic story... but a bigger part of me REALLY can't handle the truth. Right after Jiselle comments, "That guy was nice enough to carry you up here," I'm done prying. I'm clueless about the events of last night and you know what? I'd like to keep it that way.  

Note to self: 

Add 'MOSAIC' to the list of clubs where JiMBO is no longer welcome.

Heavy Lies The Crown (9.09) (Previously UnAired)

Date of Production: 03.21.2008
Theme Song: "Killer Queen" - Queen

Well, boys and girls, it's that time of year again. That's right, it's mid-March and ALLiES' 4th Annual Gender Bender Dance is almost upon us. Given my long track record of fabulous poster designs, Jai personally asks me to make one for the GBD, even though she's already passed the reigns onto V.P. DeLue. Inspired by pictures taken in past years, I find myself staring at the finished product after less than two hours of work. The poster has a gradient Easter Egg color scheme and features some standout images from Gender Bender History: DJ Christina, French Tutor Mark, Adorable Anne Marie, and Dominatrix Janine. Both Jai and DeLue are pleased, much to my delight.

Like a good boy scout, I've been prepared for this night for over a month. As I have with previous years, all my costume pieces, wigs, props, etc. have been shipped from my one-stop sleazy role-playing shop, ABC. Unfortunately, as always, the unexpected happens: Emily, my favorite make-up artist, will be staying with her boyfriend at Penn State all weekend. Even though I notified her months in advance, I totally understand and there are no hard feelings because what's the Cardinal Rule of our relationship? Oh, I remember: "God help the sister that comes between me and my mister!"


It's the big night and I find myself in bedroom, frantically trying to squeeze into a pair of fishnet stockings. Meanwhile, Travis and I are commenting on ESPN's National Collegiate Wrestling Tournament, swapping war stories, scoping out the gladiatorial hotties, but mostly, watching in bewilderment as ASU's Anthony Robles, aka "The One-Legged Wonder," takes the floor. Although he's extremely impressive, whenever I see him hop onto the mat, I feel like I'm watching that politically incorrect classic, Freaks. Once I've gotten my fill of collegiate competition, I don my dahlia black wig and fedora, and make that ceremonious walk to the Attic... in heels.


Enveloped by the pale moonlight, I clip-clop my way across campus, just shaking my ass, flipping my hair, making those other girls WISH they could look this good. It's the best feeling in the world: with a minimal amount of effort, I can raise awareness about the politics of gender and sexuality in our society, just by dressing like a slut. I LOVE IT!


Cautiously, I ascend the metal staircase, praying that this won't be the year when I suddenly slip, fall, and go tumbling back down. Pushing my way past the front door, I make my grand entrance, and watch the judges' jaws drop. Janine has arrived, BIT-CHES! :D After saying "Hey Girl" to my fellow ALLiES, I make my way to the dance floor. And who's the first person to approach me? Adam, my favorite Eagle Scout! It always impresses me that not only is he willing to openly support the cause but he also has the balls to dress up (granted, not TOO well) every year. MUCH RESPECT.


Unlike previous years, most of my time is spent in the lobby, as opposed to the dance floor. This is mostly because I'm compiling footage for my student film, a documentary about Gettysburg College's GLBTQ population. After downing a few cups of orange soda (laced with vodka), Jai hijacks my camera and drunkenly makes out with a wasted Claire on the Judges' Table for a few minutes.


After witnessing that drunken display of affection, I strut my way over to the dance floor, and what do I find? My roommate full-on JACK-HAMMERING his on-again off-again boyfriend, Bryan. Sparks and woodchips are flying everywhere! Luckily, I'm wearing my sunglasses so no metal shrapnel hits me in the eye. *cringe* That'll be a fun pair to come home to tonight.

WINNERS ARE ANNOUNCED

BEST OVERALL:
Sheng Chen

BEST GIRL TO GUY:
Katelin Harvie

BEST GUY TO GIRL:
Will Green

FUNNIEST
James Burkhalter

Honestly, I didn't exactly aim for Funniest, but Hey, I'LL TAKE IT. It really is true what they say... It's good to be the Queen. =)

Over The Hill (9.08) (Previously UnAired)

Date of Production: 01.18.2009
Theme Song: "Don't Trust Me" - 3Oh!3

At the BSU's Annual Halloween Dance last year, I find myself talking to Mark for the first time since September. On the dance floor, he tells me, "I'm SO excited for your annual Halloween party!" Umm, with all the shit I'm currently going through, I am in NO mood to celebrate.

A lot of people don't realize how much thought, time, effort, and money goes into throwing a spectacular shindig. Upon hearing that I'm too busy with classes to throw what would be my TENTH annual party, Mark offers to pay for half of everything. Sorry, darling, but after your obnoxious drunken antics last month at ALLiES House, you are considered persona non grata with all but one of my housemates.

