Now Serving #1

It's a quiet Friday before a three-day holiday weekend, so things are pretty slow. Juju is in her cubicle memorizing the departments from the organization chart. I'm cleaning out e-mails from my work account and running across some interesting messages.

There are several e-mails back and forth between Juju and me from when we lived together. For a while I seemed to be interested in a new guy every week, and I wonder how Juju kept up with them all. I wonder how I kept up with them all!?

Dating was like working at the DMV. Now serving #78, #79, #80....

One day I wrote her this pathetic account:
Stopped on the way to work this morning - - I was sitting in my car at the gas station checking out this really gorgeous guy in a "Lewis & Clark" sweatshirt. He had on a baseball cap - blue, blue eyes - and other nice features :)

I looked down for a second and when I looked back up he was standing there smiling at me. I felt nervous. Then he waved.

I am such a dork! I didn't wave back. I looked down again! I was embarrassed and thought there could be no way he would be interested in me.

I wish you had been there, Juju - you make me feel braver - more Jezebellish. Damn, it is so funny how my insecurity flares up at the weirdest times.

Here's an e-mail I sent her one morning:
Ryan wrote me another e-mail today and mentioned lunch again. I asked him if he needed help moving this weekend, so we'll see.

I also wrote Jim and said hello. I'll wait and see what his response is - if any.

Now serving #92, #93...

Only two days later I sent her this:
Anyway - I called Jim and we are going to the film festival first and then the haunted house thing after that. And I am really looking forward to spending time with him.

I wrote Jose and told him I couldn't go on Sunday and figured we would talk about more in person - I still want to give him a card (that you picked out) and maybe a little gift - some wine or something

Now serving #97...

Later, the same day:
Jose -

Thank you for the ballet last night. It was so much fun!

I am glad I got a chance to talk to you a bit last night about what I am looking for right now. I just need to keep dating very casual, and I hope you understand.


Yeah, the wine was given to Jose out of guilt for breaking up with him.

A couple months later it was Ivan. Now serving #98...

Then Arvin.
"Juju - Kara okay was okay. My favorite part was when Arvin dedicated a song to me. "Damn, I wish I was your lover..." by Sophie B Hawkins - wow, that was sooo hot."

2003 was a pretty busy year, but I guess I owed myself some excitement after ending a long-term relationship.

My counter ran out and started over recently. I have no doubt that I am now serving #1. Thor is like nobody I've ever known. Waiting for him makes all the other numbers I've served worth it. How could I truly value what I've found unless I had been through all those other experiences? I'm so happy to be where I am right now. The man I am with can walk into my house and instantly make me feel joyful. His strength makes me hot. I know this sounds weird, but he smells like the guy I'm supposed to be with. And if he heard me say that (or if he ever read this blog) he would laugh and shake his head and say, "my boyfriend" in that fake exasperated way that you only reserve for people you're in love with.

Interappliance Dating

Last night Thor said something that terrified me:

"Hang on, let me interrupt you for a second, Hot Toddy. You can hold your thoughts longer than I can. I'll forget if I don't tell you this right now."

I have Attention Deficit Disorder. Thor has ADHD. He says his thoughts are like a blender. I guess my thoughts are more like a dartboard or something. Whatever. All I know is his thoughts swirl around even faster and more randomly than mine do. Scary.

Can a relationship between a toaster oven and a blender ever last? Let's hope so...

An Open Letter to Tom Cruise

Dear Tom Cruise:

I hesitate to write you about this, because I know you have been through quite a trauma with having water squirted in your face. If something like that ever happened to me, I would probably be so upset, because then my face would be wet for a couple minutes, and we all know that having water on your face is very dangerous and humiliating.

The thing is, Tom Cruise, I need to get something off my chest, even at the risk of upsetting you and having you call me a jerk and/or sue me. I have seen so much of you lately. You're on every talk show, in every magazine, and you're even in the news all the time. Could you please take a break for awhile? You are overdoing it.

I try to avoid hearing about your life as much as possible, but lots of my friends have magazines in their bathroom, and I find myself reading about you while I am in there, um, washing my hands. I hear about you when I listen to the radio or watch television. It is enough to make me want to scream, "I don't want to hear about fucking Tom Cruise."

