Call Me

Episode #3 of the podcast is now up. In this Episode, Pony pretends to be crippled after my horse, Bunny, throws him off because he whips her. Then Pony makes me do his homework for him, and I feel so guilty until I peek through his window and see him dancing around in his bedroom. Realizing that he's been faking his paralysis, I push him down a hill in his wheelchair, and he flies facedown into a puddle of mud.

Phoebe Tyler Wallingford also faked paralysis in All My Children. Can you think of other characters who faked paralysis? There must be dozens...

Anyway - Todd & Pony Show has a phone number now, so you can call and leave comments for us. The number is listed on our homepage. You can download the podcast through iTunes and other podcatchers. Just click the links on the left side of the page. We have a listing on Podcast Alley as well.

Here are some examples of voice mail messages I would like to receive at our new phone number:

Beep. "Hi Todd & Pony. This is Katie Holmes. Thank you for helping me realize that I'm getting involved in a dangerous cult. I now understand that I have to get away from this group before they destroy my life. I have not signed The Lisa Clause, and now, thanks to the podcast, I never will. Love your show, and keep up the good work!

Beep. "Hello. I am a normal person in a wheelchair, and I wanted to see if Pony would like to get together sometime. I have an electric wheelchair, but I am willing to give it up since Pony has a problem with people who can't walk using devices to assist them in making life easier. Pony, please call me!"

Beep. "Hi, I found Hot Toddy's Toaster Oven by googling 'Toaster Oven Lunches', and I wanted to say that I am shocked by this very homosexual website. Is it too much to ask for a website called 'Hot Toddy's Toaster Oven' to actually publish some nice recipes for toaster oven ham and cheese sandwiches or tiny quiches? Instead I have to read about Blonde Asian Bodybuilders and Salsa massages and other extremely homosexual topics! I'm very alarmed."

Beep. "Dude, I am the guy with blue eyes who passed you in the doorway of CC Slaughters on PRIDE weekend. I'm sorry I haven't called sooner, but I was spending some time in my vacation home in Dalarna, Sweden, and then I had my wrestling tournament. (I won.) But now I have some free time. I feel really drawn to you, but I'm worried that you won't like me because I have this embarrassing hobby. See, I play this online game called 'World of Warcraft', and I love it so much. I don't know if you could ever date somebody like that, but if you think you could live with it, please call. I love you, Toddy."

Beep. "Hello, Todd & Pony. This is Alison Arngrim, better known to many as mean Nellie Oleson. I would like to be on your show sometime. I don't know if you would really want me to be on, though. See, I play this online game called 'World of Warcraft', and I love it so much. If you could ever have someone like that as a guest on your show, please call."

Gay Games Tickets

I just received word that tickets for the Gay Games Opening and Closing ceremonies have been discounted 10%. Visit the link if you plan on attending and haven't yet purchased your tickets.

"Guests for the ceremonies include Cyndi Lauper, Megan Mullally, Margaret Cho, Jody Watley, Kate Clinton, Kristine W, DJ Frankie Knuckles, BETTY and, just announced, Erasure's Andy Bell."

I never thought I'd see Jody Watley once in my life, let alone twice in one summer. Jody performed at the PRIDE block party this year in downtown Portland.

I'll be leaving for Chicago in just a little over two weeks, and I'm feeling totally unprepared. Financially, I'm about to plunge myself into some serious debt. But I figured that attending the games will be one of the most memorable experiences in my life.

I'm going to pack all my magazines (Poets & Writers, Details) and a couple books I have been meaning to finish (No Plot? No Problem! How to Write a Novel in 30 Days). I'm going to relax on the shores of Lake Michigan, and I'm going to sit at a cafe for two hours and watch people. I'll visit the museums and eat at some great restaurants and meet new friends. And I'll do it all without a boyfriend. Yay me.

This trip is a gift I am giving myself to celebrate the man I've become since that guy I was in love with broke my heart. I now have a new love, and it's me. I am becoming the man I would like to date instead of seeking him somewhere else.

