The Former Traveling Spotlight

The tales of a "30" something gay former stand-up comic living in NYC who is searching for his soul mate or soul...which ever comes first.

Tuesday, January 30, 2007

Explaining Why He Won't Call

Recently, my friend received a breakup email from his boyfriend crushing my hiss love hopes...or at least his chance at getting a really nice Valentines Day present. The fact that it was done over email pissed off my friend the most.

Breakups are a bitch to go through, yet we are all doomed to go through them. It's the plight of being single. Eventually...you're going to get dumped...dumped like the trash on the curb. But at the age of 36...it still hurts. Mainly because it's never done right.

A few months ago, someone I knew said "We should go to a movie. I'm helping a friend move on Saturday morning, but I'll give you a call afterwards." By Saturday evening, it was obvious that he wasn't going to call, and I now had my previously scheduled evening free.

Was I pissed off? Hell yes...I could have made other plans! Instead...I wondered to myself, "Why won't he call?" Which happens to be a plight of a lot of women out there, because one of my top search phrases is "why won't he call?" For those women who want to know the answer? He's not interested, but he tried to spare your feelings and said "I'll call you."

But there should be rules to follow after we leave our teen years! We're in our 30's for God's sake! What's wrong with just saying "I'm sorry...but I just don't see this going anywhere and think we shouldn't see each other anymore"? Rejection is part of the process, and telling someone you'll call them (when you won't) or sending them a breakup email is just bad form. By adulthood...we've all had our hearts broken...so be an adult and just cut the losses.

And that's my mantra...until I found myself in a situation dating someone I found I just didn't like. I'll call him "Canyon" (because of certain wide open spaces). He's a nice guy...who really liked me...a lot. I grew distant and thought he would take the hint, but he still called. He left messages, and I never returned them.

I look back and wonder why I didn't just say..."I'm sorry...but I just don't see this going anywhere and think we shouldn't see each other anymore"? Because I didn't want to feel like the ass that hurt his feelings. Instead I just blew him off, where he eventually got the hint.

I should learn my own rules better. Or perhaps it's true that men never really do grow up?

Patrick - 1:27 PM -

Friday, January 26, 2007

Benefits of Friends

As babies, we get (hopefully) all our needs met by our parents. Food, clothing, love, and nurturing are provided by a genetic contract that says "You got knocked up...so you get to deal with me for the next 18 years!"

But as adults, we suddenly are thrown into a world where we are the sole providers of our own needs. If you want to eat, you've got to work and earn money for food. If you want love, you've got to date and love in return. And of course...sex. It's a need and for some people (not mentioning names as I look in the mirror) it's a priority. So on the 69th day, God created the Fuck Buddy Relationship...and it was good. (I can hear the conservatives ready to slam me for that statement.)

Or is it? Do Fuck Buddy relationships, or the lesser term "Friends with Benefits" really work? Or does it eventually always lead to the downfall with one of the participants, as feelings eventually get involved?

Discussing this with my friend, he put an interesting spin on it. "FB relationships can work if both partners involved are getting emotional support elsewhere. Then it truly becomes strictly a physical gratification. Otherwise...there is a risk of getting hurt. There are rules, but what are they?

If two single people are having this kind of arrangement, do they have dinner or drinks beforehand? Or does it move into the "dating" realm. Can fuck buddies stay that way, or will it eventually move into some type of additional relationship? Is it destined to fail?

Which maybe brings up the bigger question. Is sex casual at all?

Patrick - 1:39 PM -

Wednesday, January 24, 2007

Yesterday?

Yesterday night can be defined by three words.

My Hand Hurts

Anyone got some ice I can hold?

Patrick - 10:55 AM -

Tuesday, January 23, 2007

Taking Requests.

There comes a time in every single gay man's life that you have to face facts. You're going to come across someone who will throw you off guard by asking for something...different. At least different than what you are used to.

I'm not referring to different as in "I want to know your name before we have sex" or "not on the first date" different (if that even exists in the gay world), but rather something more on the kink side. When is the timing right, and how long do you have to know someone before making that request? Additionally...where the hell do these fetish requests come from?

