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Seething Cakes of Hatred

Making pancakes, as I learned at AP's birthday bash at the beach this weekend, is an unbelievably tedious chore. I don't know why I...

Wednesday, June 30, 2004

A Very Sad Story

I have a very rare opportunity today. I've been asked to be a Guest Blogger at The Traveling Spotlight so I'm attempting a little experiment: Can I tell the same story in two very different ways?

What I am about to tell you is very sad. I'm warning you. When I was in college I made a girl cry when I told this at dinner. A few months later she asked me to tell it again, and once again she cried.

If you prefer to read the funny version of this story, go visit The Traveling Spotlight. Let me know which one you like better!

When I was thirteen years old, my family moved from Independence, Missouri to Ft. Lauderdale, Florida. Having lived in one town for my entire life, I was very excited about this new beginning. I looked forward to new friends, a new house and a new school. To sweeten the deal, I would actually live near the ocean, which is about as exciting as it gets for a Midwestern boy.

I had no idea what I was about to face. In Missouri I was very popular at school. My upbringing was rather conservative, so the other kids actually made a rule that there was NO CUSSING ALLOWED if I played kickball with them. They knew I didn't cuss, and they wanted to make me happy. I was well-liked and adored. I was also seriously deluded, as I was about to find out.

Seminole Middle School in Plantation, Florida was terrifying. Each day I would go wait for the bus with a strong mean eighth-grader named Carlos. Carlos hated me because I had mentioned to my sister that he smoked. My sister told Carlos' sister, and she told her parents her brother was smoking. Carlos decided to take revenge on me and made every morning living hell for me as we stood in the dark waiting for the school bus. Nobody in Missouri had ever told me, "I'm going to kick your ass." I was scared to tell my parents, because I didn't want to seem like a baby. So every day I had to beg him not to kick my ass and apologize for getting him in trouble. Every single morning started that way. Maybe he wouldn't really have tried to beat me up if I refused to cower before him, but I didn't want to take that chance.

On the schoolbus nobody wanted me to sit by them. I had to stand in the overcrowded aisle of the bus, and if the bus lurched to a stop I would fall into people standing in front of or behind me. I couldn't brace myself to keep my balance, because I had to carry my trumpet case with one hand and my notebook with the other. I would be cussed out and pushed whenever I fell into somebody. One day a mean girl peeled stickers of my notebook while I stood there helplessly asking her to stop. I couldn't use my hands to push her away, and wouldn't have tried even if I could. Her muscular boyfriend stood next to her staring me down and daring me to make a fuss. After that particularly frustrating day I went home and punched a hole in the wall of our living room. I told my parents I had fallen into the wall.

Nobody talked to me at school other than to tease me about being different. I wore glasses, I was fat, and I wore clothes that were years behind the current fashion trends. I was one of a handful of non-Jewish kids. A lot of the kids in my school had moved from New York or New Jersey, so I didn't even talk correctly. My flat Bible Belt tapioca accent only accentuated the fact that I was different.

I missed my friends in Missouri. They had been so good to me. I never got in one fight the whole time I attended Glendale Elementary School. Suddenly, I found myself wishing I knew how to fight because I was being eaten alive every day in middle school.

When Christmas rolled around, I was disappointed to learn that we were not allowed to sing Christmas carols at school. Since so many of the students were Jewish, only non-religious music could be played in band or sung in choir. Yet my sister came home and sang The Dreidl Song to me one night, and I wondered why she was allowed to learn Hanukkah songs at her elementary school.

A big cake decorating contest was announced at school one day, and I had a brilliant idea. I was going to decorate my cake in a Christmas theme. It would be the best cake ever, and I would have a chance to make a statement. Up with Christmas! Gentile and Proud! I would decorate a Christmas wreath cake, and would proudly carry it into school. Then I would win first place and maybe win some respect at last.

My mom and sister helped me cover a Bundt cake with green frosting, tiny red cherries and red string licorice tied into tiny bows. We wrapped a piece of cardboard with Christmas wrapping paper and placed the cake gently on top. Then I had a terrifying thought. How would I ever get this cake safely to school? I knew couldn't manage to protect my cake from the hostile kids on the bus. My mom offered to drive me to school the next morning, and she became my hero at that moment.

I was so proud of that cake, and I kissed my mom goodbye as I left the car. I was excited to win the contest. I felt so proud as I walked towards the school knowing my mom was smiling at me from the car. All of a sudden, the cardboard bent in half and the cake slid to the sidewalk. Splat.

Everybody started laughing at me as I looked down at the green mess splattered in front of me. I stared in disbelief and suddenly heard my mom tap her car horn a couple times to get my attention. I looked back at her and she motioned me over. I obediently walked over to her knowing that she would tell me to ignore the laughs and just go inside the building. "Just forget about the cake, honey. It's no big deal," she would tell me.

She rolled down the car window, and I poked my head inside.

"Honey, do you want to go home?"

Her empathy at that moment caused the lump in my chest to burst forth into a shower of tears. I couldn't say a word as I nodded in reply to her offer. At that moment, I wanted to go home more than anything in the world. A very sad teenage boy skipped school and went home with his very loving mother that day. That little boy will never forget the way his mom loves him with all his heart.

Some kind teacher must have seen what happened, because when the faculty heard what happened, I was awarded first prize in spite of my ruined cake. Clutching my $25 gift certificate in my hands, I proudly took my mom to dinner at El Chico's, and we celebrated our victory together.

Tuesday, June 29, 2004

Straight Boys

If you are about to have your picture taken with a hot guy, don't you think your friends should tell you if your hair is sticking straight up?

That's me and Boy Hunk. He is my favorite straight boyfriend. Needless to say, he is very useful to me. He pretends to be my boyfriend if I am trying to avoid certain guys at the bar. Or, if I need to make someone jealous (shut up - it is a genuine need at times) then he'll make out with me. You can imagine how often I need to make people jealous.

ME: Hey, Boy Hunk, see that guy over there? He dumped me.
BOYHUNK: Wanna make out in front of him?
ME: Let's do it!

He is also an awesome friend. One night at karaoke I decided to ask Ivan out on a date. Ivan was the guy who sang country songs and flirted with me every week. I thought he was straight, but everybody insisted he was gay. Ivan winked at me when he sang and smiled his big broad smile whenever I came over to say hello. I started believing that maybe he really was interested in me. So one night I got my courage up to ask him on a date. That's when I found out he had a girlfriend.

I sat at the bar drinking whiskey and moaning to Boy Hunk about the difficulty I sometimes have with discerning a man's sexuality. "It's easier for straight people," I told him. "You have a much better chance of approaching a girl you like and knowing that she is most likely straight," I whined. "But when you are gay the odds are against you. A lot of guys that I like turn out to be straight!"

Then I said, "I hate being gay."

I have never seen Boy Hunk look more upset. "Don't ever say that," he said to me. "Please don't say that."

I felt like I had let him down. He loves me for who I am, and the idea that I hated a part of myself really upset Boy Hunk. I could see it in his face, and I knew he was right to scold me. It's wrong to hate who you are.

Here are a few more reasons why I love Boy Hunk:

1. He gives me pep talks when I need them. Because of his prodding (mmmmm) I have summoned up the courage to flirt with people I think are "too hot" for me.