Thirsty

On Thursday at work I was really thirsty. It was about 3:00 in the afternoon, and I didn't have any change to buy a bottle of water from the machine downstairs. We don't have a water cooler.

I knew that if I went to CC Slaughters I could use my debit card to buy water. So I just left the office early and put a post-it note on my computer monitor that said "Thirsty"

It is Sunday morning at 8:50. I'm off to play with balls now!

(I think it is supposed to be hot today. Like, Africa hot. Ugh.)

Octopus Boobs

Todd & Pony Show #2 is up at our website. I think our second show was much more cohesive and fun. We're starting to relax. The only thing missing now is a hefty dose of medication for my Attention Deficit Disorder.

Now, I know that I struggle constantly to keep my mind focused, but it is so strange to actually hear what I sound like when I'm having an ADD moment. Hearing this show helped me to understand what it must be like for my friends when they attempt to have a conversation with me. One example of this is when Pony and I were talking during the show about a guy I saw at the bar. We were like two ships passing in the night.

One minute Pony and I were discussing the idea of placing a personal ad in an attempt to find this guy, and the next minute I began talking about talent agents. This sort of thing happened several times in the podcast. Linear thinkers will probably hate listening to Todd & Pony Show, but I think people who enjoy hearing about Octopus boobs and being murdered in your sleep in the course of 60 minutes will be delighted.

Open Letter to Pride Guy #2

Dear Volkswagen,

You have been a recurring character at Hot Toddy's Toaster Oven since last fall when I spoke to you for the first time. You've confused the hell out of me for several months. At Pride you told me that you are moving away this week. Looks like our bizarre story may be coming to a close.

We met while I was still with Thor...


September 9, 2005
All of a sudden, I saw him. The guy in the Superman shirt. He wasn't actually wearing the Superman shirt at the time, but I recognized him from a bout of lust I experienced several months earlier when he had the big S on his chest and his arms begged to be groped. He is muscular and has Mario Lopez dimples. His arms are round and bulging, and his chest is firm. He is built sort of like a Volkswagen.

After we spoke for a few moments, the VW began touching me. Lightly at first, and then rubbing my back, and then reaching for more personal areas. The VW quickly figured out that I have a thing for biceps. Maybe it is because I kept glancing at his biteable arms. As I told VW about my boyfriend, he flexed for me and let me feel his rock-hard muscles. I muttered to myself, "Thor, Thor, Thor, Thor, Thor...", but I kept squeezing those smooth tan arms. He opened his shirt and I felt his chest. I knew I was going to be in trouble if I kept this up.



Well, I turned you down that night. I wonder what I would have done if I'd known what would eventually happen between Thor and me. Probably still said no, because I loved him so much it made my heart ache.



I was invited to the VW's home for a private viewing of his assets. I declined. He moved toward me to kiss me. I turned my head away. A friend remarked that I was sweating heavily. Auburn Pisces mouthed the words, "Do you need rescuing?" I shook my head.



In spite of the fact that I had a boyfriend, I thought about your big arms a lot and wondered what it would be like to wake up with those enormous pythons next to me in bed.



VW wasn't discouraged by my talking about Thor. He continued with his attentions even after I showed him a picture on my cell phone of Thor and I kissing. "So, you can just call me Thor," he said.

"I'm in love with the man, not the name," I answered.



After Thor told me he no longer wanted me to call him, I found myself unable to move on, even though I still thought about what it would be like to sleep with you. You continued asking me to sleep over, but by then I had learned so much more about you. Like the fact that you practically go door-to-door asking guys to hook up with you. Once I learn that I'm not "special", I kind of lose interest. So I declined your offers of intimacy several more times.



November 30, 2005
I'm trying. Really, I am. I don't want to sit around and mope. I don't want to hurt anymore. I agreed to go on a date with a certain Volkswagen. Actually, he invited me to sleep with him, but I insisted on dinner and a movie.



