Reasons Why I'm Gay (II)

...Women are so friggin gullible! One of my favorite websites is Landover Baptist Church. If you haven't read it, you will shit your pants laughing (especially if you're an atheist). The concept is that its a satire on ultra-conservative baptists churches. However, there is one part of the website where people write emails to the supposed "Pastor"...many of which are complaints about the "church's" intolerance. Notice that 85% of the emails are from women. Why? Cause they're so friggin dumb that they don't realize the humor/satire of the site. I attribute the remaining 15% of emails from men to the fact that they have their Bibles shoved so far up their asses that they cant think correctly...most likely because Bible anal insertion requires A LOT of poppers...just ask GCC.

Wish me luck!

So I'm heading "home" this weekend to the town where I grew up...the burbs outside Philadelphia. One of my "little sisters" (youngest daughter of our closest family friends who was a swimmer too and had no brothers) is getting married. I guess most people get excited about going home after not having seen the town in years...I don't. I left the area for a reason--I didn't particularly enjoy my childhood years there...hence moving far away to the South. I know I'm going to come face-to-face with annoyances from my past--fat chicks who want to dance with the gay guy, losers, and real estate agents. Since I never went to my 10-year reunion, this will be the closest thing to it. I have images of Romy and Michelle in my head. --Yes, I invented Post-It Notes.-- Especially since I was a quasi-nerd back in high school, but will probably be the only 29yr old male there with abs and a full head of hair.

(below is written from my sister's suburban castle)

Case in point, the sister who's organizing a lot of the reception asked me "Do you want to sit with ___ (insert names of fat chicks) or your parents?" I went with my parents. A. I don't get to see them very often; B. Otherwise I'd have endless questions from air-headed cheerleader wannabees while staring at caked-on makeup. Just what I need...more fag hags. Nevertheless, I'll undoubtedly spend 10 min picking out the perfect tie to match the suit I packed in the hopes of being second-to-none when it comes to formal fashion (I quickly shoved 4 ties in my suitcase). Hey...I'm gay...gotta reputation to uphold

Talkin' Shit

With the cyber-death of Gay Canuck in the Captial, there has been a measurable decrease in the discussion of poop in the blogosphere--dirty asses, fetishes, toilet humor, bathroom behavior, sexual escapades gone wrong, etc. Its time for me to add my 2 cents...

Growing up, I never shat in public facilities. I attribute this embarrassment to having private bathrooms in our elementary classrooms. It was just a room at the back of the class. We didn't have hall bathrooms...at least not many, and you couldn't use them during class time. You had to use the "closet" at the back of the room. There was no fan, and hardly a sound barrier, so you could hear just about any noise that escaped from under the door. I rarely even used them to pee. The same applied in middle and high school--I only ever peed in school bathrooms. Never shat. This public shit phobia continued even through college and my first jobs.

For some reason, when I started my job here I had no problem shitting. Probably cause its a large office building and I get lost in the mix of people using the facilities. Its hard to say..."Oh daaaaayum, C-A just dropped a bomb in the bathroom." But still, as GCC pointed out, I use the bathroom one floor above or below for such activities. I even got into a routine...almost every day at 10am. I guess that's when the coffee finally kicked in. Your physiology definitely gets into rhythms, that was mine. But now somehow my rhythm has been broken. I haven't shat at work in months probably. Cant even remember the last time. Very odd. Maybe I need more fiber...or just a good f*^%#.

Microevolution in DC

The other day I referred to reverse evolution--degeneration of derived traits to more ancestral forms. Today I'd like to introduce another evolutionary term and metaphor for what is unraveling here in DC. Microevolution is what we think of as "Dawinian Evolution"...the slow process of natural selection, but which the traits most adapted to the environment or conferring the highest fitness survive and reproduce more, thus becoming more abundant in the population. Changes (mutation) occur about 1x10e-8 cell divisions, so the chances of having a beneficial change that actually gets passed on to offspring (i.e., its a mutation in the germ cells) are pretty slim. Thus evolution in a Darwinian sense occurs very slowly over time (hopefully I'll find a DC metaphor to explain Macroevolution on here one day).