But, the thing is, I do kind of want to hear about fucking you. You really do have a great body and a cute smile. However, my hearing about fucking you would be inappropriate and would make you uncomfortable, because you most certainly are not gay and would not want to be used as fodder for my homosexual fantasies. I know you are not gay, because you have been married to women. If I understand the gazillion articles I've seen about you lately, you've been married twice and are now engaged. You are most definitely a straight man, because you are allowed to marry as many times as you want to, while we gay people can't get married at all unless we are in the mood to learn Swedish and move overseas.

But I digress, Straight Tom Cruise. I just wondered if you would mind toning it down a little bit when it comes to your engagement. Your relationship with Katie Holmes is so boring to me. How would you feel if I, the boyfriend of Thor, wrote about the love of my life (Thor) every single day on this blog? I know. I realize I do that, but I am asking how you would feel about it? It would be irritating, wouldn't it!? I'm sure that even my sexy boyfriend, Thor, finds it irritating how much you talk about Katie. I haven't asked him, because we have never actually talked about you (can you believe it!?!?), but I am sure he would find your relationship irritating nevertheless.

By the way, Thor could totally beat up both you and Katie Holmes, and he is a much better kisser than you will ever be. That is, if you kissed men, which I know you don't. You have been quite clear about that. So please go away now.

Check Your Props

Today I went for my morning coffee break, but I had to bring a prop with me since the Director of our department was hanging out in my work area. Fortunately, a training book I ordered arrived this morning from Amazon.com, so I emptied the box and carried it with me on break. In the elevator bank, I saw the VP of Something Important. He looked down at my package (no, not that one) and said, "Oh, you're delivering books."

"That's right," I answered as I looked down at the empty box. "I am Book Boy."

It wasn't a witty reply. I am awful at engaging in small talk with people who could pay off my entire student loan with one of their paychecks. But I am proud of myself for being devious and pulling one over on these self-important wealthy people. That gives me great joy.

When Juju starts work here next Monday, I must remember to train her to always carry an office prop when she takes a break so it looks like she's working. If you have a helpful tip for the new girl, please share it with me, and I'll be sure to incorporate it into the rigorous training I plan to put her through.

Hot Toddy's Wish List

I wish the lady who yelled at our building security guard this morning would realize that he does not work for the postal service and that it wasn't his fault she lost her money in the stamp machine.

I wish the comments on this blog were always as supportive and cool as they were yesterday. I'm so happy that most people like hearing about Thor and aren't at all annoyed by my romantic euphoria.

I wish I had a computer at home so I could keep up with all the great people who send me e-mail and get to know them better.

I wish Madeline Kahn were still alive and making great movies.

I wish it were already next Monday so Juju would be starting her first day at work in the cubicle next to mine.

I wish they made candles that smelled like new Playdough.

I wish there were English phrases like "Aloha", which means both "hello" and "goodbye". That way if I told people, "Die, motherfucker", it might mean "Have a nice day" or, well, "Die, motherfucker", and they would just have to make their best guess what I meant.

I wish I could take back all the years I was alone and give them to Thor so we could spend them together.

I wish I had reserved seating at CC Slaughters. With a velvet rope around my special area.

I wish my family could be more accepting of my sexuality so I could tell them how happy I am right now to be with Thor.

I wish they made Little House on the Prairie trading cards. That would be the shit. I'd collect them all!

Bedtime Story

I think I need to sleep for about 10 days. Tonight will be all about catching up on my rest.

See, the problem with sleeping in your boyfriend's bed is that you don't want to go to sleep. Ever. Friday night after we went out, we stayed awake all night in spite of our both being tired and a little drunk. I scratched his back until I heard the birds singing outside in the treetops. I noticed it was getting light outside, so I finally allowed myself to fall asleep.

Thor seems to have limitless energy, while I am the king of relaxation. Saturday morning he woke up after less than five hours of sleep, played with his ferrets, watched an Elvis Presley movie, and did laundry. At about 10:30 a.m., he stomped on the floor upstairs above the bedroom and yelled that I had to get up. Groaning and disheveled, I slid out of bed and went upstairs to have coffee with him and Auburn Pisces.

I know that I am talking about Thor an awful lot lately. It must be torture for you, dear readers. Thoughts of him captivate my mind, and it is difficult for me to think about anything else. Naturally, this leaks into my writing too. It is just hard for me to pull my focus away from the amazing feelings in my heart. I have not felt this way in 10 years, and, because this relationship is so new, it is the most noteworthy happening in my life right now.

