Wednesday, March 12, 2003
I’ve done it!
I have given myself a “comment section” again. As most of you know, last time I did this, shit got way out of control and I pulled it immediately. So this time, I have resolved to do it a bit differently. Starting with not getting so personally involved with it. It’s great to have feedback, but I don’t want to have to sit and debate or defend anything I write. You understand. You always understand. That’s why you are the clit to my vagina.
Pulsing with erotic excitement.
Well things are finally starting to pick up.
It was very strange for me to go home after work last night, hang out there for a couple of hours, and then go out for a drink. Way back when I lived in Queens, it was impossible to go home, hang around, and then go out to a bar. Astoria is great and all, but it’s not the most convenient hole in the wall. I don’t miss the area at all. Well, except for when Rita and I would go grocery shopping on Friday afternoons and to Blockbuster. That was the fucking best. And also that we got to drive in a car once in awhile. That was great too. But then Rita left and so did her darling little Protégé. I miss that little bastid.
Mariah came over at 7pm and we talked and sang along with my CD’s until 8pm and then went to Paul’s bar. Let me tell you, we both had heart attacks when we walked through the front door. It is by FAR, the CLASSIEST place I have ever been in. The bar is located in this skyscraper that goes to heaven. It’s an office building mostly, and the bar is at the bottom of a long winding staircase. Mariah was in sweats. She was terrified of walking down the stairs. Everyone was staring at us as though we were the belles of the ball. I called out “Presenting Master Cuttheshit” and “Princess Mariah” as we walked in. A few people rolled their eyes and the rest ignored us completely.
Once we got to the bar and started downing free drinks (thanks to Paul’s overwhelmingly benevolent behavior), we started becoming a bit loud. Mariah starts with “Well Pa, these here drinks are purty good. I’d like another”. I respond with “Ma, would pass me over the pee-nuts? Haven’t had ma dinnuh yet”. All the while performing in our best Southern Droll. There were some looks and stares and that only made us want to be even more obnoxious. Mariah does some damn good impressions of people and she had me rolling on the floor with laughter.
Turns out that rich people not only eat peanuts and pretzels while sucking down their drinks, they eat hard-boiled eggs! Don’t ask me why, but supposedly that is like some high-class appetizer. Mariah and I each peeled our egg and swallowed it in like 2 bites. Paul walks over and sees that we have eggshell covering our spot at the bar. He laughs and wipes it away. Mariah and I make fun of the eggs for awhile and then realize that we are really making fun of ourselves because we can’t stop burping and farting sulfur. We are such trash, it’s ridiculous.
Paul was absolutely adorable in his little uniform and he seemed completely relaxed behind the bar. He introduced us to his fellow bartender, who I swear was Cheech Marin. When he introduced me, I was so impressed by him for referring to me as his boyfriend. I shook Cheech’s hand and said a casual “hello”. Cheech responds with “The minute I met Paul I asked him if he had a boyfriend”. In context, he said that meaning Paul was flaming.
My jaw hit the floor and I looked at him as though he was the most ignorant fuck on the planet. Sorry asshole, but you’re straight and straight people aren’t allowed to say stupid shit like that when they first meet a gay person. Especially when it’s Cheech Marin. And especially when Paul isn’t flaming at ALL! If Paul’s flaming, then my entire body and soul is charred with gay blackness. I don’t know where this guy was coming from. He was probably just nervous and that was the first thing that came out of his mouth. I don’t hold a grudge about it, but I will never be the Chong to his Cheech. Never.
Paul wanted me to stay over at his place, but I decided to go home instead. He spent the previous two nights in my bed and I was kind of excited to do my own thing. Meaning masturbate feverishly. Tonight we are going out on a date. It’s been a couple months since our last one. We are going out to dinner at some restaurant called “Valesco’s” in the East Village. I think that’s the name of it. But I don’t care either way. As long as Paul is paying, cuz I am busted broke until my next paycheck. If Paul doesn’t pay, we will make Success Rice and probably put some leftover chicken on it. Please let him be paying, please let him be paying. I could do with a night out to dinner with my boyfriend.
He has been absolutely perfect since our big blowup on Sunday. I mean, don’t let me count my chickens yet, cuz this is how it usually goes before he regresses back to the caveman boyfriend he really is. I am hoping this is it though. That he is really committed to making this relationship work now. And if not, I have already told him that I am serious about removing my stuff from his apartment. But then I went ahead and made him a copy of the keys to my place. Hee hee oops. But how do I play the role of Serious Sally and Loving Larry at the same time? I’m doing my best. I just pray he continues on the path he is currently heading on.