Example: I have a friend who was sexually active with someone, and was enjoying the experience until the guy asked my friend to spit in his mouth. Not just spit, but he wanted my friend to snort up a lugi and let it fly into the mouth of the other guy. Yeah...I just threw up a little in my mouth too. My friend still gags when thinking about this story.

What went on in this guy's childhood that cause him to be turned on by "lugi play"? Absent father? Promiscius mother? Oh wait...that's my life and I'm not into that.

Recently I received a request to spank someone, and I'm not sure even how to go about it. Mainly, I'm just not into it. It doesn't repulse me...but on my level of fun things to do during sex, spanking a guys ass until it's red is not a priority of mine. However it is something he really would like done. Uhhh-huh. "Can't we just hug?"

I think part of this moves into that realm of roleplaying. It's a fine line between fantasy and ridiculousness, which can easily be crossed when taken too far. I just can't see dressing up like Goldilocks to have sex with one of the three "bears".

So how would YOU punish a bad boy?

Patrick - 1:30 PM -

Monday, January 22, 2007

Payback...A Real Bitch

Ever see those science fiction shows where the superhero gets a bus thrown at him? Well yesterday I was hit by a bus. At least I feel like I was, as my body has the soreness you can only feel after being jarred and thrown like a superhero in an apocalyptic battle. But I didn't get these bruises and injuries from a bus, but rather from a piece of wood. One long piece of wood strapped to my legs. I went snowboarding.

See that smile on my face? It didn't last all day. In fact, it didn't come back until we finished and turned in the rental equipment.

The day started with my clock going off at 4:15 am. Yes...AM...as in "Any Man getting up this early is a fool!" I showered and dressed and hailed a taxi to take me to Penn Station, where the group bus would pick us up. 30 bleary eyed queens and one lesbian (who lamented her odds of getting laid that day) waited patiently for the bus' arrival to take us on a ski or snowboard adventure for the day. Upon arrival, we all boarded with "beginners in the back, intermediates in the middle, and experts in the front." Thus, I was forced to sit in the back of the bus. I was being humbled and I hadn't even got to the slopes yet! Where's Rosa Parks when I needed her?

I've been skiing since I was 11 years old. By the time I was 20, I was teaching it. It was a way to pay college bills, and still participate in the sport I loved. Each Saturday, I would get a class of beginners. Kids were the most fun, and the easiest to teach. The hardest thing was keeping them focused with their short attention spans. Everything had to be a game, like who will turn the most down this run? or lets make pizza pies down the hill! Adults were a bit more difficult. They are afraid of getting hurt, or worse...embarrassed. I would walk up to an adult group and immediately would get the looks of despair from the 40 year olds. You could read in their eyes the despair of realizing that I was 1/2 their age.

Yesterday, my snowboarding instructor was only 16. I wanted to ask him if he knew how to drive yet. For two hours, he took three of us through the basics of how to turn right and left, how to strap the damn thing to our legs, and how to survive our first few runs.

I'm a skier, and a fairly good one at that. I'm rusty, but their is rarely any terrain I wouldn't consider attempting. "Bunny hills" are for those that aren't confident. I like the steeps, and moguls. Somehow, on a snowboard, the bunny hill was transformed into the "cliff of death!" People in front us would start their run and disappear...with only their screams remaining. I considered taking off the board and walking down to the rental office to switch to skis.

Our instructor had other ideas, and told the three of us to strap our other leg onto the board. I did, and fell down on my ass. Pain traveled up from the tailbone all the way to my molar teeth (a very common theme for the day). I sat there stunned and attempted to get back up. Rolling back up onto my feet, I fell forward onto my face (another common theme of the day). My third attempt of getting to a standing position finally got me up ready to go...only to travel 5 feet before falling on my ass...yet again.

As we approached the bottom of the hill, our instructor said "Dude, you totally shredded that last J-turn! Excellent!". I was ashamed to admit I was trying to go straight at the time, and just took the compliment. At that point, the three queens were set off on their own to conquer the bunny slopes! That...or get conquered.