Incremental Change

In my 1.75 years here in DC I've noticed that 1. its a pretty liberal, educated, and techno-savvy town, 2. nothing gets done because of politicking, and 3. its expensive to take taxis everywhere. I was elated to hear that Fenty has ordered the switch to fare meters for our taxis. I usually take a taxi 1 or 2 times a week at most. Usually so I don't have to walk home drunk from Dupont and get mugged. The ride is 2 zones, or $8.80 in non-peak times. Its $10 during peak. FYI...the ride is 1 mile; less as the crow flies. Even worse is $6.50 to go 5 blocks to the Metro. Add in fuel surcharges (like during the summer), and I just walked or bus'ed everywhere.

So here we are...about to install these state-of-the-art (in 1891) taxi meters on all of our cabs. At the same time, NYC is moving ahead with a system that includes four main components:

1. A credit card/debit card payment system (about 10% of taxis in DC accept cards)


2. Passenger Information Monitor [PIM], essentially a TV screen that will be installed in the back seat to flash advertisements and entertainment to riders as well as a live map, facilitated by GPS, that will show passengers where they are;


3. Trip Sheet Automation that uses AVL [Automatic Vehicle Locater] technology — the equivalent of GPS—to automatically collect data about each individual cab ride; and


4. text messaging for the driver that will flash messages from TLC when the cab is stopped, or going very slowly, according to TLC's Web site.

Shouldn't we be looking to the future for our "enhancements" to the taxi system, such as NYC is doing? Maybe Congress can mandate we make these changes 25 years from now when taxis are completely obsolete.

Mama don't let your babies grow up to be...

Popular. Ever notice that when there's a news report about some kid who dies tragically, its always the hot football jock or Mr. Popular? Car crash, freak accident, or Methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus. Those things never happen to the class nerd or the loner that no one cares about (no...they go on shooting rampages). I remember when I was in high school, our class clown/hottie football jock/Mr Popular died when the tires came off his car and he crashed head-on into a truck (freak accident combined with car crash). Inevitably the whole school was in morning for weeks. Counseling is needed, tributes at football games, yearbooks, etc. If it happened to the Average Joe, things would be so much easier. Luckily, I was the Average Joe...played sports, but not too well; wasn't bad looking, but not enough to be either teased (besides being short) or lose my virginity--making me cool; got good grades, but wasn't valedictorian. I played it safe in the nice meaty part of the bell curve in every aspect. And here I am, almost 30 and still kickin!

So mama...tell you babies to grow up to be science geeks or business nerds. That'll assure them success in life, and the ability to make it through high school without dying some prematurely.

A Step Backwards

Reverse evolution is the process by which a more derived trait of an organism degenerates into the the more ancestral version over time. The textbook example is cave fish--since they live in areas without light, the production of maintenance of eyes or other visual sensors is a waste of energy (and thus lowers fitness), so over time, cave fish have lost their eyes though other physiologies have evolved to adapt to their environment.

Today, like the cave fish, I took a step back. (I'd like to think that since leaving the PhD program with a MS, this is my only other case of reverse evolution.) Moving to DC was a significant accomplishment--new city, new well salaried job, new apartment...new life. Things were changing for the best. Not knowing anyone here, I moved into a 1 bedroom apartment by myself. If someone told me back when I had my first apartment in NC (paying $300/month) that I would some day spend $1500 on rent, I would've said "You're fucking nuts!" Amazing how shit happens. Ever since I was 24 and had enough of living with shitty roomies, I've lived alone--a major evolutionary step in maturing.

Step backwards.

As luck would have it, I'll soon be living with The Imelda. We just signed the lease today...and granted our new place is large, its probably not large enough for her 1,060 pairs of shoes. Though I'm not "scared" of living with her, I am somewhat apprehensive about living with someone again. For one, I rarely wear clothes while at home. Its nice to just be able to lay around in underwear or walk around naked. Also, though I rarely have sex, it will be odd having to restrict myself to times/places in the apartment that are convenient. No more sex on the living room floor I guess. And back to muzzling those screaming bottoms. Luckily I have my own bathroom. The good thing...my domestic side will come out--I love to cook, but not just for myself. And since we're on somewhat similar schedules, I'll hopefully have the opportunity to start cooking a lot more. And who doesn't want to save $400 a month?!!