2. He thinks I am sexy but not very smart
One night I had a party at my house. Kenny was a guy at the party who I had been seeing for over a month, but he was very slow to respond to my subtle requests for sex (TAKE ME! DO ME NOW!). At around 4 in the morning I went to bed and overheard a conversation outside through an open window. Kenny was telling Boy Hunk that he really liked me, but that he worried that my heart wasn't really with him.

I heard Boy Hunk reply, "You have to tell Todd what you want".

Kenny said, "I can't. He is the kind of person who will do what I want just to make me happy. I want his actions to come from him rather than from a desire to please me".

"Todd is sexy," Boy Hunk answered, "but not very smart".

I remember giggling as I listened from my bedroom. Boy Hunk had no idea I could hear what he was saying. I actually felt complimented because Boy Hunk called me sexy. Maybe I'm not very smart.

3. Boy Hunk gave me a concussion
Speaking of sexy but not smart, at my birthday party last year Boy Hunk decided to jump into my arms from across the kitchen without warning me. I was holding a bottle of beer and chatting with Metro at the time. I looked over to see Boy Hunk flying through the air towards me. I had no time to react, and both Metro and I crashed to the floor as Boy Hunk landed on us. I felt my head hit the back of a chair, and I spent the rest of the night trying to stop the bleeding. I'm still plotting my revenge.

4. Boy Hunk is sexy but not very strong
I can beat him at arm wrestling. Right-handed AND left-handed. Ha.

Straight boys are hot. But they can be very confusing. Recently I met a guy who claims to be mostly straight. Mostly. He asked if he could sleep over one night. Knowing he likes girls better, I assumed he meant he wanted to crash on the couch. So I told him he was welcome to sleep there. "I have a couch at home," he answered. "If I wanted to sleep on a couch I could just go home."

I was quite surprised, to say the least. "Are you saying you want to sleep in my bed?" (Could you hit me over the head with that brick just a bit harder please?)

So, he spent the night. And we've had a few more interesting encounters, and I have no idea what is going on. He is mostly straight. I am all the way gay.

Boy Hunk, you are so right. Sometimes I am sexy but not very smart.

Monday, June 28, 2004

Toddy's Choice

This was a weekend packed with activity. We finished our run of 10 Naked Men. What an unforgettable and wonderful experience. Hearing the enthusiasm of the audience and seeing people actually double over with laughter made for a memorable closing night.

Sunday at Peacock in the Park I had one last chance to feel famous as people traversed dozens of blankets just to come introduce themselves and let me know they had seen the show and loved it. I had such a great time at the park watching the show. I mean, how often does a guy like me get a chance to drink, flirt and wear a sarong? Actually, I guess I drink and flirt often, but the sarong thing was new.

I was going to wear a peacock feathered mask, but I thought only dorks would wear masks to the event. The Handsome Prince arrived wearing a leather mask confirming my theory. Actually he looked hot as usual. Balloon Boy did the huge balloon display for the show, so he staked out a great spot for us right by the stage. The only disadvantage to that was that everybody in the entire park could see me whenever I accidentally knocked a drink out of someone's hand, which happened more often than you would think. I'm usually so graceful. And by graceful I mean clumsy.

The party was exciting, and the show was lots of fun. Even if the act wasn't good, making fun of it was. The 87 year old woman who sang Copacabana was one of my favorites.

One truly horrible thing happened to me though. I was standing in line at the concession stand waiting to order a garden burger. Suddenly Ribeye approached me to say hello. The nazi crowd control person stormed up to us and told Ribeye to move along unless he was going to get in line for food. I pleaded with him, "I just want to say hi to my friend, Herr Crowdencontrollen!"

"No. You must choose," replied the cruel guard, "Food or friend. Which do you want?"

"I cannot choose! I cannot choose," I cried. Ribeye looked pleadingly into my eyes. This was the most difficult choice I have ever had to make.

I tried not to cry as Ribeye was dragged off, presumably to the crematorium. That garden burger was so good though.

Saturday, June 26, 2004

Finally! A Stalker

In the lobby of the theatre is a poster that has all of the headshots of the 10 Naked Men cast. Clever nicknames were made up for each of us (I was Todd "Hot Child in the City").

Last night I realized my headshot has been replaced by a crappy xerox of my picture.

"Hey, Don? Why is my picture different," I asked the director.
"Somebody stole yours off the poster," he told me.

I was in heaven. Looks like I may finally have a stalker in town.
Good job, stalker!

Thursday, June 24, 2004

Welcome to Hot Toddy's Toaster Oven

Glad you found it!
One More Drink

Andy and I had drinks at Hobos last night where our bar tab proved that Libras truly do repel money. Michael Vernon joined us briefly via telephone and was, as usual, highly entertaining. He called me "purdy" in that cute accent of his.

Andy and I work well together. He coached me on proper drink ordering (Don't say "One more drink" to the server or he'll close your tab...and we all know you don't really mean "one more"). Then I counseled Andy and helped him practice his affirmations when he ordered a huge salad he knew he wouldn't be able to finish. He seemed to have so much guilt about this that I wouldn't be surprised if Andy went to Confession this morning to beg forgiveness. He was also bothered by the fact that he was eating, and I wasn't. Oh, and he also asked if it would upset me if he ate chicken since I'm a vegetarian. Honey, you can eat chicken in front of me as long as I don't have to watch them kill it.

Andy is a pioneer. He started a "personal website" before blogs existed. And you really should read about how much he likes monkeys. That's the post that won my heart.

Yesterday was fun. I had a great time just writing my posts without worrying about entertainment value. And, yet, people still seemed to enjoy reading. That was a nice surprise. I've noticed lately a few new names popping up in the comments field. I always make a point of visiting the blogs of people who visit mine, so I will have to find time today to go check out some of these new websites. I already struggle to visit all my regular favorites every day, but somehow I'll manage.

I really would like to sleep with somebody this weekend. (The Handsome Prince isn't here to "filter" me at the moment...he would have begged me not to write that). When I say I want to sleep with someone I really mean sleep. I want to feel a man beside me in bed, and while sex would probably happen, that isn't my main desire at the moment. The problem is all the complications that come with having a man in your bed. It's hard for me to get a good night's sleep if I am lying next to someone who turns me on. I want to stay awake all night so I can enjoy it. (And with three final shows coming up, I really need sleep). Another complication with sleeping with someone right now is the whole "morning after" process. Do we want to do it again? Do you like me or was that just for fun? Are we still friends or are we more than that now? Are you going to tell everybody what we just did?

One person may have deeper feelings than the other person. Or the guy you slept with might be a freak who collects pens. Or he might be married and have to run home to his partner. Or he might consider himself mostly straight...not that I would know anything about that last example. Never mind. Forget I said anything.

Filters are for coffee makers, not toaster ovens.

Wednesday, June 23, 2004

As I mentioned in my earlier post today, things are changing in my life. When I begin a new phase of life, I usually commemorate the moment by getting a haircut or deciding to go by my middle name instead of my first name. This time I am marking my life transition by moving Toaster Oven to a new URL. I will let you know when the new site is ready. In the meantime, keep popping in here for new entries.

I am attempting this without Patrick's assistance, as he is in lockdown today. (for Public Nudity or somesuch nonsense) By undertaking this project without my technical support person, I realize I am courting disaster.