One night, you extended another invitation to your bed. You caught me after a few too many buckets of Makers Mark, and I said that I would go home with you. You seemed so surprised. So we finished our drinks, and when I said I was ready to go, you decided you were too tired. This was incredibly strange to me. The only explanation I could come up with was that you just wanted to experience the thrill of the hunt, but you are more of a "catch and release" kind of guy.

This weekend at Pride, you popped into CC Slaughters just moments before I met the Airborne Ranger. You're lucky you showed up when you did. Had you arrived a few minutes later, I would have been too busy climbing on top of my military man to even notice you.

"I'm moving to Washington," you told me.

"When?" I asked.

"This Thursday. So I think we should go back to my place and have sex RIGHT NOW," you replied charmingly.

I changed the subject by asking if you were moving for work. "Yes," you replied. Then I let you know I wouldn't be going home with you, and we parted ways. I guess my instincts are getting better, because yesterday my friends asked you why you were moving, and you said it was to be with your boyfriend of several months. Funny how that didn't come up when you were inviting me over for wild sex.

Volkswagen, I may lick my lips when I think of your biceps, but I shall always roll my eyes when I think of your character.

V for Vacuous

This morning I checked iTunes to see if Todd & Pony Show was listed, and here it is. You can actually go to iTunes Music Store and search Todd & Pony to download our podcast (and maybe, if you feel like it, give us a review?)

Last night we recorded show #2, and Pony is editing that right now. It should be up in the next couple days. The second show will be better. We had an actual outline this time and were much more relaxed during our recording session. I am having so much fun, but my mistakes, as you all know from reading all about my "Ford Tundra" on this blog, are frequent. (In comments, Karen pointed out that Airborne Rangers are Army guys, not Air Force. So yesterday's post was chock full of misconception!)

In the podcast we recorded last night, I said that I was going to see a movie this week with Zeroes. The movie I am going to see does not, in fact, exist. I said that we were going to see V is for Vigilance. The movie is actually called V for Vendetta.

I did find some interesting sermon notes about V is for Vigilance, though, so maybe I will pretend that I meant to say Zeroes and I were going to church together instead of going to a movie. I don't know if anybody will buy that.

Zeroes is an amazing friend, and I'm lucky to have him. Sunday night we had a very moving talk about integrity, and he touched my heart with what he shared. He wrote more about that subject in his blog. It makes me sad when people do not value his gifts, intelligence and wonderful heart. I, for one, consider him a person worthy of looking up to for inspiration.

Open Letter to Pride Guy #1

Dear Airborne Ranger:

You were the highlight of PRIDE this year. When I saw you on stage wearing your Air Force uniform, I didn't even recognize you. The last time I was close to you, we shared a goodnight kiss on the couch at a gay men's retreat last fall. Then, yesterday, you popped back into my life. You stood on stage with the keynote speaker as she delivered her opening address. You were so handsome in your uniform. No, you were dashing. That's a word I don't use often, but it certainly applies to you.

Later, when I was walking around the festival with my friend Juju, you stopped me and ordered me to hand you my cell phone so that you could put your number in it. Being ordered around by a man in uniform is right up my alley, and I had the biggest smile on my face when you and I parted ways.

Imagine my surprise when you showed up at CC Slaughters last night (still wearing that sexy uniform!) and glued yourself to my side. I enjoyed tasting your lips over and over again, and I especially liked when you told me to feel your biceps through your uniform shirt. Yum.

While feeling your chest muscles and squeezing your arms and kissing your lips, I felt like I was on fire. I haven't been that aroused in a long, long time. You said that I was an amazing kisser, and you told me I was turning you on so much that you could barely handle it. So, when you asked me to come back to your place, I gave in and said that I would, even though I promised myself a few months back that those days of hooking up were over.