I honestly thought I was the worst of the three of us, until one of my fellow newbies lost control during the middle of the run. Straight down the hill his snowboard went, continuously picking up speed, as he kept trying to turn. Unfortunately skiers turn by leaning left or right...not forwards or backwards. He kept leaning left (which was downhill) and just kept increasing speed.

Now in an ideal world, he would have finally given up and just fallen forward, but this poor man had fallen so many times that merely sitting down caused enough pain to question the validity of this sport. Instead he squat near the ground and attempted to use his hands to slow his descent. This was his biggest mistake. By looking at his hands, he didn't notice that he was traveling at a significant pace in a direct course for the lift line. He looked downhill with 20 yards to go before screaming a warning at those in front of him. Two people dove out of his way as he went through the lift line, over a small embankment and into the parking lot before coming to a complete stop. He gave a whole new meaning to the phrase, "Screaming Queen".

Realizing that his life had been threatened...he took off the board and walked into the lodge, where he began drinking. Two of us remained, but within an hour we had all retired our snowboarding equipment. We all plan on going back to the mountain again...but all three of us think the next time it will be as God intended...with a piece of wood strapped to each foot.

That being said...I'm not quitting yet...just letting the hairline tailbone fractures heal.

Patrick - 1:27 PM -

Friday, January 19, 2007

Letting the Chips Fall

Money. It changes everything.

Or at least I think it does. I've never really had any, and seriously believe I'm never going to have it. I'll be that greeter in his 70's working at Wal-Mart to earn enough money to buy cat food for dinner. It's a fate I've accepted.

But what I'm finding interesting is the form of money. Cash is always king, but when you put cash in someone's hand, they are less likely to spend it. Don't believe me? Ask yourself, why do casinos use chips? Because chips psychologically don't feel or look like money, and we're more likely to keep playing with it.

Those chips aren't much different than credit cards, where people way overspend their budgets in "easy monthly payment terms". When I worked in financial aid, we used to have a seminar on the $600 pizza. Basically a college student purchases two large pizzas on his credit card and pays them off using the minimum balance. When all the interest is added up, he paid a little over $600 for the pizzas, paying them off in two years. Students never paid attention to that seminar, and later they would be in my office with significant credit card debt (the max I saw was $50 thousand...where the student had to declare bankruptcy).

At the same time, our culture is plastic driven. And the credit cards relish in the interest as they promote "tap and go" technology (because paying in cash is such a lengthy procedure. Come on...you've seen the commercial where the assembly line cafe is shut down over the slow cash transaction. Americans can't live without their credit cards.

But debit cards are a whole new breed of evil. If you don't watch carefully how much you spend, you can easily overextend yourself, sometimes to the point where you don't have enough for rent, mortgages or bills. What the hell happens then? What do you go without? Or do you just go onto Craigslist and say your hosting a "generous" man? (which happens way too often). Education is definitely part of it, as most people don't know how to budget.

I don't think that switching to a Cash society is necessary, but perhaps having the remaining accoung balance put onto a receipt would be a smart way of informing customers that they are overspending, and requiring students take budgeting classes in high school as a way of maintaining fiscal responsibility. The future children need to learn to balance their budgets...just like the government!

Patrick - 11:59 AM -

Wednesday, January 17, 2007

Is Bigger Better?

During business school, I was assigned to a group to create a global marketing plan for Owens Corning Corporation (yeah...the pink insulation company). We presented our plan 4 months later to the Board of Directors, and chose a woman to do the presentation. She was currently the director of Human Resources for a public utility company, and one of our more confident speakers.

She stepped up in front of the chairmen, the CEO, the CFO, and all the other male dominated corporate officers and smiled calmly while assessing them all. Most of the executives weren't even looking at her, and we could tell this was a difficult sell to a group of people that didn't care what we had to say. She started out her speech by saying one thing:

"Gentlemen...I'm here to dispel a myth for you. Size really does matter." She had the attention of every man in the audience. Most of us in the group were picking up our jaws off of the floor. She was talking about size of business...but her words have stuck with me.

******

Last Saturday, a friend and I met at Splash bar for a night out (read: drinking and dancing until 6:00 am). Several of the hired dancers who are generously endowed started swinging our conversation to what was at times nearly flopping into our hands (my attitude is if you put it in my hands...I own it). I don't remember who brought it up, but we started discussing size preferences.