Almost a Sucker

Last night I decided to have a "night off"...no socializing, gym, or swimming. Inevitably that means I spent the better part of the night chatting online, flipping through tv channels, watching porn, and jerking off a few times. Three of those four can create an additively dangerous environment, "The Perfect Storm." So there I was chatting with some young hot thing (I think I attract them like flies to shit) from Atlanta. He was supposed to visit/fly to DC this weekend, but a friend's family emergency meant that he had no place to stay. Enter "The Perfect Storm"...I start thinking (after seeing his pics and discussing sexual proclivities) that I could help a gay in need and provide him with a floor/sofa/bed/penis to sleep on this weekend. Might be kinda odd, but is that any worse than hooking up with a complete stranger? I justified this line of thought by the fact that we had friends in common in ATL--or at least that's what Myspace said. Fortunately after jerk-off session #2, the storm passed, the skies cleared, and I regained my sanity. But if it wasn't for a few hot clips on Xtube, who knows what exploits I would have shared on here come Monday.

Lamest tattoo ever!!

I was at Results tonight, doin the elliptical (since I cant lift with my gimp hand) when I saw a guy with the same tattoo on both arms--large black arrows with red trim pointing down. What the hell was he thinking?!! Obviously some chick was desperate, cause she was hitting on him and commenting on the tats.

Cover Stories

For those of us who try to butch it up as much as we can, covering up the really gay aspects of our lives are important, especially when it comes to injuries. For instance, when a friend spiral fractured his leg playing tennis (gay sport) over New Years Day, we said it was from falling out of the sling during a gang bang...believable given the person's sexual escapades. Likewise, this weekend I went to Philly for their annual gay swim meet, OutFestival, and to see my newborn nephew. I was entered in their mini sprint competition...4 individual races, 50yds of each stroke (fly, back, free, breast). I predicted that I would win the competition, and thus all hotties would want to bang...big time. First off, I'd like to admit that I'm not always right.

The meet location was kinda shitty...I had problems adjusting to the poorly light pool. For some reason I kept misjudging the distance to the walls, taking an extra stroke, and slamming my fingers and hands into the wall....hard. After doing it in the relay (breast) and fly, my body had it. It felt like I broke my hand on the finish. I would've scratched the rest of my events, but the Aries in my kept up the fight (or maybe it was the Eye of the Tiger since I was back in my hometown of Philly). But in all honesty, it was probably the desire to win my medal and be totally bang'able. I could picture all the bottoms from across the DelVal area flocking. So I taped up and kept swimming, hoping the endorphins and adrenaline would block out the severe pain. They did. Then on the last event (breast) I did it again. I was going hard into the wall to touch out the guy I thought was really hot. Maybe I should've let him win...his ego wouldn't have been so badly bruised, and neither would my hand. Maybe then he would've given up a piece.

So here I sit with my medal, wrapped up hand, and still sexless. I am a complete disappointment to the team--I think they value "inter-squad camaraderie" over total points won. Maybe next time I'll just focus on sex instead of swimming. Then again, I think that's what I did on Saturday anyway. But alas, I still need a better cover story than "I broke my hand at a swim meet." Maybe something like "I saved a blind pregnant woman from getting mugged," or "I was fisting a hot muscular virgin bottom when his sphincters suddenly contracted, crushing my hand." Better ideas?

Random memories

I cherish memories of my youth, but there are some that are so far back in my cobweb filled brain, that it takes one helluva trigger to bring them forward. This morning I was at Einstein Bagels and one such trigger hit me like a ton of bricks...they're advertising their new pizza bagels, and you'll see where this is going in a minute.