A few minutes later you brought a little friend over to our table, and I was confused. You began cuddling with him and holding his hand, and I knew that plans had changed. I felt very self-righteous and very wronged. When you told me that you liked us both and couldn't decide what to do, I almost threw up on your shiny black shoes. Come on, what were you thinking? Did you think maybe I would fight this skinny little kid for the right to sleep with you in some sort of reality show bullshit competition like "The Bachelor"?

I composed this awesome post in my head about how you lacked integrity and how you were a liar. Your actions were totally inappropriate, and I planned on bashing you with every keystroke as I spewed forth my anger. You led me on. How dare you - - um...

How dare you decide that - well - I mean....

Then it occurred to me.

Oh. I'm just disappointed that I didn't get laid.

Huh.

Okay, so you don't lack integrity, and you're not a jerk, and I don't hate you. You decided to take somebody else home instead. But I think you missed out on a pretty good time. And I think he was kinda gross and that you made a mistake.

I mean, if you thought I was a good kisser, you should see some of my other skills. Guess you'll never get to taste my pancakes.

Todd & Pony Show

What a busy week! Many wonderful things have happened (let's just say the Kissing Bandit reappeared at CC Slaughters this week. My lips were very active.) The most exciting news is that a special top-secret project I've been working on with Pony has finally come to fruition.

Welcome to a real Todd & Pony Show. We're two very different men with varied backgrounds. We're almost exactly 10 years apart in age. We have completely different interests and viewpoints, yet we get along famously. Maybe that is why we enjoy collaborative work so much.

I hope you enjoy the podcast. I promise it will only get better. We need your feedback and your advice. Show ideas are welcome!

Where's My Parade?

A friend asked me the other day why homosexuals felt the need to have a parade every year. The Gay Pride celebrations happening all over the world this month might suggest to some that we are being a tad bit aggressive. People tend to like their gays and their women passive, after all. I mean, why do we have to flaunt our lifestyle? Shouldn't we "tone it down a bit" and make everyone more comfortable? You know, the way all those straight kids at school made us feel so comfortable all those years?

I've heard it said more than once, "Why do gay people parade their sexuality? Where's my heterosexual parade?" I guess my answer, in a nutshell, would be this: Parades, albeit a bitch to organize, are not exclusively gay. Anyone can have a parade. (Remember to put the horses in the back.) Now, while your straight parade will most likely not have quite as much, um, color, as a gay parade, I'm sure it could be very nice. I imagine it would be like The Superbowl, only mobile. Please feel free to have a parade if you'd like. After all, other than equal rights for homosexuals, it's a free country!

Honestly, I want a parade, because I need one. I need a parade because I hid myself from the world for over twenty years of my life. While other boys my age were "parading" their crushes on Farrah Fawcett and Cindy Crawford, I was sneaking glances at John Schneider's shirtless torso in teen magazines at the grocery store while checking over my shoulder to make sure nobody saw me.

When my friends paraded their boyfriends and girlfriends through the halls in junior high school, I was in the locker room concentrating hard on keeping my eyes straight ahead, making sure not to steal a glance at Jimmy Nixon as he undressed next to me.

While girls in study hall wrote love notes to hunky football players, I wrote my effeminate friend a note saying I didn't want to hang out anymore. Being seen with him might cause people to perceive me as a fag. Not wanting to be guilty by association, I chose to hide the fact that Mark was my friend. Until he no longer was my friend.

When other kids were going to prom and football games and sending valentines to their first loves, I was postponing my first love for later in life, age 29, when I finally felt brave enough to be honest.

I don't just need a parade. I deserve a parade. Every gay person who spent even one day telling lies or pretending to be straight deserves a parade. Anyone who hid in that suffocating closet of self-hatred deserves a parade. See, our parade says, whether you want to watch it or not, we are finished hiding and being ashamed and choking on our own homophobia. We are, after all, learning to accept not only ourselves, but one another. Gay men are learning to accept transsexuals, who, in turn, are learning to accept lesbians. Butch men and women are learning to accept flamboyant twinks. Latino Bears are learning to accept Asian Polyamorous Moms. Drag Queens are - well, they are just busy making fun of everybody. But that's why we love them.

