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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...

Tuesday, July 06, 2004

Clams and Talent Shows

This weekend, everything happened exactly as I predicted. But there were a few surprises.

Saturday afternoon Apollo took a nap. He was pretty drunk, so he passed out at about 4 p.m. and didn't get up for about three hours. When he awoke he started packing his car and saying his goodbyes. Originally, he was supposed to leave on Sunday morning, but apparently something urgent had come up.

The rest of us were eating clams (well, I wasn't - but we'll get to that) and drinking bourbon as we waited for the fireworks on the beach to begin. Our lesbian friends drove up from Lincoln City to join us for the party. Apollo hugged me goodbye in the kitchen and said, "you people are ridiculously early risers".

I asked him what he meant, and he pointed at the clock on the stove. "It's 7:15 a.m. and you're eating clams and drinking. I wish I could stay."

"Apollo, it's 7:15 p.m," I answered. "It's still Saturday."

It is outrageous to me that Apollo thought it was Sunday morning. It is insane that he thought we were eating clams and drinking bourbon at that hour. It is downright preposterous that he thought the lesbians got up that early to join our party. Never mind the fact that the sun was rising over the Pacific at that hour.

Now, as I said, I didn't eat clams. I thought about it. While we were waiting in line at the seafood market, I asked questions of my Yum Yum brothers to see if maybe my conscience would allow me to eat a clam.

I asked a series of questions: "Do they have hearts? Do they have brains? Do clams breathe? Can they feel anything?"

The Handsome Prince turned to the group and whined, "Do clams cry? Can they talk?" He's such a bitch. I then asked the lady at the seafood counter if I could hold a clam and pet it for a minute. She just laughed, so I had to wait until we got back to the beach house to decide if I could eat clams. When I smelled the bag of clams on the kitchen counter, I knew I couldn't eat them. Besides smelling horrible, they smelled like living creatures. So I just skipped the clams and kept drinking.

One of my favorite memories was our "Talentless Show" after the fireworks on Saturday night. A big group of guys, including our gay beachfront neighbors, or "gaybors", decided it would be fun to turn the local tavern into a gay bar, so they headed en masse to the watering hole. Several of us felt it would be more enjoyable to hang out at the house, drink free booze and enjoy the deck overlooking the ocean. After all, going to the bar is something we can do anytime in Portland.

Soon those of us who stayed at the house were receiving swing dance lessons from our handsome agile Indonesian friend, "The Architect", in the living room. Swing dance lessons turned into a talent show of sorts. The Handsome Prince did a very sexy rendition of "Hey, Big Spender" using an ottoman and his tight ass to provoke thunderous applause. Not to be outdone, I performed the next song using the same ottoman. I'm not quite as acrobatic as The Handsome Prince, so I decided to do my song in the style of Drunk Billie Holiday. Stumbling over the ottoman and drinking vodka upside down, Drunk Billie Holiday sang until she passed out. For me there is nothing more gratifying than making my friends laugh until their stomach muscles hurt.

Because my act was so well-received, I commandeered the entire show. It became "Just Todd 2004", and I'm seriously thinking I should take this act on tour to gay beach parties everywhere (Fire Island anyone?) I discovered I am very good at playing spoons, but I was not allowed to attempt butcher knife juggling. I'm sure I would have been good. And who knew I could imitate Pearl Bailey performing a strip tease? I had no idea. The Math Whiz, who I've decided is perfect for The Handsome Prince, tried to assist me in stripping, but I was very coy.

Thanks to The Executive and all the Yum Yums for such a great weekend at the Oregon Coast. (My stalker may or may not have been there. One guy kept pulling on my hair and saying how much he loved it, so maybe it was him?)

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