Other people who were listening to our conversation (and I'm a little surprised how many see that the music was loud) started to join in. Yes, we all know of size queens who aren't happy unless they are getting split in 1/2 with something that dwarfs a small dog, but for the rest of us out there...what constitutes the right fit?

Every married woman knows that the correct answer is "exactly the size of my husband", regardless if this is the case or not. Preserving the sanctity of marriage is important. But for those of us who are single, and who've had what could be described as a "baker's dozen" of partners (or in the case of some of you...a dozen baker's dozen), what's the answer?

For the few of us that were discussing, we all could describe in detail the most endowed men, but were they the best, or really just so freakishly large that we couldn't get over the shadow it cast in morning sun? Yet none of us wanted to say that size mattered. So did it?

Sort of. Those who were blessed with either a king kong or a wine cork are memorable...but the one's that fell between...well...do you remember every restaurant you've eaten at? Does that mean you didn't like eating there?

Thus the age old question still remains? Does size really matter?

Patrick - 1:02 PM -

Tuesday, January 16, 2007

Decisions

I've lived in my apartment now for over a year, and I still have yet to furnish it. Furniture isn't cheap! However, after my surgery, I just couldn't stand it anymore, and decided to splurge on a sofa. A charcoal gray microsuede 87" sofa.

My very own sofa, which at the prime age of 36, would be the first adult piece of furniture I would ever had owned. I'm moving up in the world! I waited patiently as the sofa went through two delays in the ordering process and delivery, and was excited for this past Friday, which was delivery day! I planned on sleeping on my sofa all day Saturday, pausing only to get up for bathroom breaks. Unfortunately, I blew my load too soon...because the sofa didn't fit in the door of the apartment. The delivery men took it back to the store, and I've got a few options now.

Option 1:
Same sofa, but in a slightly shorter model of 73" or 60". Since the fabric is special order, it would be ready in about 15 weeks.

Option 2:
Shorter model of the sofa, but in the "in stock" color, which means I'd have my sofa within 7 to 10 days.

Option 3: Say fuck it and look for two chairs.

What would you do?

Patrick - 11:49 AM -

Friday, January 12, 2007

Transformations

When your single, it seems like your only personal goal is remedying that status as soon as possible. Yes...being single sucks. You have a choice, sit at home watching episodes of Law and Order, or get out as often as possible, attempting to meet as many people as you can, and hope that eventually you'll meet someone that you'll be able to tolerate long term. It's a jungle out there and we single people are in the weeds.

Meeting new people is a miserable situation that requires several things: Gumption, confidence, an activity besides drinking yourself stupid, and the necessity to look your best at all times. We singles will starve ourselves and exercise like crazy to maintain our looks. "Men don't make passes at men with fat asses."

Thus yesterday, in my never ending quest to meet a husband, my cohort in crime convinced me to take an aerobics class with him. It was my chance to simultaneously do two activities at once. Meet men and exercise.

Now I've taken aerobics before, including some seriously difficult classes, but this class was different. This wasn't a step class, or a high impact, or a body sculpting. This was Power Dance. Yes dance.

Power Dance
Jazz-style dance moves are choreographed into low- and mixed-impact routines.

I've had musical theater auditions that were easier to do than remembering the dance number taught in this class. Mainly, because the majority of the class had done this routine many times before.

Yet I struggled through every "kick ball change", and "ron-de-jon", while always keeping an eye on the ever growing number of spectators watching the class from outside the room. The onlookers who stared, and sometimes even pointed. At first I wondered why...until I looked at myself in the mirror. I expected to see the confident man loving man I've become but instead, I viewed a horrible site.

Staring back at me was middle aged straight man forcing himself to dance at his wedding. I took ballet and jazz dance for God's sake...where did it all go? Probably with my dignity when I walked into that room in the first place.

When is the next fitness challenge course? That's something I can get into.

Patrick - 3:10 PM -

Wednesday, January 10, 2007

Coffee Addiction

My cell phone is a Treo, which makes text messaging very easy, as it has a great keyboard and all of my contacts are in the phone. Recently, I was supposed to be meeting "Scott" after work for...well it doesn't matter what reason we were meeting, but as our meeting time approached, I brought Scott up in my contacts list and texted him a message.