BTW…serious sally and loving larry?
Right.
Vomit.
How is it that I need a fucking haircut already. On my computer desk, I have these two mini-rear view mirrors that I use to watch out for people coming up behind me. You know, cuz I am a sneaky lying bitch. Well, instead of seeing the people behind me, I have been staring at my hideous hairstyle all morning. Let’s be honest, my hair looks like an asshole. And remind me again why I have to have Asian hair, when I am clearly not an Asian?
(Big Sigh)
This weekend has turned into utter craziness. I have more plans than I can handle! Member back in the day when I was crying about how lonely I was? Yeah, well now I am being pulled in about 37 different directions. No wait, 38 different directions. On Friday night, I am to hang out with Paul’s Aunt, cousin, and sister. (Remember?…the pseudo-lesbians) After that I am supposed to go out with Mariah to a lesbian bar so that I can get her some vagina. Sounds fun. On Saturday, I may be seeing a Broadway show with Paul’s family and then I am sure we will have dinner or something. I will be forced to sit there with a brain aching fake smile and it will be nothing but enduring annoying conversations; most of which will be conducted by his 28 year old know-it-all sister. I shouldn’t be such a prick about them, cuz they aren’t the most terrible people in the world. But his sister “Steph” just talks and talks and talks and if I offer a varying opinion on any subject, she looks me directly in the eye and says “No”.
It’s a lot of fun. Saturday night is Ari’s party! Now THAT I KNOW will be a blast.
On Sunday, I am currently scheduled to have brunch with both Paul and Kelly’s family. I have to let one of them down and I think it’s going to be Paul. It really depends on how the weekend goes and also on how upset he will be if I don’t go. After brunch, Kelly and I are going to try to see the movie “Willard”. I mean, what movie about a thousand rats crawling all over your body while Michael Jackson’s “Ben” plays in the background won’t be a hit?
Shit. I know! HUGE!
Alright, time for my soup and roll. I am reading this fantastic book right now called “The Manhattan Hunt Club”. It’s by John Saul, whom I love although he borders on absurd sometimes. In one scene of the book, this guy stabs his best friend and girl friend and then puts the girls tits on the guys chest. Then he fucks the guy. It’s all very normal. Really, I’m not a spikey-haired, Asian psycho.
Boof.
I have given myself a “comment section” again. As most of you know, last time I did this, shit got way out of control and I pulled it immediately. So this time, I have resolved to do it a bit differently. Starting with not getting so personally involved with it. It’s great to have feedback, but I don’t want to have to sit and debate or defend anything I write. You understand. You always understand. That’s why you are the clit to my vagina.
Pulsing with erotic excitement.
Well things are finally starting to pick up.
It was very strange for me to go home after work last night, hang out there for a couple of hours, and then go out for a drink. Way back when I lived in Queens, it was impossible to go home, hang around, and then go out to a bar. Astoria is great and all, but it’s not the most convenient hole in the wall. I don’t miss the area at all. Well, except for when Rita and I would go grocery shopping on Friday afternoons and to Blockbuster. That was the fucking best. And also that we got to drive in a car once in awhile. That was great too. But then Rita left and so did her darling little Protégé. I miss that little bastid.
Mariah came over at 7pm and we talked and sang along with my CD’s until 8pm and then went to Paul’s bar. Let me tell you, we both had heart attacks when we walked through the front door. It is by FAR, the CLASSIEST place I have ever been in. The bar is located in this skyscraper that goes to heaven. It’s an office building mostly, and the bar is at the bottom of a long winding staircase. Mariah was in sweats. She was terrified of walking down the stairs. Everyone was staring at us as though we were the belles of the ball. I called out “Presenting Master Cuttheshit” and “Princess Mariah” as we walked in. A few people rolled their eyes and the rest ignored us completely.
Once we got to the bar and started downing free drinks (thanks to Paul’s overwhelmingly benevolent behavior), we started becoming a bit loud. Mariah starts with “Well Pa, these here drinks are purty good. I’d like another”. I respond with “Ma, would pass me over the pee-nuts? Haven’t had ma dinnuh yet”. All the while performing in our best Southern Droll. There were some looks and stares and that only made us want to be even more obnoxious. Mariah does some damn good impressions of people and she had me rolling on the floor with laughter.
Turns out that rich people not only eat peanuts and pretzels while sucking down their drinks, they eat hard-boiled eggs! Don’t ask me why, but supposedly that is like some high-class appetizer. Mariah and I each peeled our egg and swallowed it in like 2 bites. Paul walks over and sees that we have eggshell covering our spot at the bar. He laughs and wipes it away. Mariah and I make fun of the eggs for awhile and then realize that we are really making fun of ourselves because we can’t stop burping and farting sulfur. We are such trash, it’s ridiculous.
