Unmentionables in Plain Sight

I thoroughly enjoy having people over for dinner. For one thing, it gives me an opportunity to cook, which relaxes me and gives me a sense of accomplishment--something I'm often lacking on the weekend. But another good reason for having people over: it forces me to clean, or at least pick up the apartment. So after a pound of pasta, sauce, pound of chicken parmesan, and two pounds of sausage (not to mention a big loaf of garlic bread); an enjoyable game of poker; and simple chit chat, I thought the night went well. Then I had to pee.

It is then I noticed that I somehow overlooked putting away certain unmentionables while cleaning the apartment today. Yup...there it was, in plain sight...my cock ring, sitting on the bathroom sink.

As both The Imelda and GCC certainly noticed this at dinner, I feel this is a great way to apologize (if needed), and clarify why it was sitting there. No, I didn't get laid--far from it. Just one of the "I think I'm gonna jerk off with my CR on today"...it does make things a bit more enjoyable, I wonder why i don't do it more often (I'll have to make a mental not to do it, just not before having company over). And don't worry...my hands were thoroughly washed afterwards, and before I started cooking ;-)

The amazing thing...knowing how unabashed, outspoken, and quick to call someone out both GCC and The Imelda are, I cant believe they didn't mention it the whole night!!

My Life Starring Parker Posey

We often see a movie and self-identify with the character, then argue with our friends saying, "no, that was totally me!" Tonight, however, was different. It started with a bit of masochism--TOA asked me out to a movie yesterday, I agreed. We went to E Street to see Sicko (though I wasn't too keen on it). Luckily "Broken English" started at the same time. I had no idea what the movie was about, never even saw an advertisement for it before. All I know is Parker Posey has a habit of picking good films, and it beat watching Michael Moore bitch for 2hrs about problems we'll never fix.

I enjoyed the movie thoroughly, laughed at PP's hangups, neuroses, and marveled at her amazing character acting. Some parts were eerily similar to my own life. There I was, sitting next to the guy I still have a crush on, him rubbing up against me in the movie theatre, watching a story about a girl who always thinks she finds the right man, only to be let down by some unknown detail--they're already taken, don't live locally, not interested in relationships, etc. And her solution? Drown her sorrows in wine, stiff drinks, and pills. Atta gurl! She totally lived the "Sure I can get laid, but no one will love me" life. In fact, a striking comment (amongst many) was Mom: "You've had some good boyfriends"; PP: "Mom, those were in college" (as she's 30 now). As I'm approaching 30, I realized tonight that I haven't had a relationship since grad-school (which were really my college years, since I lived it up then and not during undergrad).

As TOA and I left the theatre he said that he didn't like the movie, I mentioned that I liked it, probably cause I could identify with the main character. He, obviously, didn't. It was hard for him to grasp the concept of ignoring past mistakes while getting swept up in the moment of puppy love. Of course the movie ends happily, but it caused the walk home from the Metro to be entrenched in self-reflection. The point of the story was that you cant have a decent relationship unless you know and love yourself first. I totally believe that, and always lookout for #1 before all others. But I don't think that knowing, loving, and taking care of oneself will protect you from the shitheads out there. PP had a string of men like TOA in her life, as I have too. And, like PP, I sit here blogging and drinking my glass of Malbec so I may find satisfactory sleep.

I AM THE CHAMPION!!

On Sunday I reasserted my alpha male standing with the team. The much hyped-up showdown between Nicole (the ex-gf) and myself was truly one of my greatest swimming accomplishments (not that I have many, if any at all). At first, I thought I was safe...we got placed in different heats, so at least I could compare times after it was all over, but not be embarrassed by her kicking my ass. I knew that if she did beat me, I'd never hear the end of jokes about my bottom'ness, or who the 'real man of the relationship' was. But then a teammate volunteered to switch heats with me so I could be in the lane next to hers: nervousness returns. Not only did she look strong during warm-up, but I was totally slack at practice to prior week and felt weak that day. Luckily, I've come to terms with the fact that I'm a competitor--no matter how personally embarrassing it might be for me to swim behind various people at practice, I can always turn it out at the meets. This is not to assert that I'm "good" by any standard, I just do much better relative to others in competition.