Me: We still on for tonight?

Scott: Can we meet tomorrow? I'm exhausted.

Me: Exhausted? And we haven't even started yet! Not a problem, I'll see you at my place tomorrow.

Scott: I suppose we could do a quickie, but I might not be that fun.

Me: LOL...I can wait if you need your rest.

Scott: Ok. Thanks Sexy.

Me: Sleep well...you'll need your energy tomorrow.

Scott: Are you going to work me over and make me submit?

Ok, I should explain that yes, I used to work as a phone sex operator, and I've learned to take cues of of others. If my sexual partner starts groaning when I tickle his right elbow...I'm going to tickle that elbow until he screams. If a partner starts a conversation like the one about to happen...I'm going to deliver.

Oh...and if you're my boss or my mother...don't read this. I don't want to have to look you in the eye.

Me: When I see you tomorrow, you have two seconds to take your coat off and drop to your knees, or I'll make you drop to your knees. Your job is to service me...understand?

Scott: Oh yeah...tell me more!

Me: (getting into it) I'm going to make you choke on my dick as I fuck your face hard and only if you get me hot enough, will I let you touch yourself.

Scott: My mouth is yours for the taking.

Me: (considering one handed texting) Then I'm going to flip you onto your back and return the favor, edging you, but not letting you cum...unless you beg.

Scott: Mmmmm...maybe slap my ass a bit?

Me: You, on your hands and knees, with me behind you. I'm going to start slow, teasing you with just the head, the way you like it. Then, when you can't take it anymore, I'll pound you while you muffle your screams into the pillow. And when you cum, you'll cum so hard, you'll cover your own face.

My phone rang, as I knew it would. I know what Scott likes. Hell, I was enjoying this, so I know he was. I answered, in my sexiest grating voice.

Me: Hello?

Scott: Hey Patrick, it's Scott.

Me: Hey sexy.

Scott: My wife and I love the messages.

In my contacts list, I have 5 "Scott's". The Scott I had been texting was the guy we order our coffee from for the office. Aparently he and his wife have really dirty minds.

Guess who's getting a lifetime coffee contract?

Patrick - 12:20 PM -

Tuesday, January 09, 2007

Menopause...A Real Change

I call my grandmother once a month out of guilt. The conversation is nearly always the same with her.

Me: Hey, you sound out of breath. Is everything ok?
Granny: Oh hello. I just got home from church.

It doesn't matter what day I call. She goes daily. Kind of like checking in with the receptionist in God's waiting room.

Me: So how are you?
Granny: Alright.
Me: (beginning to feel like I'm pulling teeth) What have you been up to?
Granny: Oh...nothing much. I don't go out that often. When are you coming home?
Me: I am home.
Granny: No...you know what I mean. The Mark Lyndon came to visit his grandmother down the hall last weekend.
Me: Mark Lyndon lives a 5 minute drive away.
Granny: Well at least he takes the time to see his family. You two were always such close friends. (pausing to actually whisper this question) Do you think he is gay?
Me: (Thinking of a particular incident) Uhh...I'm not sure. Why? Does he ask about me?
Granny: No! He goes to church on Sundays!

Now this exchange can go on like this for a while, but inevitably, she'll change the topic to something worse.

Granny: I hate this new phone.
Me: Why?
Granny: I just do!
Me: (Knowing full well I'm antagonizing her) Ok...what exactly don't you like about the phone?
Granny: Well for one, it's too small.
Me: Yes...size does matter.
Granny: (not even getting the joke) And it has buttons.

Since my grandmother has gone through "the change", she's become the most change resistant person I've ever met in my life. She doesn't like the idea of a new VCR, still owns a record player (not that they make any more records), and obviously will never own a cell phone. I once tried to explain that televisions are going to switch over to high definition in a few years, but she's having none of it. She was upset that televisions no longer come in wooden cabinets. The only way she's going to replace her television is when Jesus starts broadcasting in HD. And yes...she loves her old phone.