Sure, lots of things happened this weekend, and any one of them would warrant a blog post. I could write about watching The Handsome Prince perform the role of Brad in Rocky Horror this weekend. He sang like and angel and looked really sexy singing his solo in his underwear. I could write about playing games in The Vortex last night with my friends as a fierce thunderstorm erupted outside our sheltered patio. I could write about the Pride parade, or about the shots of goldschlager and tabasco I drank. I could write about the cookout we had this weekend or about the beautiful weather we enjoyed. But all roads lead back to Thor at this point, and the only thing I really want to write about is how good it felt to wrap my arms around him as we watched the parade. I want to think about the way he pushed up against me every time someone had to squeeze by us to get through the crowd. I want to remember how good he smelled and the way he leaned back over his shoulder to give me a "check up" kiss every 20 minutes.

Having been disappointed in love many times, I am diligent in my search for red flags. I am keeping my eyes peeled for warning signs that this won't last. Sometimes I even create scenarios of doom just to prepare myself for the loss of this love. But no matter how hard I try, I can't seem to find anything to fear. He expresses such confidence in our relationship, and he seems to fear nothing. He talks about our future with certainty, and he is steadfast and unwavering in his love.

So, instead of worrying, for once, I think I'll just get some sleep and allow my dreams to wrap me up in safety. Good night.

If You're Like Me...

If you are like me, I am so very sorry.

If you are like me, you are sitting at work on a Friday with all sorts of random thoughts racing through your head. You are contemplating your funny crazy friendships with the people who make you laugh on a regular basis. The friends who stand by you through thick and thin. The friends who aren't afraid to eat your cooking even though you regularly try to poison your boyfriend.

Maybe you are thinking about your friend, Starr, who sings in a band and couldn't find the bar where she was supposed to perform on Tuesday night. She just knew it was a new bar in the building where the Marco Polo lounge used to be. But she couldn't find the old Marco Polo. So you are picturing her driving around town trying to find Marco Polo with her car window down as she yells, "Marco!!" - "Marco!!!" and waits for someone to yell back, "Polo!!"

Or maybe you are thinking about Auburn Pisces and how excited she is for an upcoming coffee date. And you're thinking about her question to you yesterday, "Do you think I can lose 15 pounds in time for my coffee date?" More importantly, you are patting yourself on the back for your response. "Sure, if you schedule it in November."

I'll bet, if you are like me, you are planning to visit your dear friend Juju's brand new blog. She knows more about sex than almost anybody you know, and she's always willing to give advice and ask thought-provoking questions.

Or instead of friends, you might be thinking about people who irritate you with poor grammar. Like the guy who e-mailed you this morning in response to your question, "Should I pay the original invoice you sent or just wait for a corrected invoice before paying?" Since he responded, "Pay the second invoice. Please avoid the original invoice," you are now afraid to go back to your desk because you are busy trying to avoid that original invoice, which you know is sitting right there in your inbox.

If you are like me, you're looking forward to PRIDE weekend with your amazing beautiful man, and you can't wait to climb into bed with him tonight. You are looking forward to all the new games he will introduce you to this weekend, and you are amazed at his playful spirit. You are thinking about his deep sexy voice and beautiful chest and honest blue eyes, and you are wishing that you were with him right now instead of avoiding a stupid invoice at the office.

If you are like me, you're quite fortunate, actually. Good for you.

Killing Thor

A few weeks ago I cooked a very special dinner for my boyfriend. If you have been reading Hot Toddy's Toaster Oven for any length of time, you know that I can be quite a disastrous chef. But Thor is so special to me, and I decided to break my vow that I would never cook for another man again. When I was with CT, I cooked dinner almost every night for him. I wonder if that's why he so often decided that all he wanted for dinner was broccoli and Smart Dogs (vegetarian hot dogs).

So, I told Thor I was preparing stir fry. I thought I had a pretty fool-proof recipe. Although, technically, I was "cooking", I'm not crazy. I know my limits as a chef, so for dinner I bought pre-chopped stir fry vegetables and a jar of Korean BBQ sauce. I heated the pan myself though, and stirred the vegetables a few times. I also cut tofu (they didn't have pre-cubed tofu) and fried it up. I put his plate down in front of him, and he smiled at me. "How sweet," I thought to myself, "he is deeply touched by my gesture of love and is smiling warmly at me." He kept smiling. Smiling and not eating.

"Is something wrong?" I asked.