BAM! The gun goes off, and at the 25m mark I already have a body length on my once muscular-turned voluptuous ex-gf. My stroke felt good, which was reassuring. I was doing my flip turn pull down, and she had just reached the wall: 3 body lengths. Thank god. But will she come back? She was always a strong finisher; I am not. I touch the wall after two lengths of the 50m pool, winning my heat. Nicole strokes in 7 seconds behind. SEVEN SECONDS! Realize that back in high school she would easily kick my ass by 7 seconds. Life has come full circle.

So it turns out that I won the event for my age group. Yaay! My first victory in many years. More to come, hopefully.

Status: REJECTED

As stated before here and here, my life is in a constant flux of bulimic tendencies. This has definitely been a BINGE week at work. Countless off-site meetings, pesky people who have nothing better to do with their day besides hassle me with trivial issues, training for the big swim on Sunday, and friends in town...all this has lead to a total lack of new content on here. In many ways, I could use a good blog (much like a good blow job), just don't have time for it this week. So I'm carving out a space of time here before letting my day go crazy again.

And one other hassle this week: TOA has voiced his desire to "just be friends" so that he can pursue another relationship with someone he met right before me. Grrrrreat, that just makes me feel so special. This "you're great, but" has happened about 5 times since I moved to DC. After really clicking they either have something already and don't tell ya, or I'm not good enough. Goes to show the saying that GCC, JB, and I always use, "Sure I can get laid, but no one will love me" really pertains to my life. In fact, its really a motif or mantra. Before I went to work today, I saw my ex Jr online and expressed how I really miss what we had. The scary thing: that was in like 2003. I've gone 4 years without any significant dates/relationships. I know, I know...some of you who are over 35, single, and bitter will say "that's nothing"...but think of it as I haven't had a relationship since I was 25, which should be the prime time of dating for any man.

Needless to say, I got shitty drunk on Wednesday night after swim practice--again, with someone I would've dated, but he chose another. Luckily I get over rejection quite well. Now I just gotta figure out a way to effectively blow-off Nicole on Sunday after the meet. Isn't it great how I bitch about rejection here, but can turn it around on someone else so easily?

IT'S ON!!

I'm nervous. Nine years ago this September I broke up with one and only girlfriend (you may begin your mockery now). I haven't seen her since, though we've reconnected over the past few years by chatting online--how she found me is a story I'll address later. But in brief, Nicole was the only girl I was ever really attracted to...no wonder it was because, back then, her arms and shoulders were the size of mine now, though her abs were more ripped. I, however, was a 120lb twig. Nicole got this body from hardcore swimming, lifting, running--a level that would even impress GCC. At one point, I believe she was ranked #4 in the country in the 100 breastroke and her time was about a 1:02...insane for a girl.

Fast forward a decade. Next Sunday is the annual DCRP swim meet, and my source of nervousness and apprehension. Normally, a casual meet like this would be of no real consequence, except for the fact that Nicole will be attending just so that we can race. We actually entered the same seed time, so we will theoretically be in neighboring lanes for the 100 breast. Based on my time at IGLA (when I was in better swim shape), and hers from the UMD meet a few weeeks ago (when she was in less shape than now), I should beat her by a few seconds--gotta love the gay fountain of youth! However, besides the current level of training, there are several variables that could lead to an upset: I've never raced in long course meters before; she is a mentally tough competitor from years of high level racing; I'll probably be hungover from the night before; she wont have any events prior to the 100br to cause fatigue, I'll have the 200IM and relays.

Your job: keep me psyched up for this battle. If you're a fellow DCAC'er, don't let me pussy-out at practice. You better believe I'm going ever day this week (skipping Saturday to recover).

Also, if youre single: Nicole loves giving and getting anal. So if you're desperate, you might give in like I did back in 1997.