She refuses to get a touch tone line. Up until this year, she had a rotary phone, but the dialing mechanism finally broke, and she had to get a new phone. They don't even make rotary phones any more, but some phones still have pulse dialing features. Exactly what is a feature of Pulse Dialing? That being said...she lives in a security building that requires she input the open door code (which is in touch tone) through her phone to let anyone in. She has to manually switch the phone to let in a visitor.

I pointed this out to her as a way of convincing her that it may be time to update the telephone line.

"No...you're the only visitor I get anyway...and you never come to visit."

And the guilt conversation begins. A conversation better left unwritten.

Patrick - 1:07 PM -

Monday, January 08, 2007

Learning How to Do It

Birds do it, bees do it
Even educated fleas do it
Let's do it, let's fall in love

The other day, I saw a bug in my apartment and I don't deal well with that. Therefore I did what any neurotic homosexual would do. I pulled a tactical nuke and sprayed five cans of Raid (did I mention that I'm neurotic) to kill the one insect and any of its potential friends that might be hiding. In every corner, under every object, behind the stove and anywhere else I could think of, I sprayed the noxious poisonous gas, until the scent of Eau De Bug Spray invaded every breath I took. I was about to open the sixth can when my eyes and skin started burning and itching. It was time to leave the house for a while, which is how I ended up at Barnes and Noble booksellers.

In Spain, the best upper sets do it
Lithuanians and Letts do it
Let's do it, let's fall in love

Perusing the aisles, not looking for anything in particular, I found myself in the self help/relationships section of the store. Now I don't understand this, but nearly all these books are written for women. "How to understand men", "How to get a man to commit", "How to find Mr. Right", "Why won't he call?" were the majority of the topics. For those of you who didn't know it...relationships with men are very difficult to figure out. Lesbians have got it easy...they just move it together.

The Dutch in old Amsterdam do it
Not to mention the Fins
Folks in Siam do it - think of Siamese twins

I picked up one of the books and read something I found a little interesting. All of our current relationships are based on what we we got in relationships with our parents. "Ask any adult child of an alcoholic and they'll agree, they can find the one alcoholic in a crowded room, and almost always be attracted to them." An interesting concept, and maybe it hit home a little bit, as I spent the evening in the cafe thinking about the relationships I had with the adults in my life.

Some Argentines, without means, do it
People say in Boston even beans do it
Let's do it, let's fall in love

Looking at the primary adults in my life, it would have been my Mother, my Grandmother, and my Father. Now I'm the first to admit my mother is one fucked up woman. Seriously...she's had hair color that she's kept longer than husbands (last I heard she's a blond). Hmm...

Romantic sponges, they say, do it
Oysters down in oyster bay do it
Let's do it, let's fall in love

My grandmother should be Jewish martyr, as she can lay on the guilt like the best of them. "I'm going to go without cable and send you some money so you can come visit me, as it's the only way I ever see you." She's not happy unless she

or I'm

suffering as much as possible. If I didn't know better, I'd think she was Christ on the cross (thus why she has pictures of Christ everywhere).

Cold Cape Cod clams, 'gainst their wish, do it
Even lazy jellyfish, do it
Let's do it, let's fall in love

The relationship with my father is obviously the worst. He's been dead for 17 years and I still find myself angry at him. Yes, he was abusive, but even more was a figure that just ignored me (as long as I never made a sound in his presence). The TV was always more important. According to this book, I would then be drawn to men who put me second to everything else. That...well that hit home a bit.

Electric eels I might add do it
Though it shocks em I know
Why ask if shad do it - Waiter bring me
"shad roe"

So according to this book, my relationships involve men that will ignore me for everything else in their lives, and I'm not going to mind, because I'm only happy when I'm suffering. Sadly though, I'll never commit to any of these men, as I can't stick around long enough. It sounds crazy...but just like getting caught between the moon and New York City...it's kind of true. If all the relationships you've witnessed in your life are fairly dysfunctional, you've got a lot of work to do.

In shallow shoals English soles do it
Goldfish in the privacy of bowls do it
Let's do it, let's fall in love

I don't know if this is why I'm single, but it does make me wonder...how exactly do you learn how to love and be loved?