"Toddy, do you remember when we talked about things I'm allergic to?"

"No," I answered. "Of course not."

"I'm allergic to soybeans," he admitted.

"You're allergic to soy - - but that is what tofu is made from!"

"Yes, I know," he said with an apologetic look on his gorgeous kissable face.

"And there is soy in the BBQ sauce!" For some reason, I felt the irrepressible need to keep stating the obvious.

So, he picked at the vegetables, and his throat only closed up a little bit. I think that if you cook dinner for your boyfriend and his throat only closes up a little bit, you can consider yourself a success. Anyway, I was determined to try again. The next day we had a hike planned, so I brought protein bars and bananas for the hike. "Thor, I know you can't eat the protein bars because of the soy, but I also brought you bananas!"

"Toddy," he said gently. "Remember my story about bananas?"

"No," I answered. "Of course not."

He then reminded me that he likes the flavor of bananas, but he can't actually eat a banana because the texture makes him gag. For one brief moment, I thought about how this might impact my sex life with Thor. He gags when he has bananas in his mouth? I quickly put selfish thoughts out of my mind and decided I had to start listening to him when he spoke of food. Or I could just listen to him everytime he speaks, but I think it is best to start small. Baby steps.

On Sunday night, we grilled non-soy products on the barbecue. I put non-soy barbecue sauce on turkey burgers. He can eat turkey; I know this for a fact. I've seen him eat an entire pound of turkey in one sitting. The dinner was great, and I felt like a gourmet chef. The next day, he called to say that he had to cancel our date for the Drammy Awards. "I've been coughing all day. My allergies are killing me."

"Were you allergic to something we cooked last night?"

"Remember when I told you I was allergic to Mesquite?"

"No," I answered. "Of course not."

Thor has been miserable for three days. Not only did we cook on Mesquite coals, but I am sure there was Mesquite in the BBQ sauce. Thor's allergic reaction to the Mesquite weakened his immune system, and he caught a cold. So, on Tuesday night, I went over to his house with a pound of turkey breast, some Gorgonzola pea salad I had whipped up earlier (yeah, right) and a couple of peaches. He wasn't hungry, so I told him that maybe he should just eat a peach to keep up his strength. He said nothing.

"You like peaches, don't you?" I asked.

"Do you remember what I told you about peaches?"

"No," I answered. "Of course not." Actually, I didn't say that. I just started giggling and, after a moment, both of us were laughing hard. "I don't think you listen to me when I talk to you, Toddy! The only time in my life I have ever thrown up was after drinking peach schnapps and eating peaches at the same time."

In all fairness, Thor is only allergic to four or five things, (I can't remember the other one he told me) so it's not like he's high maintenance. But he's going to worry I'm trying to kill him if I keep offering him the very foods he's allergic to. I'm the worst boyfriend in the world. I am going to have to start keeping a list of foods I can't bring my man. Or maybe I'll just let him cook from now on. I'll eat anything. And, for the record, I don't gag on bananas.

Keep Your Comments To Yourself

Sometimes I wonder why I even have comments enabled on this blog. Some people say the dumbest things. I agree with Pua's opinion that these people should carry signs warning the rest of us that they're stupid. Then there are the meanies. Meanies criticize and put me down because they don't like the way I look or the things I write or the activities in which I engage. I just deleted a comment today from someone who had nothing nice to say about the picture I posted yesterday. Strangely, though, he did not send me a picture of himself so that I could offer some constructive criticism of my own. Coward.

The other day someone commented that my blog had become boring because I talk about Thor too much. I know that it is much more fun for some people to read Hot Toddy's Toaster Oven when I am miserable or being drenched in beer or going on really bad dates. Yeah, that must be a hoot to read about, but it's not exactly fun to live it! I write to purge my demons and to celebrate my blessings. I write to make fun of things that bug me. I write to help me remember all the worthwhile moments of my life. I write to make you laugh. I write to make myself laugh. I write to connect with my world.

After I write, I like to read through the comments I receive. Most of them are so fun. Many are hilarious. A lot of comments spark correspondence between my blog friends and me. Nearly all of the comments I get kind, sometimes even affectionate and loving, so I can't let a couple jerks spoil my fun. But for the Meanies and Stupid People who are trying to ruin my fun, I have this to say:

Why do meanies never include their e-mail address when they leave hateful comments? I'd love a chance to respond. By respond, of course, I mean that I'll use my God-given gift for making someone feel like an idiot to put them in their place.