I may be going about this all wrong, but my method involves copying every single previous post and republishing it to the new blog. This means that those of you who check references to your blogs may see a strange new blog popping up on your sitemeters/statcounters/whatevers.

The reason for the change will be made clear very soon. I am going to do a big dramatic announcement next week, and you'll be sufficiently let down by all the hoopla leading up to it, I assure you.

If you are a glutton for punishment and want to read old entries of mine, I suppose you can travel to my new site and catch up on my past exploits. You will have a chance to hear about my theft of four vegetarian chicken nuggets from the freezer at work. You will also see the calendar I wanted to buy for 2004 (which I never did), and you'll have a chance to giggle at my childish excitement over Final Fantasy X-2.


Today I have decided not to think about what I'm writing. I'm not going to try to impress anybody. I'm not even going to try to make you laugh. I'm not going to attempt to make you think or make you cry. I'm just going to write. Today's blog truly is for me, not for you. I know it's selfish, but that's just the way it is.

Lately I've seen some of my favorite bloggers claiming they have nothing interesting to say. This morning I walked into the office and thought, "what the hell am I going to write about?"

Is this affliction some sort of blog virus? Are we infecting each other with insecurity or boredom? Or is life just incredibly mundane lately? Last night I was drunk before 8pm. I didn't even get drunk at PRIDE this weekend, so maybe I was making up for it. Or maybe Tuesday is just such a boring day that I needed to party.

I feel like I am on the brink of so much change, and I'm a bit scared to move forward. That is rare for me. I have never been one to fear the future. I remember a particular night in July 1995 when I secretly packed my car up with as many of my belongings as I could and fleeing a certain cult in the middle of the night. I drove for three days from Annapolis, Maryland to McKinney, Texas. I had no idea if my car would make it, and I had no solid plans beyond pulling into my parents' driveway. Yet, I didn't feel fearful. I felt exhilarated. I blasted my radio and smoked cigarettes. I stopped off for some porn and checked into a crummy hotel where I drank liquor and masturbated and tried to forget about all the "sins" I was simultaneously committing. Then I walked to a payphone and called to leave a message for my four roommates from the church.

"I'm not coming back. Keep or sell anything I left behind. I will send one last rent check. Don't try to contact me."

That was a big change, and I wasn't afraid. Shortly after that I came out of the closet, whored myself (for free, of course...I'm so bad at seeing opportunities to make money!) for five months, passed out on the street in downtown Dallas and lost nearly every bit of my self respect. Then I met CT, who was not "Cheater Thief" at the time. He was my beloved and my hero, and he saved me from my self-destructive behavior. We shacked up together and decided to leave Texas and move to Portland, Oregon, which we randomly picked as our new home. I had never been to Oregon, and he had only spent a day or two in Portland a few years earlier.

It was not so hard to run away this time. Instead of loading a tiny car with whatever would fit, we had movers come and take our furniture away. Instead of checking into lonely hotel rooms and getting drunk, I had my new family with me (CT and our two dogs). I was excited about our future in Oregon even though I didn't know anybody there, and I didn't have any employment lined up.

I have fearlessly made so many big changes in my life. The upcoming changes are so small compared to what I have been through. And yet, I feel afraid. I thought that we were supposed to become braver as we got older?

Last night I was thinking out loud and said to Apollo, "I always seem to fall for men who are unavailable. They are thousands of miles away or already partnered or straight." He suggested I might be afraid of commitment, which seems ridiculous to me. I consider myself such a romantic. I am frequently told that I am in love with love. The Handsome Prince calls me "Charlotte" because I act so much like Kristin Davis' character on Sex and the City. So how could I be afraid of commitment?

I don't have an answer to that right now. But it is food for thought. Or food for blogging.

I told you I didn't have anything to say. But it was fun writing about nothing today. I'll have to indulge in saying nothing more often.

Tuesday, June 22, 2004

Luigi Must Die: A Tale of Revenge, Libra Style

In spite of repeated warnings, people are still messing with me. Do they not understand the power I hold? Do they not fear my wrath?

My ex CT and I had a neighbor named Luigi who was obsessed with CT. I'm sure he was peering through the window fondling himself whenever CT walked our dogs past his house. So it wasn't surprising to me when CT told me Luigi asked him out on a date a couple days after I moved out. Unfortunately Luigi did not act fast enough.

CT had already started dating someone seriously less than 24 hours after we broke up. He dated him for a year. I mean, why sit around mourning the loss of a long term relationship, right?

CT likes to brag about guys who like him. He would come home from the gym and tell me about all the attention he got. The few times we got together after we split, CT always made sure to mention the guys who were asking him out. That's how I found out that Luigi was stalking CT, bringing him gifts, taking him out, etc. I'm pretty sure they slept together.

Last week The Handsome Prince and I went for drinks at Red Cap and Luigi shows up. He began telling us that he had planned to invite CT to see Annie Lennox in concert. "CT loves Annie Lennox," he told me. "He thinks she is BRILLIANT," he said as he laughed. CT always used the word BRILLIANT to describe his favorites. I felt my flesh crawl a bit, but I tried to shake it off. I felt so immature as I said, "You should have seen him when the album Medusa came out."

When Luigi left for the bathroom, I explained the situation to The Handsome Prince, so he would understand if I seemed a bit put off. Luigi came back to the table, and everything was okay for a few more minutes until he said, "Oh, CT loves rum, but he can't drink very much!"

Why I felt the need to validate my intimate knowledge of CT, I have no idea.

"I know," I said. "I remember when he first discovered his favorite drink...rum and Dr. Pepper."

"Actually," Luigi said, "it's spiced rum."

I wanted to drown him in his vodka at that moment. "I know. I'm the one who bought the spiced rum every couple weeks," I answered.

The Handsome Prince, sensing the tension, said, "You ready to go, Todd?"

As we walked away from the table, I turned to Luigi and heard myself saying, "We're going to Silverado if you want to join us..."

What the fuck?!

The Handsome Prince whispered to me as we walked away, "I wasn't going to invite him! He was being an ass."

"I know, but I didn't want to seem rude," I replied.

Damn, sometimes I hate being a Libra.

Monday, June 21, 2004

Pride 2004

Pride this year was very much the same as last year. Just like last year, I showed up for the Bloody Mary bar at Red Cap and couldn't get in because I lost my drivers license the night before. (Turns out it was at home in my pants pocket) So, I had to sneak into the bar by going underneath the special guardrail they set up to keep evil drinkers away from the sidewalk crowd.

I was very emotional during the Sunday parade, just like I was last year. Granted, I had been up until 4:30 a.m. on Saturday night, so that could account for some of my tears. Then again, it doesn't take much to make me cry. I knew I was in trouble when the first group of the parade made me cry. I will never live down the shame. I cried when the Dykes on Bikes showed up, and it wasn't because of their haircuts.

So there I am at Red Cap watching the parade and crying and missing my driver's license just like Pride 2003.

Everything changed when I entered the Waterfront Festival and a man yelled, "Hey! Didn't I see you NAKED on Thursday night?"

In the beer garden, more men were coming up to me to discuss my performance, and I felt flattered by their compliments. But in the back of my mind I kept thinking, "they saw me dragged across stage naked with handcuffs and a blindfold..."