Patrick - 1:42 PM -

Friday, January 05, 2007

Getting a Big One

Yesterday, I spent my evening surviving an avalanche. No, I'm not traveling in the mountains, and with record temperatures of 60 in the city, I wouldn't worry about snow here for a while, and no...I'm not involved in some crazy cocaine incident. Rather, I had joined the gay ski club and attended their first "mixer" of the season, called an "Avalanche". Think 200 queer and queer friendly people all drinking and wearing name tags.

How many people like playing slot machines? I'm not a big fan, because in order to hit big, everything has to be perfectly on the same line (like a group of 5 shamrocks). Almost exactly like the dating world. Thus when the 7pm bell rang and the name tags were put on, I started pulling on the handle!

*****

Contestant Number 1

A dark haired gentleman with brown eyes. About 5'9", he had a booming voice that made it easy to hear him in the crowded bar. Here was his score.
He laughed at my jokes. Cherry!
He's single. Cherry!,
has been employed in the city for 5 years Cherry!,
and just rented an apartment in Hoboken NJ.
Whammy!

He got my number, but that was moot. I don't even know how to get to Hoboken, let alone want to ride a path train over there. Don't I need a passport for Jersey?

*****

Contestant Number 2
5'7", blond hair, in his 30's.
Speaks 9 languages. Cherry!
Recently (six months ago) became unemployed.
Whammy!

*****

Contestant Number 3
26, 5'8", brown hair, brown eyes, and I wasn't sure if he had a uni brow because the lighting was bad.
"I came out of the closet last month".
Whammy!

*****

Contestant Number 4
Short blond hair, wire rim glasses, about 5'6", cute smile.
"Hi...my name is Nicole."
Whammy! Why do lesbians get such good haircuts?

*****

Contestant Number 5
Male, 5'9", medium frame, fairly muscled. 35.
"I'm visiting family in the city. I live in Los Angeles now"
Whammy.
"I graduated from Harvard Medical School and specialized in infectious diseases."
~~Whammy~~.
"I plan on moving back here, after my contract expires. I'll then open my own private practice. For now, I'm staying at XXXX hotel.

*****

The best part about showering at a $1200 a night hotel? Those comfy robes you get to wear while room service is being delivered.

Does anyone think my coworkers will notice that I wore the same clothes yesterday to work?

Patrick - 2:00 PM -

Wednesday, January 03, 2007

What's In It For Me?

A common joke is that you never pay a prostitute for sex. You pay a prostitute to go home when you're done. But over the last day, I've been thinking about what exactly constitutes prostitution.

Yes, if I tell you that I'll do you for ten dollars, that would be prostitution. Really cheap prostitution. But what about the average single person? Does screwing someone you don't love strictly because you could eventually get you something you want equal prostitution as well? What if the "john" gives you gifts afterwards? Where is the line? Does dinner before sex at an expensive restaurant count?

What about designer sunglasses? (I got a great pair of Prada.)
A tire and rim for my car? (I had to get to work.)
My dining room table and my bed?
How about custom curtains?

Yes...I was given all of these things...but only after I'd had sex with some people and suddenly...I feel dirty. No different than that 10 dollar whore, or $1000 porn star that has sex on film.

So I did what any good ex-catholic would do. I confessed to an ex-cop. According to him, prostitution can only be considered so if both parties agree on the payment before services are provided. Having sex, and receiving gifts afterwards is nothing worse than a woman marrying for security.

Oh...so I'm really only working for security. In that case, I need to start fucking investment bankers.

Patrick - 1:04 PM -

Tuesday, January 02, 2007

Rude Awakenings

My neighbor is at it again...or should I say, my next door neighbor is at her again?

Yes, the two of them have decided that they needed to welcome the new year with "Bang-a-thon 2007", and that is exactly what they did. They woke me up at 6 am on the first with him screaming "cum for me baby", and it goes downhill from there. Then like some sick snooze alarm, they initiated a new coital act every two hours or so. By 10 am, someone from upstairs knocked on his door and told him to "finish already". That only encouraged him. Ironically...this clip sounds a lot like the two of them. Just as fake.

Patrick - 10:54 PM -