Undershirts Part II

Previously, I vented about one of my greatest fashion pet peeves: the improper undershirt for the occasion. In my humble opinion (though there were several dissenting commenters), undershirts are to be worn to prevent sweat stains on dress shirts or provide more warmth, but not to be seen. I somehow overlooked another critical area: the undershirt showing through the dress shirt. Granted, I don't mind this for a dress shirt where you can see the sleeve line from the undershirt underneath. There's nothing we can do about that, besides buy better quality, non-paper thin shirts (which, as a Consummate Aries and perfectionist, I now do). The worst offenders are those who wear a tank top as an undershirt with a paper-thin dress shirt. My summer intern chose to violate this fashion faux-pas today; I saw him as soon as I got off the elevator this morning, its already ruined my day. What makes it even worse is that since he's black, you can see a high contrast through his thin yellow shirt, and the bright white tank top undershirt.

I digress, I never understood the point of the tank undershirt. It doesn't provide sweat management in the summer, nor warmth in the winter. Can anyone explain?

In closing, just as I don't want to see your underwear sticking out of your pants, nor dark underwear through your pants/skirt, I don't want to see undershirts either. Though as an aside, it did find it amusing that last night at practice, the new ripped, young, str8 guy on the swim team was prancing around the pool deck in his work pants and his CK's showing--and intentionally at that. Str8? I think not!

I Was Violated Yesterday!

I am not a materialistic person. However, I do become attached to those objects that are intimately tied to my life. Since I moved to DC and got rid of my car (most people's primary object of affection), my bike has become integral in my daily activities. However, that relationship was almost severed yesterday.

I am always extremely cautious with my bike, I lock up both wheels whenever its outside my apartment, as well as remove the seat. I've learned over the last year and a half that DC will take whatever it can get. When in Dupont, I often lock my bike up in my friend's garage at his cafe on 17th St. Though oddly, I always feel more nervous about doing this than just locking it to a street pole. My anxiety was proved right. Apparently, someone broke into the garage yesterday and was able to cut the locks on mine and another person's bikes in the garage. Luckily the fact that I removed the seat from mine made it difficult to get away, and an employee spotted and stopped them before my bike disappeared. My friend wasn't so lucky, his was stolen.

So last night I picked it up from the cafe. I hopped on, and it felt odd. Nothing was wrong with it, just didn't ride the same. I attribute this feeling to the fact that the relationship with my bike had been violated--much like the husband who cannot have sex with his wife after she is raped. Its an intangible feeling. But it still exists. Oh well, I'll get over it. Maybe we need to take a retreat and reconnect--spend some quality time together. Of course, that's after I buy a shiny new headlight and lock.

My Favorite Silver Injun

I rarely refer to people in non-PC terms. If you don't believe me, just ask my friend the Arian-Mexican Offspring. However, there has been a notable recent addition to my daily routine of taking the Metro to work and along the way passing countless bums. Surprisingly, the bums are not at the Columbia Heights Metro--maybe too much competition pushed them out, or there's just no sense in begging from the poor? Instead, they line up outside the Silver Spring Metro, under the nice shaded overpass in the relatively affluent (for MD) Montgomery County. There is an unspoken code amongst the bums at Silver Spring--one that I very much enjoy: no active solicitation for money. There are the regulars: the disabled Vet sitting on his shiny new mobility scooter with all new clothes, talking on his blue tooth, with a Big Gulp to collect money (ironically, the VA rents two floors from us...he begs from those that pay his disability); the fat black lady who sits on the ground, obviously mentally challenged; occasionally another guy on a scooter. Now there's the Injun. He makes me laugh, so I quite enjoy his recent arrival to Silver Spring.

The Injun sits in his wheel chair, with the characteristic Big Gulp begging cup common to all Silver Spring bums. However, he as a few additions that make his begging style "distinctive." At first he just sat there with a bow and arrow on the back of his wheelchair. Realize this is 20 feet from the entrance of a federal building, and 15 feet from the entrance to the Metro. He managed to escape detection by any security staff for over a week. Amazing. After his ancestral weapons were confiscated, he added feathers in his hair. Granted, I'm never one to undermine someone's attempt at accessorizing, but come on. Feathers? Maybe a nice scrunchie would be better, like JB uses. Now he also pretends his Big Gulp is a war drum and beats it with a pencil to attract attention--coming dangerously in violation of the "passive begging only" code for Silver Spring bums. Chanting would definitely result in a revocation of his begging rights.