Usually a person who criticizes my writing doesn't have a link to his or her own blog. If only they would provide me with a personal homepage link, I could learn how to be a really great blogger like they are.

When I post photos of myself, I'm sometimes told that I don't look like my headshot. I'm never sure how to respond to that. First of all, it's not like I used someone else's headshot. My friend, The Midget, took that picture of me in February of 2003. I did not have a stand-in. I suppose I could try to find a really awful picture of myself and use that on my blog if it would make people feel better. I have plenty of red-faced whiskey drunk photos I could post. But who wants to look at that every day when they open up Hot Toddy's Toaster Oven? I know I don't! I chose a picture that I liked, and then my friend Aaron worked his magic to turn a black and white photo into something new and colorful. Since I love what he did with the photo, I use it on my blog.

Really, if you hate this blog or you think I'm not as good-looking in person as I am in my headshot, or you're bored with my lovelife, you don't need to let me know that. You can just move along. Go get laid or have a drink or seek some therapy. Whatever it is that will help you stop being such a miserable person. Nobody is making you read. And not only will I understand if you choose not to comment, I would encourage you not to. That would be, after all, the most mature and civil thing to do.

The Best Words I've Ever Heard

"Am I ready to tell you this? Yeah. I'm ready. Okay. I'll try to say this in a way that you'll understand. The day I met you..."

Wow. This may be the first time I've ever felt I shouldn't share everything in my blog. His words to me the other night were just for me. I don't want to blog them. Maybe someday they will be used in a play I will write, but for now I am just letting them take root in my heart.

Lots of comments have called for pictures of Thor. So you just get this one little peek for now. And please forgive me for being selfish. As much as I would love to show you everything there is to know about this incredible man, I've decided to keep him for myself. These are mine: his face, his body, his words, and his heart.

Soaked at CC Slaughters

Remember that episode of Dynasty when Alexis threw a beer on Dex, her ex-boyfriend, when she saw him kissing someone else at a bar? No, wait. That's not a scene from a ridiculously melodramatic soap opera. It's my life. And the other night I was drenched in beer by an angry ex-boyfriend.

For a few weeks, I was seeing a guy, let's call him Angry Bear, about whom some of you expressed concern, but I did not listen. That is because when my oven is set to broil it becomes very hard to cool it down, in spite of well-intentioned warnings from others. Friends who see me on a regular basis also told me to be careful of Angry Bear's controlling and obsessive behaviors, but I tried to give him time to prove himself. Last week, he did just that. He proved his true nature and tried his best to hurt me, although he failed miserably.

I understand that Angry Bear is seeing someone new, but it seems I am not to be granted the same good wishes I would give him and his new boyfriend. He seems to be enraged by the fact that I, too, have moved on. I find it interesting that someone can claim to love you while you are sleeping with them, yet the person becomes hateful after you end the relationship. How can you jump so quickly from "love" to "hate"? I think true love should take some time to fade, if in fact that is possible. That has always been my experience, anyway.

As an actor, I try not to shy away from new or unfamiliar experiences since I rely heavily on these personal experiences to help create the characters I portray. So, thanks to Angry Bear, I have more fodder for potential acting roles, now that I know what it feels like to have a drink thrown in my face.

After it happened on a very crowded Thursday evening at CC's, I was not sure how I felt. Was I angry? Embarrassed? Amused? I didn't have much of a chance to label my emotions, because immediately after Angry Bear's tantrum, Thor took me in his arms, licked some of the spilt beer off my neck and gave me the warmest kiss. Thor then made sure Angry Bear was removed from the bar and took me back to his place where, after a hot shower, we slept together for the first time. Funny how a potentially embarrassing situation turned into one of the best nights of my life.

My new friend Non Blogger, who was at the bar that night, sent me an e-mail recounting his version of the wacky hijinx. He tells the story better than I do. So, I'll let him:

Dear Hot Toddy's Toaster Oven:
Man, that was so weird last night at CC Slaughters. The whole Angry Bear thing. What are the odds? Portland is so freaking small sometimes. Consider these weird coinkidinkies:

1. I have known Angry Bear (a little) for a couple years.

2. I saw Angry Bear come in last night, and we did the huggy/kissy thing (and of course he had to pinch my nipple, which he always does)

3. While looking at you, and, admittedly, your boyfriend (WOOF!), I suddenly had an "AHA" moment that YOU were THE Hot Toddy, and he was THE Thor, and your friend was THE Auburn Pisces. Wow!