I had a very close relationship with my paternal grandfather. Being the youngest of all the grandchildren, I was the most energetic and willing to learn from his wisdom. He also lived 3/4 of a mile away, so his house was an easy getaway from my regular family, and I was always welcome...whether it was to help him cut the grass, tend to the garden, build something out of wood, play some baseball, climb trees, or even just sit, watch tv and listen to stories. Peter, from which my middle name is derived, was born in 1908, and as a history buff you can imagine how I was awe-stuck by some of the things he had to say. As I lived somewhat of a reclusive adolescence, due to my inner gay conflict, he was at times one of my best friends. Though being 70 years my senior, Pete only saw the first 17 years of his favorite grandson's life.

Now Pete was an old fashioned patriarch...he was the provider and counselor. Mary, his wife, stayed at home to cook, clean, raise the children. She didn't even know how to drive a car. Being the stereotypical Depression Era male, Pete didn't really know how to cook--at all. He could make two things: soft boiled eggs and pizza on an English muffin. I still remember standing on a chair, watching as he taught me to use the toaster oven, spread pizza sauce, cheese, and pepperoni on a split Thomas English Muffin, and bake it til golden brown. The amazing thing is, for someone clueless about cooking, he even taught me how to properly spice it with oregano. This is quite possibly the first thing I ever learned to cook...which snowballed into my current culinary prowess.

Maybe My Life Isn't So Bad

I just finished the most recently completed (posthumously) story by J.R.R. Tolkien. For those of you who lived 2001-2004 in a time warp, he's the author of The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. His son has taken on the job of assembling his notes and pieces of stories, along with the constructions of worlds and languages to complete The Simarillion, The Unfinished Tales, and now...(drum roll)...The Children of Hurin.

Plot Summary:
Turin is the son of Hurin, one of the Lords of Men when the elves ruled Middle Earth. Hurin, after losing the great battle against the Dark Lord Morgoth, is enslaved. Turin is then raised by the Elvish King Thingol, but apart from his mother.

• Shitty life moment #1: Dad is a slave to the powers of evil



• Shitty life moment #2: Orphaned to the Elves--and we all know how hot they are. Legolas...mmmmm (look but don't touch)

Turin grows up to be a fine specimen of a man, slaying orcs left and right and protecting Middle Earth from evil. After a quarrel with an elf lord, he flees civilization to live in the wild.

• Shitty life moment #3: Adjusting from Charmin to tree leaves

After more battles, he meets a woman in the woods, marries with her, and plants his seed. Later he discovers...

• Shitty life moment #4: His wife is his sister (EEEEWWWW!)

Analysis:
But besides the tortured soul aspects, the book is filled with great visuals of epic battles, dragons, landscape, and elvish hotties. And it wasn't plagued by the terminology contained in The Simarillion (considered a "very hard read" by most literary scholars).

Overall Grade: A-

Study: DC is Immune from Alzheimer's

After finishing The Swarm and The Children of Hurin (review pending), I've returned to my daily routine of reading The Express on my 4 Metro stop ride to work. Its amazing how everyone has the same but different routine when it comes to reading the paper during their commute. I read page 1 and 3, skim through the international, read the local, then the blog page (of course), "today in history", then if I have time, I read The Onion-like content on page 2. As an aside, whoever writes the horoscopes for The Express fuckin sucks! They're never even close to right.

So today's article that caught my eye was a recently released study of the linkage between how people classify their personalities and the likelihood of developing Alzheimer's. The gist of the study is that Type-A personalities (organized, driven, dominate) had a much lesser chance of developing Alzheimer's later in life. The really interesting part of the 200 word blurb was that some autopsies showed that even though Type-A people may have had bran lesions characteristic of Alzheimer's, they rarely developed signs of dementia, symptomatic of Alzheimer's. Very cool.

So since DC is 95% Type-A (I leave 5% for the hippies, coffee baristas, and Greenpeace solicitors), few of us should be walking around muttering nonsense by the age of 72. This is definitely a relief for me...my nonsensical mutterings must be some other mental disorder, and not Alzheimer's.