Yes, Pride was much different this year. I am popular and famous. As The Executive put it, I am a "minor local celebrity" (when he says things like that I take it as a compliment, though there is a very real possibility it may be a backhanded one). When I get the $400 check from my performance I am going to hire a driver and a maid and have a pool installed in the backyard of the house I rent.

I am also much bolder than I was a year ago. I remember being very shy and intimidated last year at the Pride Party held by Yum Yum Marco and his partner, The Supremely Hot and Beautiful Studmuffin (do you like THAT name better, F?) I was afraid to talk to all the hot men attending this event. This year I worked the crowd. I talked to anyone and everyone. I made fun of Sam Adams because he couldn't figure out how to spell my name. (I'm totally voting for him thought) I pulled down The Dancers pants. I wasn't afraid. I love feeling confident. While chatting on the phone last night, Andy said I was the Belle of the Ball. Oh, Lord, if Marco gets wind of that I am in so much trouble. Everybody knows HE is the Belle of the Ball. I may have overstepped my bounds.

I think I need to move away from Portland. Otherwise next year I will wreak havoc on Portland Pride 2005. I will storm the stage during the comic's set and grab the microphone from her. "I'm funnier than you, bitch..." I'll ask that people at the Pride Party avert their eyes when speaking to me. I'll hold a drawing to choose the lucky winner who gets to come home with me.

One thing is for sure...I'm sure I'll lose my driver's license again.

Friday, June 18, 2004

Pride at Last

Special Thanks to Crunchy for helping me change Toaster Oven into a Gay Pride site for the rest of the month! He really is the best.

A year ago at this time, I had one close gay friend (The Handsome Prince). I know that sounds crazy. It's even hard for me to believe.

CT and I cloistered ourselves away from other gay men for the whole time we were together. Our relationship was not accepted by the gay men we hung out with in Dallas, Texas where we lived. They were pissed off that CT left his partner and started seeing me. I was "the homewrecker" (which wasn't true) and we both become pariahs.

So, we moved to Oregon and kept to ourselves. Last year was my first time EVER being single during PRIDE. I celebrated in style and made so many new friends. I can't believe the number of gay friends I have made in only a year.

Last year The Handsome Prince took me to a party where the Yum Yum Brotherhood began. The whole weekend was so packed with activity and great memories. One of my favorite memories was watching the parade with my heterosexual roommate Juju, who stood on the sidewalk screaming, "WE WANT A GAY COMMUNITY CENTER! WE WANT A GAY COMMUNITY CENTER!" as the float campaigning for that facility passed. She is like my PFLAG mom, and I love that girl.

My eyes actually fill with tears as I type this post. I don't have the support of my family, and that hurts and can be so lonely. When I became suddenly single two years ago, I had one gay friend.

Now I am surrounded and protected by gay, lesbian and straight but not narrow friends. At last I have a family that insists I be PROUD of who I am.

And I am so very proud.
Happy Pride Everybody!

Thursday, June 17, 2004

I Love Jocks

I promised a picture of my hunky softball players weeks ago.

While attending The Politician's party, I had the good fortune to run into Adonis and Hercules. Sometimes I am very shy. However, when confronted with overwhelmingly tight asses and bulging biceps I can overcome my shyness. I asked if I could get a picture with Hercules and Adonis, and they obliged.

Hercules (on the right) and I met back in March of this year while standing in line for the bathroom at the Red Dress Party. We talked for a few minutes about his muscular pecs, which the plunging neckline of his red dress showed off nicely.

No, wait. That's what I was thinking about. I have no idea what we talked about.

Actually, I'm kidding. Hercules was so sweet and friendly, and we chatted about his recent move to Portland. The next time I ran into him was at The Politician's party. In classic Todd form, I had no memory of our first meeting when he asked if we had met before. Then he mentioned moving here from Portland, Maine, it all came rushing back to me. We had another great talk, and we ended up in bed together. Sort of.

I didn't mind that Adonis joined us.

Adonis and Hercules play softball, which is now my new favorite sport. I guess I just have a thing for softball players. Actually, I think I just have a thing for men who play any sports.

I grew up playing sports. My father coached my bowling league, and at the end of the season trophies were awarded to the best players. Even though my dad was the coach, I didn't bowl very well. At the awards dinner, I got a small trophy that said, "I Tried".

I played flag football in first grade and also played softball. The thing is...I sucked. I never really understood flag football. I distinctly remember the one time I caught a pass, I ran the wrong way. Everybody (on my team) was screaming at me. I thought they were cheering. I think my dad shouted from the sidelines and got me to stop running before I scored for the other team.

I have no memories of softball. But I'll bet I sucked.

When I was in the cult (such a GREAT opening sentence) they made me play basketball every Sunday. The goal was to bond with "the brothers", and to become more manly (ie., not gay). I was GREAT at blocking, and I learned that I was tougher than I thought. Once I practically broke my ankle during a game, and I learned to "play through the pain". Not that I had any choice. Harsh reprimands awaited anyone who showed signs of "rebelliousness". So, if your brothers told you to keep playing in spite of the pain in your ankle, you kept playing.

Ahhh. Good times. Let's forget all about that and return to happier thoughts...

That's better.

Wednesday, June 16, 2004

Andy & Alex

Last night I had the pleasure of meeting Andy for the first time. It's amazing that we made this happen since we are both Libras and are decision-making challenged. I really enjoyed our talk, in spite of the fact that I kept yawning since I was still recovering from Monday night's Drammy awards and karaoke till 2 a.m. It wasn't you, Andy, I swear!

One of many topics we covered was the subject of bad dates. I was telling Andy about a bad date when his cell phone rang and he rushed off to be the hero for a friend who was stranded and needed a ride home. Thankfully, I can tell my story here in its entirety, and if you leave in the middle of it I won't even know.

I met Alex at Silverado last summer. I should preface this story by saying that sometimes when I go to Silverado I am looking for love. And sometimes I am looking to mock people. This particular evening my impulse to mock was strong.

Alex sat down at my table and smiled. He had a gorgeous smile and beautiful brown eyes. He had an amazing body, from what I could see, and I soon found out he was a former stripper. Around his neck he wore gold chains and wore several rings that looked to be quite expensive.

"Wow. Look at you and your bling," I said as my mockery meter shot off the scale.

He began telling me all about his rings and all about himself. Well, not ALL about himself. As it turns out, I had much to learn about Alex, and most of it was learned too late. We talked for a while, and he convinced me to go with him to another club called Aura. I agreed it could be fun, and we headed off on our adventure. After Aura, we headed to Panorama and spent some time up in the DJ's booth. It was really interesting to stand on the platform almost directly over the dance floor. Alex then asked me if he could spend the night.

There had to be a catch. He's hot. He's fun. He's nice.

There wasn't a catch. There were about a dozen catches, but, again, no sign of them until it was too late. The next morning we woke up in my bed, (I'm skipping details just to frustrate you) and he opened his backpack. He pulled out pictures of his girlfriend and began telling me how much he loved her. How sweet. Turns out she's married, but he knows they will be together someday. He has, after all, known her for three weeks and the connection they share is amazing.

Next he pulled out a huge plastic bag filled with pens. "I collect pens," he said as he began pulling them out to show me. "Check out the jump on this one," he boasted as he clicked the ballpoint pen open and shut. "See it?" he asked.

"Um, yeah," I muttered. "Wait. Are you joking?"