Just like every year, my tears of pride will begin falling the minute the parade begins. They'll start streaming down my cheeks as soon as I hear those Dykes on Bikes rev up their motorcycles, and they won't stop until the very last PFLAG mom who loves her gay son passes by me. And in my heart, I'll say, "There's MY parade."

Best Gay Pride EVER!

So, if all the "Christians" leave the Portland area to escape the earthquake and tsunami God is sending as judgment against our Gay Pride, does that mean we'll finally be able to celebrate who we are without all the "God Hates Fags" signs?

I'll help you pack.

Open Letter to Natasha Bedingfield

Dear Natasha Bedingfield -

It has been quite a week, Natasha Bedingfield. I devoted the whole week to talking about you, and I only got sidetracked once or twice. (Something about bagels and throwing up and getting "over-kissed" at CC's and almost throwing up.)

I just wanted to write and tell you how much I love your song, The One That Got Away. I have lots of ones that got away, and each and every one of them was my soulmate and life partner. I can relate to your song, especially when you talk about how "nobody needs another stalker in your life". Although that statement is horribly incorrect, grammatically speaking, I believe the sentiment holds true. One or two stalkers might be manageable, but if one has too many stalkers things can get hectic. I mean, my home only has so many windows. I couldn't possibly accommodate more than three or four stalkers unless they worked in shifts.

Anyway, I think one of the reasons I love you so much is that you're foreign. Sometimes foreign can be a bad thing, like when you have a foreign object stuck in your throat, but you make foreign a good thing. People from other countries are so cool to me, because I grew up in the most boring part of the United States - the Midwest. In Missouri, everyone speaks with a "tapioca" accent. While this makes us good radio announcers and game show hosts, we don't have much to offer in the way of "flava". You have that cool accent that makes everything you say sound great. Even when you say things like, "nobody needs another stalker in your life".

I want you to know that these words are my own. I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you. That's all I have to say. I can't think of a better way. I love you, is that okay?

Oh, and one more thing. Can I have your brother's phone number please? So I can "ring him up"?

Two Things That Kill Comments

1. Writing about softball tournaments and volunteer opportunities
2. Writing about Natasha Bedingfield

Sex, sex, sex. That's all you people care about.

Last night a guy kissed me at the bar. Well, not so much "kissed me" as "shoved his lips against mine and tried to meld our faces into one..."

It was gross. That's what I get for being nice. I'll bet Jesus never had to put up with that kind of shit.

KTONTGA

I wish there was a radio station that played nothing but Natasha Bedingfield's The One That Got Away. That song has been on my CD player on REPEAT since Saturday night.

"That was Natasha Bedingfield singing, The One That Got Away. Coming up, right after the news, The One That Got Away, by Natasha Bedingfield!"

I wonder if I will ever get sick of it? The way I got sick of bagels and cream cheese when I was 13 years old. Being from Missouri, I'd never had bagels and cream cheese. People from Missouri don't eat bagels and cream cheese. We eat those orange breakfast rolls from Pillsbury that you buy in a can and pop in the oven for a few minutes before spreading that sweet orange icing on them. But when we moved to southern Florida, our realtor had a big plate of bagels and cream cheese ready for us as my parents reviewed paperwork in her office. I ate one after another, and then we went to look at houses. As we drove around in the hot sun for hours and looked at property, the six bagels with cream cheese wouldn't stay down any longer. That realtor definitely earned her commission that day.

Happy Natasha Bedingfield Week!

Hot Toddy's Theme Song

"Would you spare a minute? Give me a single chance to look in your eyes. Let me hold your hands. I want to get close enough to read you - understand you.
Open up your heart. Open up your mind. Nobody needs another stalker in your life. I'm only here to help you learn to love me - to know me..."