Paul was absolutely adorable in his little uniform and he seemed completely relaxed behind the bar. He introduced us to his fellow bartender, who I swear was Cheech Marin. When he introduced me, I was so impressed by him for referring to me as his boyfriend. I shook Cheech’s hand and said a casual “hello”. Cheech responds with “The minute I met Paul I asked him if he had a boyfriend”. In context, he said that meaning Paul was flaming.
My jaw hit the floor and I looked at him as though he was the most ignorant fuck on the planet. Sorry asshole, but you’re straight and straight people aren’t allowed to say stupid shit like that when they first meet a gay person. Especially when it’s Cheech Marin. And especially when Paul isn’t flaming at ALL! If Paul’s flaming, then my entire body and soul is charred with gay blackness. I don’t know where this guy was coming from. He was probably just nervous and that was the first thing that came out of his mouth. I don’t hold a grudge about it, but I will never be the Chong to his Cheech. Never.
Paul wanted me to stay over at his place, but I decided to go home instead. He spent the previous two nights in my bed and I was kind of excited to do my own thing. Meaning masturbate feverishly. Tonight we are going out on a date. It’s been a couple months since our last one. We are going out to dinner at some restaurant called “Valesco’s” in the East Village. I think that’s the name of it. But I don’t care either way. As long as Paul is paying, cuz I am busted broke until my next paycheck. If Paul doesn’t pay, we will make Success Rice and probably put some leftover chicken on it. Please let him be paying, please let him be paying. I could do with a night out to dinner with my boyfriend.
He has been absolutely perfect since our big blowup on Sunday. I mean, don’t let me count my chickens yet, cuz this is how it usually goes before he regresses back to the caveman boyfriend he really is. I am hoping this is it though. That he is really committed to making this relationship work now. And if not, I have already told him that I am serious about removing my stuff from his apartment. But then I went ahead and made him a copy of the keys to my place. Hee hee oops. But how do I play the role of Serious Sally and Loving Larry at the same time? I’m doing my best. I just pray he continues on the path he is currently heading on.
BTW…serious sally and loving larry?
Right.
Vomit.
How is it that I need a fucking haircut already. On my computer desk, I have these two mini-rear view mirrors that I use to watch out for people coming up behind me. You know, cuz I am a sneaky lying bitch. Well, instead of seeing the people behind me, I have been staring at my hideous hairstyle all morning. Let’s be honest, my hair looks like an asshole. And remind me again why I have to have Asian hair, when I am clearly not an Asian?
(Big Sigh)
This weekend has turned into utter craziness. I have more plans than I can handle! Member back in the day when I was crying about how lonely I was? Yeah, well now I am being pulled in about 37 different directions. No wait, 38 different directions. On Friday night, I am to hang out with Paul’s Aunt, cousin, and sister. (Remember?…the pseudo-lesbians) After that I am supposed to go out with Mariah to a lesbian bar so that I can get her some vagina. Sounds fun. On Saturday, I may be seeing a Broadway show with Paul’s family and then I am sure we will have dinner or something. I will be forced to sit there with a brain aching fake smile and it will be nothing but enduring annoying conversations; most of which will be conducted by his 28 year old know-it-all sister. I shouldn’t be such a prick about them, cuz they aren’t the most terrible people in the world. But his sister “Steph” just talks and talks and talks and if I offer a varying opinion on any subject, she looks me directly in the eye and says “No”.
It’s a lot of fun. Saturday night is Ari’s party! Now THAT I KNOW will be a blast.
On Sunday, I am currently scheduled to have brunch with both Paul and Kelly’s family. I have to let one of them down and I think it’s going to be Paul. It really depends on how the weekend goes and also on how upset he will be if I don’t go. After brunch, Kelly and I are going to try to see the movie “Willard”. I mean, what movie about a thousand rats crawling all over your body while Michael Jackson’s “Ben” plays in the background won’t be a hit?
Shit. I know! HUGE!
Alright, time for my soup and roll. I am reading this fantastic book right now called “The Manhattan Hunt Club”. It’s by John Saul, whom I love although he borders on absurd sometimes. In one scene of the book, this guy stabs his best friend and girl friend and then puts the girls tits on the guys chest. Then he fucks the guy. It’s all very normal. Really, I’m not a spikey-haired, Asian psycho.
Boof.