He wasn't. He had a passion for pens and especially, it appeared, pens that had a nice "jump" when you clicked them. Alex's muscular arms and broad shoulders were beautiful as he clicked his pen, but I was beginning to wonder if that was enough to compensate for his quirky pen fetish.

"My ex-boyfriend turned into Eminem one time when we were making love," he stated suddenly as he lovingly placed his high-performance pen back into the bag.

"Huh? What do you mean he turned into Eminem?"

"We were making love and his face and body became that of Eminem. He was Eminem," Alex replied.

"Wow. That is really amazing," I answered. "So, did I turn into anyone last night?" I asked, hoping that I had the power to turn into The Rock. THAT would really be something to brag about. Sadly, I was informed by Alex that I didn't turn into anybody.

Alex then got his cute little butt out of my bed and took a shower, but not before drinking every bit of alcohol in our fridge. He was chugging a beer when Juju came into the kitchen and whispered to me, "Wow! Who is the hot guy?"

I smiled and replied, "Oh, just wait. I have so much to tell you."

Alex said hello to Juju and began telling her how much he loved Shirley MacLaine and how her books personally spoke to him. His shower wasn't long enough for me to fully brief Juju, but she would soon learn plenty about him firsthand. After his shower, he found a bottle of Bailey's Irish Cream in the fridge and read the label to Juju. "This has 17% alcohol in it," he told her.

"Alex, I need to take you home now," I said abruptly. I explained to him that Juju and I had a play rehearsal that afternoon and needed to get ready. "Oh, can I come to your rehearsal and watch you," he asked. I told him that, regrettably, our rehearsals were not open to the public. I bit my tongue to avoid saying, "maybe you can just go home and play with your pens."

I drove him home, and Juju rode in the backseat stifling laughter. She was not very successful. At one point she pretended I had said something incredibly funny (I hadn't) just so she could release her pent up hysterical laughter. He told me how much he loved motorcycles, and I pretended to know what he was talking about. Then we passed a pizza place, and Alex told us he worked there for awhile after he was a stripper. He was fired from the pizza place for being drunk on the job. Of course he was.

As we pulled onto his street, Alex looked at me and said something really sweet. Actually, he rapped it...

"There's a certain mystique when I speak,
That you notice that it's order unique,
Cause you know it's me, my poetry's deep,
And I'm still matic the way I flow to this beat..."

I hated to interrupt, but I had to ask. "Is that Eminem?" Why, yes. Yes, it was.

Alex hopped out of the car asking to see me again, and Juju sat in the backseat shaking from her repressed guffaws. He gave me his number and ran inside to call his girlfriend.

I still see Alex from time to time at Silverado. He always gives me his phone number because, strangely, I seem to keep losing it. Once I tried to tell him I didn't have a pen to jot down his number. You can imagine why that excuse didn't work.

"Check out the jump on this one," he said as he wrote down his number.

Tuesday, June 15, 2004

Not Funny

I don't think I have said anything funny today. Not once. Not all day long.

I can't think of anything funny to say or do.

Last night at the Drammy's I could only think of one funny thing to do. The funny thing was this: I sat in the front row, and every so often when the audience was applauding winners, I would get up and go get a drink. That way I could smile and wave at the crowd pretending to acknowledge the applause. I thought it was funny.

I often think I am funnier than I probably am. When I was watching "Coal Miner's Daughter," on video, I left Juju a note that said:

"Juju - I am only halfway through Coal Miner's Daughter, but I had to stop the movie so I could go to rehearsal. I am DYING of suspense! I wonder if Loretta Lynn will become a famous country singer!?"

I think that is so funny.

Another time, back when my ex and I were still a happy young couple, we were at home drinking coffee and waiting for some friends to arrive. The coffee tasted really bitter. I told him that we should leave a note in case we died from drinking the coffee. So I scrawled on a notepad:

"We think there may be arsenic in this coffee. We are going to finish drinking it now. If you find this note and we are dead, check the coffee. Thanks, CT & Todd"

See, I think that is funny.

I was hanging out with A Great Guy on Sunday morning, and there was a tiny gnat bothering us at the restaurant. I whined to The Great Guy, "Why is that one tiny bug here? And why is he at OUR table?"

The Great Guy said, "Maybe there are other tiny bugs here at a tiny table we can't even see. Maybe he is their waiter."

Shit like that is so funny to me. There is this certain, as the French say, "I don't know what" about certain styles of comedy that appeal to me. Ellen DeGeneres has it. She can take the most random thoughts and make them hilarious. The Yum Yum Brotherhood has it. We're all about five times funnier when we're together than we are as individuals.

This post is not funny. I'll be back when I have something funny to say. I can't live up to my rave reviews

Monday, June 14, 2004

Stalking Made Simple

Balloon Boy is worried about me. He asked me if I ever worry that the Toaster Oven will attract stalkers. "Only if I am lucky," I told him.

It seems that my stalkers must be having trouble tracking me down. I mean, there is a slight chance I don't have any stalkers, but that seems unlikely. I'm sure it's just that I'm hard to track, right?

So, if you are trying to stalk me, here are my plans for the night. At 5 pm today (Pacific time, you better hurry if you want to find me) you can catch me in the parking garage here if you want to steal my wallet (two dollars cash and a maxed out credit card can be yours!) or take me by force.

After that, I'm having a drink with Apollo (look for his biceps) at the Red Cap. We should be there until 6 p.m. I will be sitting on the patio or standing by the men's room stuffing free condoms in my pockets.

At 6 p.m., I'm heading to The Crystal Ballroom for Portland's annual theatre awards ceremony.

I'm not sure how late I will be there. I will probably leave promptly after the ceremony and go home so I can get a good night's sleep for work tomorrow.

I knew I'd get you with that one. Hilarious.

Seriously, after I watch the same three people who win every year accept their awards, I will probably go sing karaoke. Or maybe I will stand around at The Silverado feeling bored. Unless you show up to stalk me, which would be fun.

I hate to sound desperate, but somebody please stalk me. Please?

Don't make me post my cell phone number people.

Friday, June 11, 2004

One Naked Man

I can hear echoes of last night's applause. The laughter from the audience was overwhelming at times, and I was surprised people actually cheered when good things happened to Robert, the role I play. Sometimes I found it necessary to come up with creative ways to hold for laughs. I knew some of the lines were funny, but I didn't expect such long loud sustained laughter. The whole cast worked as a great ensemble. This show demands a lot of the actors - speedy entrances and exits, quick costume changes (or costume shedding), rapid line delivery and a lot of bravery. Doors fly open and shut at a rapid pace. I was proud of everybody in our show. Nobody dropped the ball. We dropped our pants, but never the ball.

It's the echoes that keep me coming back to the stage. So much of my life slips through my fingers. I forget about things people said to me. I forget details of parties. Sometimes I forget that I already saw a movie, and it will seem vaguely familiar as I start to watch it again. Some moments in life are more significant to me. I treasure the echoes of those memories. They stay with me long after the moment passes.

Holding hands on the scariest rollercoaster ever, posing for a picture on Le Pont Saint-Louis on a cold grey day in Paris, sitting at a campfire after a day of safari in Kenya, getting drenched in the fountains at Crown Center in Kansas City, running on the beach at the Oregon Coast, holding my dog in my arms as he falls asleep, exchanging rings under pine trees in New Mexico...Echoes of beautiful moments help you remember you are alive.