So who are your favorite Metro DC bums?

I'd Rather Hurt Than Look Bad

...is one of my favorite quotes from Jon Bon Jovi. So many of us can relate to that one. In my previous blog I mentioned my $75 haircut for a job interview. I thought I'd elaborate, as it is an example of an ongoing motif in my life: porn.

As I mentioned, I was in FL and interviewing in DC. I had a Monday flight, Tuesday interview, on Sunday I realized I needed a haircut. Oooops. Now to many of you, a simple trip to Hair Cuttery might suffice. Not for the ConsummateAries. As a perfectionist, a beauty school drop out will never touch his shears to my hair. I never skimp on those things I use on a daily basis. My mattress is very comfy, my bike is a quality build, dress shoes are very walkable, and my hair (though sometimes longer than I'd like it) is always cut well. So when it came to needing a last minute haircut, I freaked. No reputible salon is open on Monday. Why that arbitrary day was chosen by all stylists as the trade's day off, I'll never know. But nonetheless, I had to deal with it. After frantic calls to just about everyone I could think of, I found a friend that could help. I met "Jaime" on MySpace--we both were living in Ft Lauderdale but grew up in the same town: connection. I knew he was an accountant--I never need to ask more than that about money/business occupation or I'll fall asleep mid-explanation. But he gave me the cell phone numbers of two freelance stylists that his company uses. And he knew that one just got back in town from a trip to Las Vegas with his company.

It is at this point that I joked with him about being in Las Vegas for the annual porn convention. He chuckled, I laughed. Oh the foreshadowing.

So I get the appointment for Monday after work. "Michael" sits me down in his private salon in some resort, gives me a choice of wines, and starts at it. I tell him the concept: young, modern, conservative. I never trusts stylists I don't know to do something different, but I was desperate. You know, like when you're horned up and lower your standards cause ya cant find anything else better online? That was me. Luckily he gave me exactly what I wanted. (I wont bore you with details). But during the chit-chat, he was discussing doing hair for "actors". Yup...you got it, the "actors" he referred to were the ones that Chi Chi LaRue hires. Funny, I can never remember what their hair looks like, but everything else is great! When it was all said and done, I was expecting a $200 bill. Private consultation, incredible cut, wine, etc. Just like at My Big Fat Wedding, I was shocked, but pleasantly surprised with the damage. $75 is not bad considering. So many things are worth paying for, especially to alleviate stress.

So in my life thus far, I've lived with porn "stars" (they got fan mail), dated two guys that turned out to have done porn, been wrongfully accused of being a porn star, and had my hair cut by a porn stylist. Too late for a career change? Seems like I'm destined for it.

Why DC?

In response to my solicitations for topics of discussion, my esteemed swimming wife, The Arian-Mexican Offspring wondered, "why [I] moved to DC?", specifically relating to career changes in research and education. Good question.

As I was a kid growing up in Philly, I always dreamed of becoming a marine biologist--I never had any other career aspiration that I can remember. That ambition is what drove me through high school science (which I hated) and undergraduate courses that seemed so useless to what I wanted to do. Finally I was an upperclassmen and took a position in a research lab with a professor I have for Marine Invertebrate Zoology. He made the survey/taxonomy class really interesting with his heavy sarcasm and humor. Who would've guessed he was gay. I got a B+ in Joe's class but he loved my spirit--I always sat in the front and knew all his little useless bits of trivia. After working in his lab for a few months doing marine natural products drug discovery research I approached him with a thesis idea. He was impressed--apparently no other undergrad had done that before; traditionally they're given assignments. No one tells the Consummate Aries what to do! So the world of ascidian chemical defenses became my life.