If you are a thirteen-year-old girl, you will love this post. You will be, like, totally feeling me. In fact, as you'll see in a moment, it is your lucky week, Thirteen-Year-Old Girl!!

Finally, I've found my theme song. The one that plays over the opening credits of the tv show about my life that God watches. (He's a fan) Sometimes I do a cooking show for God, but I'm primarily known for my starring role in this comedy that's been on for several years. The Hot Toddy Show is a show about this guy who falls in love with strangers and then completely gives these guys his whole heart - lets them do with it what they will. It's not that he just really likes or develops a crush on these people. He falls for them - hard! Love at first sight is experienced on a weekly basis, and zaniness ensues!

If you had been driving on Southeast Powell Avenue in Portland this morning, you'd have seen a big white Ford Tundra with the windows rolled down. From inside the truck, you'd have heard Natasha Bedingfield's song The One That Got Away playing over and over and over. I put my theme song on repeat and realized it is not just my current favorite song. It will be one of my all-time favorites, I promise you.

"Got so many questions - feelings I can't explain. We're worlds apart. Don't even know your name. I'm longing to give you my heart..."

I get the same feeling when I hear this song that I get when I hear Don't Go Breakin My Heart or Whenever I Call You Friend. Decades have come and gone since they were recorded, yet I still blast the radio whenever either of those songs play. The One That Got Away, known as "Tontga" on British fan forums, starts with a sexy slow groove. The chorus has a great melody and an upbeat, albeit simplistic, rhythm. The kind we white people can dance to quite nicely, thank you very much.

I have decided to declare this week Natasha Bedingfield week on Hot Toddy's Toaster Oven. (Is he kidding? I think he's kidding? He wouldn't do a whole week of Natasha Bedingfield, would he? He's never even given The Rock a whole week on his blog...)

"I need a hook, so you won't be the one that got away,
I need a look that stuns you, makes you want to stay.
Don't wanna speak in case it comes out wrong,
Don't wanna blink cause in that second you could be gone."

I want this song played at every one of my birthday parties for the rest of my life. And at my wedding. And at my funeral.

"I need a twist to help me turn the story 'round, I need a bridge to cross this dangerous ground.
Meet me in the middle like I want you to. I got to find your heart to shoot my arrow through.

Salsa Shoulders

Today I can't get the taste of Ben-Gay and Salsa out of my mouth.

It's not easy for me to admit this, but it has been over six months since I've had sex. I'm extremely worked up. I'm six and a half feet of walking lust. To put it delicately, I need to get laid.

Last night I had a dream that I was planning sexual encounters with three different guys. Basically, I was setting appointments for these guys, and though I wanted all of them, the one I wanted to be with the most was this guy with big shoulders and a brawny build. Fortunately, he was the first of the appointments.

First I rubbed Ben-Gay all over his aching shoulders. My hands wandered over his entire body, lingering on his package. He was wearing snug boxer briefs, and, to my delight, I could feel his [link not work-safe]Prince Albert through his underwear.

After several minutes of foreplay, the real fun began. The salsa came out, and I began massaging it deep into his shoulders.

What?

Yeah, I was rubbing chunks of tomato and onion all over this big man's body. I had two shots of Cuervo Gold before bed. That's the only explanation I can come up with for dreaming about a salsa fetish.

Anyway, we both loved it so much, he told me to cancel my other appointments. The salsa, the Ben-Gay, the Prince Albert....how could I say no?

It sounds crazy - but, damn, it was such a hot dream. Of course it ended before we actually got around to - you know.

Battle of Intellect

Last night Pony insisted I stop pronouncing "jalapeno" like a Midwesterner.

It's not "Hal-uh-pee-no". I think he said it's "hall-ah-pin-yo"

Then he corrected me on how to pronounce the musical "Gigi"

Apparently, it's not "Gee-gee", it's "zhee-zhee"

This morning I am heading over to his blog to check for spelling errors.