Last night's performance was a rush. I felt high after the show, and it wasn't from the champagne. The beauty of live theater is that every performance is a unique moment never to be repeated. Although we have several more performances, opening night is a thrill that's hard to match. I wish everyone in the audience last night knew their laughter and applause still echo in my mind. They gave me such a gift.

Thursday, June 10, 2004

Opening Night

I thought I was supposed to be the star of this damn show. Why am I resigned to the back row? And why didn't somebody tell me to move into the empty space in the center of the photo?

Well, as long as they have my dressing room decorated completely in white and have the six bottles of chilled Evian as well as the scented candles, I won't raise a fuss.

Hey, you. Thanks for calling to tell me "break a leg"! You meant that in a good way, right?

People have been asking me today if I am nervous about tonight's opening of the show. I don't typically get nervous performing in front of an audience. Lately, I've started feeling bored in rehearsals, because I need an audience to feel really energized. It's sort of like Warren Beatty sarcastically telling Madonna, in "Truth or Dare", that there really is no point to doing anything if it isn't being filmed.

I love the character I'm playing, but I feel as if I am cheating. "Robert" is so much like me. Still, Meg Ryan basically plays herself in every movie, so I think I should be allowed to do roles that aren't a huge stretch every once in a while.

At one point in the show, Robert is told by his best friend that he needs to be patient about finding a boyfriend and replies:

"I am patient. I go to bars. I dress butch. I act aloof and nothing happens. I'm so tired of anonymous sex. I want something different. I want something new. I wanna meet somebody. I want to be wanted by somebody who really likes me. I want to be adored by someone who is passionately attracted to me. I'm sick of fumbling in the dark with strangers. I'm so over that."

How will I ever be able to say that line and really mean it?

Shouldn't be hard at all...

It's true. I want a boyfriend, but I have two things going against me.

Thing Going Against Me Number One:
I think I might be picky. It's true. I wish it weren't, but I seem to fall for people who either live thousands of miles from Portland or are already attached. I don't like guys who say "irregardless" or who wear dirty clothes on our first date. I hate when a guy doesn't ask me anything about myself. I don't like guys who don't tip well or who try to impress me with how much money they have. Eye contact is a big deal to me. I like to have some of it now and then.

Thing Going Against Me Number Two:
Lots of guys don't want a boyfriend. The director of our show had brunch with a group of gay guys a couple weeks ago and mentioned my name, telling these boys I'm ready to have a boyfriend. This got back to me. I was basically being auctioned off without my knowledge. (Your name is TOBY!) As if that's not bad enough, I was told that several of the boys were in agreement that they would have sex with me but just aren't interested in having a boyfriend. Wow, that's harsh. I don't need to have a promise of a relationship before I'll sleep with someone, but I would like to know that a guy is at least open to more if things work out.

Theatre has always been a rewarding process for me. I will have a chance to explore Robert's life, his emotions, his thoughts, his motives and his actions three times a week for the next three weeks. I will get to live someone else's life in front of hundreds (hopefully) of people. To me, this is better than having a boyfriend.

Also, that is a total lie.

Wednesday, June 09, 2004

Come to Bed With Me

Today I am reflecting on sleep and dreams and bedtime prayers. Sleep has become increasingly important to me as I prepare for opening night tomorrow. It has not become important enough to prevent me from staying up late listening to country music and sipping whiskey after rehearsal. However, I have managed to sleep in every morning this week. Today I got to work three hours late.

Sunday morning I woke up with a bottle of water next to me. I found this quite odd, because I normally keep a bottle of water on the nightstand by my bed. Or your bed, if that's where I find myself crashing for the night. Then I remembered why I was sleeping with a bottle of water. The night before, after a long night of partying, I decided I would prevent a hangover by sipping water throughout the night. So I put my little head on my pillow and sucked water from the bottle as I fell asleep. Yes, like an infant.

I must have supposed, in my drunken stupor, that I could actually manage to get water to trickle into my mouth as I slept. Or maybe I thought I would have dreams that would cause me to suck throughout the night, but oral sex dreams were elusive that night. When I awoke I found a full bottle of water next to me. And I had a hangover.

Sleep is weird to me. The whole idea of checking out for hours at a time doesn't sit well with me. I hate to miss anything. I love to climb into bed and feel my muscles relax, but I wish it only took five or ten minutes to refresh. Hours and hours of missed living just irritates me.

I used to worry that if I went to sleep I might never wake up. My bedtime prayers that Jesus would take my soul if I should die before I wake may have contributed to that fear. "Dear, God, just in case I croak in my sleep, I hope you will take away my soul. Amen." Sweet dreams.

Terrible things can happen to you when you sleep. Red Bull had a dream the other night that a large spider jumped at him. This caused him to fall out of bed and land on a pile of CDs. I recommended he install a rail on the side of his bed. Or he could invite me over to sleep in between me and his boyfriend just to be safe.

My friends at work were trying to explain lucid dreaming to me today. Blue Eyes, aka, "the hottest boy I have ever worked with ever in my whole life", says it is possible to control my dreams. I was telling him that I wish I could make myself have dreams about him. He says its possible, but it's not easy. So it seems lucid dreaming will not be possible for me, since I am the patron saint of the path of least resistance.

If I actually could control my dreams, I would have more dreams about flying. I love when I can fly in my dreams. My coworker, Ms. Karma, says that she flies in her dreams using bicycling techniques. She pumps her legs and holds imaginary handlebars and takes off into the sky.

When I fly, I employ a swimming motion. I stroke through the air using my arms and legs and manage to get decent height sometimes. But I often bump into buildings and walls. This seems entirely unfair. In a dream I should be free to be graceful. Clumsiness shouldn't be a part of dreams.

Tuesday, June 08, 2004


Hot Toddy as Count Cassel (from Mansfield Park)

Planetary influences suggest the following for Librans during the next month or so...

In general, this is a rather idealistic time in your life, and you will want very much to actualize your ideals. But nothing will be handed to you now. You will have to work to achieve what you want.

This Libra, for one, is not excited about the prospect of having to work for what I want. This Libra enjoys handouts very much. I woke up at 4 a.m. this morning and couldn't sleep because I had an idea for a scene for Thrust. I wrote and rewrote the scene and sent it to Juju. She said, "I love how you say you can't think of anything to write about and that it's too hard. Then you get an idea and crank it out in less than a day..."

I have a weird way of working. I'm like a car that won't run unless you jump start it. Tongue lashings work well too. (mmmmm)

Your creative imagination is also stimulated by this influence. This is a good time for any kind of creative effort, particularly if it involves rather abstract notions. This influence operates in a rather immaterial way and is at its best when dealing with the abstract. Artistic creativity, especially in music and poetry, is favored during this time.

So, this is probably a good time for me to finish up the scenes I'm writing for Thrust. It's cool that I'm doing two different shows during this period. I have to say that the creativity seems to be somewhat limited. I don't feel my blogs have been highly creative lately. Nothing I've written comes even close to this level of genius, if I do say so myself. Anytime I just start posting lyrics to songs you can bet I'm feeling tapped for ideas.

The most negative side of this influence is that you may be tempted to sit around and daydream.

Oh, yeah. That will be a switch.