Three months later, things change: it's a new year, a fresh start, with THREE new housemates (DeLue, Megan, Adaeze) and I'm finally in the mood to party! My birthday falls on the day before classes start, so all my friends will be on-campus. Since I'm back home with all my old design software, labels, and printer, I decide to make dozens of party favors (customized mix CDs) in preparation for a hoppin' house party. After all, I spent my 21st birthday all alone, so this will make up for it.


I return to campus a few days prior and decide to rent a projector from the library. Upon arrival at Musselman Basement, who do I see? ...KYLE. *RAGE levels RISING* Recognizing him immediately from behind, I jab him in the shoulder with my finger, spin him around, and ask, "Why aren't you in Egypt?" Kyle quickly tells me he'll be gone after the weekend as he scampers off. Fine by me.

Had I known he was in town, I would've sent him an invitation out of courtesy, but since he didn't even have the decency to inform me that he would be in Gettysburg for the week, not only is he NOT invited, if he shows his face that night, I will tell him to "Fuck Off," no matter what my so-called friends think. Nothing more need be said but "Ding Dong, the Witch is dead." GOOD RIDDANCE.

Once my To-Do List is 75% complete, the day of the party has finally arrived. As with every party I throw, I'm responsible for providing my guests with good food and drinks. But after walking 3 miles to the grocery store and back, I am uncharacteristically EXHAUSTED. Probably 'cause I'm used to doing all this in October as opposed to January.

Fortunately, my distress does not go unnoticed as Chasse takes pity on me and offers to drive me around town to run the rest of my errands. SWEET! I climb into his jeep and we're off to the Beer Mart for 2 party crates of Smirnoff Ice, then La Bella Italia for their delicious pizza. On foot, that would've taken me about two hours; by jeep, it's about ten minutes. For his generosity, I am indebted to Mr. Rehwinkel.


Back at the Manor, Alex helps me set up the TV, PS3, and projector so my guests can mingle, watch music videos and play Rock Band in the Common Room, while I run around the rest of the house like a chicken with my head cut off. It's funny, one of the first videos I show them is Lady GaGa's "Poker Face" which literally JUST came out, so nobody there knows who this crazy bitch is. As with everything else in life, the Gays are always ahead of the curve.


Across the hall, my bedroom is decked out in black lights, so everything glows in the dark. This overflow party room is equipped with Dance Dance Revolution mats and a wide assortment of interactive dance games. After floating back and forth between venues, making sure all my guests are comfortable and having fun, I find a surprise waiting for me in the Common Room. Gwen and Becky are back from studying overseas, so GWATECKY is reunited, and they come together to sing me a special Wench song (which I believe they learned while working at the Renaissance Faire).


Per usual at ALLiES House, a Rock Band jam session and DDR Dance-Off dominate the first portion of the party. That's right, Jai's got the microphone and girlfriend is not lettin' go! It's funny watching GWATECKY back together again, as the three of them perform DDR moves in perfect synchronicity. They also bring their friends, "Jesus" and "Moses" (ironic, right?), and tonight I just say, "The more, the merrier!" That's one of the advantages of having a house party: multiple rooms to entertain guests AND friends of guests.


But we can't just play video games ALL NIGHT... that would be lame. So, since it's my birthday and all, I decide to screen one of my all-time favorite movies, JAWBREAKER. Drawing inspiration from cult classics like Heathers and Carrie, I credit this film for my own twisted sense of humor. It stars my favorite actress, Rose McGowan, the poster girl for sass, sensuality, and overall badassery. Needless to say, I can't get enough of this movie and I know all the dialogue by heart.

For the first time all night, I finally get to sit down and stop worrying about my guests--whether they're having a good time and getting along with one another. Chillaxing on the couch, I find myself next to Chasse. Angie arrives, I scooch over to make room for her, and my knee bumps into his. Squished against one another, my shoulder buried in his chest, I feel him, little by little, edging his way closer to me. I don't mind.


An icy yet pleasant chill shoots up my spine, and across my forehead, I feel beads of sweat forming. After a minute of weighing the Pros and Cons, I just throw my hands up and say to myself, "Why the fuck not? Nice guys should be rewarded." As the movie reaches its 3rd Act, my fingers inconspicuously make their way over to his. Under the cover of darkness, I slowly run my thumb along his sweaty palm. I can feel his heart RACING.

After the end credits roll, I recruit only Chasse to help me clean up the carnage. Once the room is near spotless, just Travis, Luke, and Adaeze are left, prepared to play Rock Band into the wee hours of the night. In my best attempt to be slick in front of my remaining party guests, I turn to Chasse, trashbag in hand, and ask, "So, you feel like hanging out for a bit?" He quickly responds, "Absolutely." We wave Goodbye to the gang and frantically ascend the stairwell.

It's pitch black. The hardwood door slams behind me and a hand appears on my shoulder. I grasp it and guide it down to my belly button.
A thick brush of facial hair sweeps across the back of my neck
as a voice whispers softly into my ear,
"Happy Birthday..."