It was this intrigue and creativity that I showed early-on that got me into Georgia Tech for my PhD. At 22, I was the youngest in the department, and very green. But I still came up with the interesting research questions (or hypotheses) that allowed me to excel. Eventually I realized that academia wasn't for me and left with a M.S. Along the road, I learned that I had a gift for teaching--I was regularly rated as the best T.A. in the department, and because of that, was hired by the Athletic Association to keep our football retards eligible. That's fine, I loved to teach. So when I was confronted with the self-revelation that I didn't want to become a professor, I considered just teaching high school. I figured it cant hurt to give it a shot. So I taught 1 year at a private high school. Only problem was that I felt my brain disintegrating the whole time I was there. The thought of repeating the same thing year after year scared me--I had invested so much in my brain over the last 8 years in college and grad school. I decided to leave, go back to research, and moved to FL and life in the Everglades.

FL was not what I had expected it to be. I figured I'd be happy amongst the hot beach boys, going diving, fishing, and boating every weekend, making good money (or what I thought was good money). Turned out I hated my job and life. I started lookin for a new job about 3months into it--mostly in FL, ATL, or DC. I always had an attraction to DC--its known as very educated, clean, and diverse. Just the characteristics I like in a town. At the 9 month mark I found the perfect job ad: Environmental Visualization Program Manager. What the fuck is that?! Turned out it was a blend of research, management, and education/outreach. Unfortunately, I found the job around the holidays, so the interview process got dragged out. Four phone interviews later, and I was in DC for a formal job interview. With my best suit and $75 hair cut (that's a story in itself), I nailed the interview, was offered the job, and moved to DC two weeks later.

So here I am--17 months later, and enjoying DC more and more every month. I must admit, I do attribute a lot of that to my new found gaggle of gays on the swim team. Sure I don't have the beach, but aren't good friends, a great job, and a dynamic life more important?

Long time, no see

I've been so slack lately in writing. I even got yelled out by one of my 4 rabid fans--I felt a fleeting sense of love and importance at that moment. Mostly I've had nothing to write about, not to mention work is busy. Yes, I realize that's an impossibility, considering I'm a Fed. But I also got tired of writing about the same ole shit, namely, the latest and greatest with TOA. I'll spare everyone the details unless requested to divulge.

Effective Immediately...

All references to CSV have be retroactively changed to TOA (The Other Aries)

Of course I didnt eat yet

Yesterday was quite spontaneous, in contrast to my typical Sunday of swim practice, brunch with the boys, maybe the gym, lil bit if the Circle, then home to watch Family Guy. After skipping out on a lame party Saturday night (I used the excuse of swim practice), I got to bed at a decent time with all the intentions of going swimming at 10am. Nope. Got up, dicked around online while drinking coffee, made my way to So's Your Mom (awesome deli in Adams Morgan), got a lox n bagel, headed to the circle. Did my usual chill there for a bit with every intention of going to the gym after I digested. That never occurred. I figured, I'll bike over and check out H&M for a bit to kill time. As soon as I got there, my friend ATL-Sean called and whisked me away to Tysons Corner to go shopping. YAY!

After a hard day of that we head to Cafe 17 for drinks and dinner. Just as we're finishing up dinner I get a call from TOA--usually I never answer my phone while at a restaurant, but it was TOA after all. So he asks, "Have you eaten yet?" My response: "Nope, not yet." BURP. So he invited me to meet him and some friends at Perry's on the roof deck. Awesome. As I arrived, I couldn't figure out if the guy he went there with was a kinda-sorta bf from outta down (long distance thing). I was very territorial and on-guard. A few minutes later another friend arrived, so it wasn't to odd with just the three of us. $50 each of sushi and martinis later and we head for beers at another bar, then over to TOA's. As I'm finishing my first drink at his place he asks, "Would you like me to make you another?" I decline--the ConsummateAries never lets others make his drinks, as they are never strong enough. Atta Gurl! So TOA then asks, "well would you like me to show you to the kitchen?" DING DING DING....we have a winner!! He cuddle walks me into the darkness of his keep made of stainless steel and granite. After a quick makeout, we're back on the sofa watching Robot Chicken with his friends, quasi-cuddled, with a fresh whisky and coke. And as I leave, he gets the pillows and blankets for his friend from out of town to crash on the sofa. Awesome!

Lesson learned: It pays to never take "No" for an answer.