Reality may not seem as interesting as your dreams, but this is a time when you can work successfully to realize your dreams, so it would be a tremendous waste of very creative energy to just sit! Any course of action as described above would help you to become a more creative and happy individual. There is much potential in this influence.

Does karaoke count?
Someone Else's Prayer

Tonight the brightest moon in a hundred years
Floods the streets of Rome and I am standing here
Wondering where the ghosts of antiquity
Hide on nights like this once a century
Where do shadows fall when there's only light
Why'd you follow me halfway 'round the world tonight
What I'd give right now not to even care
And then this could be someone else's prayer

And on a sleepless night by St. Stephen's Green
Oh I turned and tossed with my Irish dreams
And when the morning shone through the burned off mist
I could sense you still just as close as this
Just as close as lips brush against a cheek
It's your voice I hear and it's your name I speak
But when I look around there's no one there
How I wish you were someone else's prayer

And now the twilight comes as a silent guest
And of all its gifts I like stillness best
Except for tin roof rains that commence with spring
It's a lullaby when that tin roof sings
Now you can look for me on the streets of Rome
Or in Dublin town but I've gone back home
I would always be just a stranger there
And now you're free to be someone else's prayer
-Mary Chapin Carpenter

I got an awesome CD set of whiskey-sippin' country music from my friend Jeff last night in the mail. Jeff, baby, you're the best. Gotta go buy some Maker's Mark today! After rehearsal tonight, I have a date with the CD player and a shotglass.

Monday, June 07, 2004


Last night, while talking with a friend during our photo shoot for Thrust, I was struck with the fact that I have the life I always wanted. That sort of thinking rarely strikes me. Frankly, I spend a lot of my life thinking that I need something more....

More money. A relationship. More travel. A better car.

However, last night I soaked up the energy of the creative people who surround me, and for a few hours at least, I was able to just enjoy myself instead of worrying about what I don't have. I am so fortunate to live the life I do.

The photographs were taken downstairs in the house to allow for a bit of privacy, as we were posing without clothing in some of the shots. Juju was coordinating the pictures and also enjoying her first experience having her hands on a woman's breasts. Our photographer is awesome. In fact she is the one who did my headshots, one of which appears here on my blog. Her work is great, and from what I saw of the digital photos so far, we have some amazingly sexy provocative pictures.

Upstairs, when we weren't being photographed, we chatted and drank wine and munched on chocolate and grapes. At one point I was talking to my friend about all the creative energy in the house. While the photo shoot was taking place downstairs, he was analyzing music at his computer in order to prepare a performance piece for his drum corps. I was playing piano and singing as I waited for my photos to be taken. My friend Sunshower was giving Reiki treatments on his table a few feet away from the piano. At one point Apollo and I did a kitchen performance of a scene from 10 Naked Men so our friends could see the amusing exchange between our characters. People were putting on erotic costumes and applying makeup in the bathroom. Others were downstairs posing nude or half-clothed.

What a great night. I felt like Andy Warhol surrounded by a legion of fellow artists in the Factory, except that I am not in charge of anything and didn't have any deranged women firing guns at me.
A Random Thought

Doesn't it seem like a lot of missing children are named "Breanna"?

Don't freak out. This isn't my only post for the day. People need me for coffee.

Thursday, June 03, 2004


Sexy name for a late-night show, huh?

One of my mentors has taken to continued his trend of shameless self-promotion lately.

I have decided to follow in his footsteps. I'll be performing in a late night show this July at Stark Raving Theatre. The show, Thrust, consists of eight actors performing original material. It deals with mature themes (lots of sex) and has some nudity as well. I'm going to share with you a monologue I wrote for the show just to give you an idea of the material:

Bathhouse Lessons
TODD enters in bathrobe, shower cap, barefoot. He holds a rubber duck.

TODD: The first time I went to a bathhouse it was painfully clear I was a little out of my element. Most of my previous sexual experiences had been with one man in a committed relationship that begin almost immediately after I came out of the closet and ended nearly seven years later.

The bathhouse became my training ground. I was starved for sex. My appetite was voracious. I learned my lessons like an honor student within the hallowed halls of a sex club.

The first lesson was pretty painful. Physically, I mean. My ass hurt for days. No, wait. That's not what I mean. Not that kind of ass pain. That lesson came later.

My first lesson came as I walked down a dark hallway towards a dark-eyed hunk wearing a towel around his waist. We looked at each other with hunger. We approached each other seductively. He smiled at me. Then I...

I slipped and fell on my ass.

The hunk stopped and stared with a stunned expression. I looked up and said, "ouch".

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yes. The floor is wet."

"Why didn't you get flip flops?"

"I thought they cost extra," I answered.

Lesson One: Get the flip-flops. And, no, they don't cost extra.

Once I had the basic gear down, I learned to navigate my way through dim corridors of carnal lust. Wandering into tiny rooms and shutting the door, I would climb onto mattresses and climb onto men. Sometimes there were two men at once, or there may be three or four men inviting me to join them in a steam room orgy.

I walked away from guys who didn't turn me on, and guys walked away from me. But I always found somebody to play with.

Lesson Two: If you can't find a playmate, keep trying.

I forgot who I was in the dark hallways of the bathhouse. I forgot I was an actor. A writer. A clown. A poet. I was just a guy in a towel. But sometimes I was suddenly reminded of who I was.

One night as I was getting dressed at my locker, two bodybuilders were dressing next to me. I overheard them trying to remember the lyrics of a song from the musical Cinderella, confirming every stereotype you've ever heard about gay men, I might add.

So, they're singing "Impossible", which is the song Cinderella's fairy godmother sings to her before magically turning her rags into a ballgown, but they couldn't remember one part of the song. Suddenly, as if a fairy godmother waved her magic wand, I changed from a guy in a towel into myself. I turned back into Todd.

I began singing to remind the bodybuilders of the lyrics. "And because those daft and dewy-eyed dopes keep building up impossible hopes, impossible things are happening every day."

We sang as we dressed. "Impossible. Impossible. Impossible. Impossible. Impossible things are happening every day."

Lesson Three: Don't forget who you are. You're more than a guy in a towel.

I had more sex in three months at the bathhouse than I had in seven years with my ex. But I never let anybody fuck me, because only one man had ever done that. So, it seemed wrong to do it with someone I didn't love, somehow.

Lesson Four...

Then one night, I decided to quit being so old-fashioned. I decided to just let it happen with this one guy at the bathhouse. And he tried to fuck me without a condom.

"You have to use a condom," I told him.

Lesson Four...

He was frustrated and sighed angrily as he opened a condom. I should have stopped him right then.

"Um. Thank you," I said.

Lesson Four....

He shoved himself into me so hard I felt sick. I cried out and told him to stop. He was furious. He took off the condom and jerked off on my chest. Then he threw the condom on me and walked away.

Lesson Four...

What, exactly, am I supposed to be learning here? Maybe I need to go to another school. Transfer my credits. This school is too hard for me...

I remember what it feels like to cry after sex. Not from pain, but from joy.
I remember what it feels like to sleep with the same man for over 2000 nights in a row.
I remember being unafraid of sexually transmitted diseases.
I remember what it feels like to smell your boyfriend's cologne while you watch him get ready for work. I remember his favorite dessert, his favorite flower, where he bought his pajamas. I remember the songs that made him want to dance.