4. A little later [after I introduced myself], you told me your ex-boyfriend just poured a beer on you and got thrown out of the bar. You said your ex-boyfriend's name was Angry Bear. THE Angry Bear? Yes.

5. Moments later, I'm walking to the other side of the bar and this young guy comes up to me and says, "Have you seen a big guy with a blue t-shirt? He's kind of bearish and has a nipple ring." I replied, "There are 32 guys matching that description over there by the bar."

"Well," said the young guy, "one of them is my boyfriend, Angry Bear, and I'm sure he's cheating on me. He told me I better never cheat on him, but I'm sure he's cheating on me."

"Oh, Angry Bear just got thrown out of here for pouring beer on his ex-boyfriend," I told the young guy.

"What!?" the young guy responded. "Angry Bear did what? Who is his ex? I want to know. Point him out!"

"I can't do that," I responded. "That isn't my place to do. Sorry."

I did, however see fit to run right over and tell you, Hot Toddy, and point the young guy out to you. See, I have already proven my loyalty to you as a friend. Damn, I'm good.

That's it for now. I hope to chat again soon!
Sincerely,
Non Blogger

I hate bar drama, and I avoid it the same way I avoid John Denver's music. So, in order to enjoy some peace, I plan on spending lots more time in Thor's bed, and less time hanging out in bars. Trust me. It's no sacrifice at all.

Don't Call Me Sweet

It seems I have inherited my mother's temperament. When I was growing up, she would often complain to me that she got tired of being called "sweet". Everybody always said she was such a sweet person, and it made her wish she could be just a little bit bitchier, I think. Now, years later, I am frequently labeled with the same description. I'm sweet.

"Oh, Toddy," my friends will say, "you are so sweet."

Hearing things like "Hot Toddy is just the sweetest guy," or "what a teddy bear," is just old hat to me.

But I can be bad. Very bad. And I want everyone to know it. Being with Thor has shown me just how evil and rotten I really am, because he, as it turns out, is nicer than I am. Truly, he is the sweet one.

On our refrigerator at home, there is a picture of a group of my friends standing around at a party singing "Seasons of Love" from the musical Rent. I probably do not need to clarify the men in the picture are gay, but, with the exception of Metro, all of us are.

I placed a magnet right in the middle of the picture in order to hold it on the fridge. The magnet completely covers The Math Whiz, who is standing in the center of our group. Nearly every day, The Math Whiz indicates his displeasure at being covered up by a magnet. "It is the only way I can keep it on the fridge. The magnet has to be in the middle. You should have stood somewhere else at the party," I answer.

The Math Whiz and I like to play these games. I treat him horribly, and he begs for my friendship. Now that he works with me at Company X, he asks that I greet him publicly, in front of our coworkers, which I refuse to do. But covering his picture with a magnet is still my favorite game. Thor asked about this the other night while The Math Whiz was with us in the kitchen. "Why do you have this magnet on top of The Math Whiz?"

"I have to hold the picture to the fridge. It is unfortunate that The Math Whiz stood in the center, but that's just the breaks," I answered. "Toddy, that's mean," said Thor, as he removed the magnet and placed it at the top of the picture. The Math Whiz smiled at Thor, and I glared at The Math Whiz. "You will have to get used to my evil nature," I told Thor. But I didn't replace the magnet, because, for the moment, I'm enjoying being submissive.

I will find other ways to get back at The Math Whiz. I will torture him secretly, and Thor will never be the wiser.

Thank You, Auburn Pisces

I have more joy in my life right now than I have felt in years. My heart is at peace for the first time in a long while. My body is alive with sensation and pleasure and health, and my spirits are soaring.

Debts are being paid, old wounds are being healed, and love is filling me up to the point of bursting. So much of this, I owe to you, my friend.

For all the help you've given me at work, for the financial counseling, for the broken pieces you've helped me pick up in the past year, for all the love you've shown, and for bringing Thor into my life, I thank you from the bottom of my sappy heart.

Hot Toddy Reviews the Tony Awards

Last night's Tony Awards ceremony was the best I have ever seen. It was incredible. I'm not normally interested in reviewing televised awards shows for Hot Toddy's Toaster Oven, but this was truly a night to remember and deserves further comment!