I remember standing in the kitchen fully clothed and kissing him. I remember the trail of clothes from the kitchen into our bedroom.

Lesson Four: I can't do this anymore. It's lonely. It's not real. It's sad. I'm failing my classes. This is too hard.

I'm dropping out of this school, because I remember.


If you or a business you know of would be interested in sponsoring the show, here is what we can do for you...

For a $350.00 sponsorship, you will get your business name on 100 posters and 800 postcards. You'll have a special board in the lobby listing you as a sponsor. You'll also get a quarter-page ad in the program. And you'll support the arts. Send me an e-mail if you would like more information!

Wednesday, June 02, 2004

Am I Evil?

Recently someone I respect sent me an e-mail and suggested I remove the 43% Evil banner from my website. He is someone who takes signs and symbols very seriously, and he advised me to use caution about having the pentagram on my site.

I really would like feedback from people about this. I don't want to needlessly offend anyone who reads this blog (it isn't that important to me to keep the banner) but I am also hypersensitive to acting on the spiritual beliefs of others.

After receiving my friend's e-mail, I began to think about my evil ways, and I realized that I might be more evil than I thought. I mean, it's not like I would try to benefit from my boyfriend's birthday like some people, but I do have a dark side. Here is evidence:

1. I was thrilled to be at the center of controversy when somebody found my phone number on his boyfriend's cell phone. (Check the June 1st Entry - his permalink isn't working properly and he doesn't know what a permalink is. He isn't very bright).

2. I talk about other bloggers behind their backs. A lot.

3. I told Juju that the next time we try to shop at Trader Joe's on a crowded weekend I am going to bring hydrochloric acid to throw on people so they'll get out of my way.

4. Every time I forget to say a line (hardly happens) in the show I'm doing, I lie to the director and tell him The Handsome Prince told me the line was cut.

5. I watched porn more times last weekend than I ran my lines for the show. (See #4)

6. I haven't read some of the blogs on my blogroll for over a month. Yet I claim to worship them.

7. I sometimes want to steal other people's boyfriends. But I would never do that.

8. Recently, I slept with someone else's boyfriend. Accidentally.

9. Sometimes I lie and say things happen accidentally when they really happen on purpose.

10. I forgot to show up for my dentist appointment this morning. Accidentally.

11. Secretly, I try to find ways to kill the grass in our yard so I don't have to mow as often. Dragging heavy things across the grass and peeing in the yard are two methods I employ.

12. I take more than my share of free condoms from the bar.

13. I say that I am nicer than Jesus.

14. I really believe I am nicer than Jesus because I never flip over tables in the marketplace or shout angrily at Pharisees.

15. I left work for a couple hours today because the Internet was down, so I couldn't blog.

16. I haven't been to the library in over two months, because I don't want to pay my $6.00 late fines.

17. I once dated someone who has a really small penis, and I tell this to people who know him.

18. If somebody is annoying me by talking too loud at work, I dial up an outside line from my desk and call them. Then I hang up as soon as they answer their phone. This often distracts them so much they forget to continue their loud conversation.

19. I haven't bought AA batteries for my headphones in over 2 years because I get them at work for free.

20. I tell the administrative assistant who provides me with batteries that I use them in my company pager.

21. My company pager is no longer in service because I reported it lost over a year ago.

22. I never told them I found the pager in the backseat of my car a few weeks after I reported it lost.

23. I can't remember why the pager would be in the backseat, but I was probably doing something evil.

24. One of my friends left a shirt in my car, but I haven't tried to find the owner because whoever it is smelled really sexy and I kind of like sleeping with this shirt.

25. I have been late to work every day since my boss went on vacation.

Now that I've compiled this list, I must admit that I'm surprised I'm only 43% evil. Maybe I should leave the pentagram?

Tuesday, June 01, 2004

Meeting Mom and Grandma

Juju's mom and grandma are leaving Portland today. They were visiting, and it was great to meet my roomie's family, but I felt strangely uncomfortable being around them for some reason. I realized that I was having a hard time because I've never felt like I can be myself around my own family, so I felt guarded with hers. Knowing that her family is very accepting of homosexuality was such a foreign concept to me. As I have mentioned, my family does not feel the same.

It was strange to know that when Juju's mother calls her daughter on the phone, she actually asks if I am dating anybody. I wish my own mother could be open to hearing about my life, but she just can't comfortably discuss it with me. Juju's grandmother was great to me and had no problem with my being gay. But my own grandmother never knew, so it was hard for me to feel completely open with juju's grandmother.

One of the last exchanges I shared with my grandmother was when she asked if I was dating anyone. "No," I told her, even though I was with CT at the time. "You were always so picky," she answered. "You'll probably end up with the belle of the ball."

I wanted so badly to tell her, "Grandma, I am the belle of the ball."

By the end of their visit, I felt more comfortable with juju's family. I have Metro to thank for that. As I was making myself some whiskey sours in the kitchen, Metro remarked to the entire room, "Todd is the only person I know who measures the mixer with a shotglass and just pours the liquor in without measuring."

Everyone, including juju's grandma and mom, laughed at his (accurate) observation. I explained that I don't like to get too much mixer in there. And that is something I would never say to my own family. It was fun making juju's grandma and mom laugh, but I didn't completely let down my guard. I never did have the courage to offer them blow jobs.
It Must be 1999!

Now I know how Courtney Love must feel after one of her benders. I truly partied like it was 1999 this weekend, and I have the catatonic gaze and utter lack of self-respect to prove it. This morning I felt a bit guilty about honoring veterans this Memorial Day by partying all weekend. Then I learned the holiday was started by a druggist, so once again I find myself acting appropriately without meaning to.

Friday night after rehearsal, I went with some of the naked men to CC Slaughters, where I ate dinner (i.e., munched on the olives from The Executive's martinis). This was followed by a visit to the Red Cap Garage, where one of my hot softball players from last weekend showed up. This man rocks my world, and I'm sure he rocks his boyfriend's world too. (sigh)

Oh, I never did tell you about the hot softball players, did I? Well, I will post a picture soon, and by soon I mean "as soon as I have money to develop pictures". Right now I am doing research for a book I'm writing called Portland on Four Dollars a Day, so I have no money for frivolous luxuries like developing film or buying groceries.

The hot softball player I will call Hercules chatted me up at Red Cap, and he even bought me a beer to thank me for the hours of entertainment he says I provided him. I got excited for a second and thought maybe we had sex and I just forgot. Then he explained that he's been reading Toaster Oven. As if a beer wasn't enough thanks, Hercules became the gift that kept on giving. He removed his shirt and dragged me out to the dance floor. I had a great time with Hercules, and I hope we will become great friends and that we never fall into that trap of becoming friends who sleep together, because that would be awful. (I knew I couldn't make that sound convincing, but I gave it a shot).

Speaking of shots, the rest of the weekend consisted of a wildly fun birthday party with my posse of straples (straples = straight people), karaoke at a bowling alley, hanging out with the Yum Yum Brotherhood, more drinks at Silverado, and karaoke at The Galaxy with juju, her mom and grandma, Metro, Erin, The Handsome Prince and a cast of thousands. Last night The Handsome Prince and I sang one of our signature duets, "Come What May" from Moulin Rouge. (I'm Ewan. He's Nicole.)

And here we are. We love each other.