The show opened with a wonderful number that featured several of the top musicals on Broadway this season. Thor made me stir-fry, and we sat closely together drinking beer and eating our dinner. He asked me if I liked his cooking and I told him that I loved it, but he didn't seem to believe me. So, for about 10 minutes I told him how good it was. I used very descriptive words and made lots of satisfied faces as I moaned with pleasure. After the commercial break, we shifted positions on the couch.

Thor normally likes to feel in control, but he is learning to relax and try new things, so, for a change of pace, he decided to try reclining between my legs, which I promptly wrapped around his torso. I put my arms around his chest, and felt myself quickly becoming somewhat aroused. Hugh Jackman did a musical number, and the camera panned to many shots of celebrities wearing gorgeous clothing. Then he took off his shirt. I'm talking about Thor, here, not Hugh Jackman. The first awards were given out, and Thor's chest is so strong and hairy.

Leslie Uggams looked really great in that purple gown, but Thor said he would have dressed her in royal blue. He strongly felt that would have been a better color for her. When he lifted his arms over his head to stroke my hair, I put my hands on his biceps. That's one of my very favorite body parts, so I was really in heaven. He smells so good too. Light in the Piazza won an award for something.

About halfway through the awards, which were captivating to watch, we shifted positions. Now it was my turn to be between his legs, so I took advantage of my new vantage point to caress the areas I couldn't reach earlier. His thighs are so muscular. I really liked Christina Applegate's number, but when I guessed what song she would sing before it even began, Thor tickled me to punish me for being a "know-it-all".

The Monty Python Spamalot number was well worth waiting for. Thor has this deep rumbling voice, so I loved putting my head on his chest to hear him talk. I like when he plays with my ears too. He's so sweet and kind and sexy and fun, and I really enjoyed the number about the Holy Grail.

As the night wrapped up, we tried one more position. This time we spooned under a blanket, and I kissed his ears and neck. My whole body was alive with pleasure when Spamalot won best musical. I knew that theatre was one of my great loves, but I was surprised by my own intense physical pleasure at this final award. Wow, I am really impressed with the work that went into the Tony's this year. I barely even missed Sarah Jessica Parker. I wonder how much Thor bench presses, because his pecs were like rocks last night.

That about wraps up my review. Hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Maybe I'll start making television reviews a regular feature on Hot Toddy's Toaster Oven.

My Favorite Things

Photo courtesy of Electric Lucy

When I was twelve I read a book called On Tour with Donny & Marie, and I cried because I knew there wasn't much of a chance that I would ever tour with them.

Sometimes life can be so surprising. It was great to see them at CC Slaughters last night, and they even brough me gifts. We're leaving for The Osmond Reunion tour tomorrow. Marie said she'll sing "Little Bit Country, Little Bit Rock-n-Roll" with me. And I'm bunking with Donny.

Rise and Shine

This morning I had a hard time getting up. I was thinking that, if I were rich, I would hire servants to help me get out of bed. I would have them come in when I woke up and put an extra pillow under my head to elevate me just a little bit. Then I would tell them to come back in 15 minutes and put another pillow under my head. I would have them do this every 15 minutes for about 2 hours until I was sitting upright.

Next, I would have them bring a bowl of water for me to dip my fingers in so I could very slowly and gradually prepare for a full shower. I'd order another bowl of water be brought in 15 minutes for my other hand. Then a bowl for each foot, staggered at 15 minute intervals. After an hour, I'd be used to having a little water on me, so I could have the servants hoist me up and carry me to the shower.

Before I got in the shower, I'd have them feed me a couple morsels of toast so that my digestive system would have time to prepare for the food I'd eat that day. I would also have a shot glass of coffee. During my shower, I'd have another toast morsel and one more shot of coffee. After three or four hours of being primed, I'd jump into my day with a great attitude. I'd be rarin' to go.

The point of this post is that I've realized I may not be a morning person after all.

Say Anything

You haven't lived until a muscular hunk with a hairy chest has fed you grilled mango slices. Okay, I surrender. I'm finished. Done in. Bowled over.

Yes, I know you have heard me say things like this before. I've considered renaming this blog "Hot Toddy's Broken Record". I've fallen for many guys in the past, and I've been scraped up pretty badly from my being a slave to Venus. I think, however, after hiking this weekend with Thor, I'm pretty much, um, well, toast.

On Friday I received an invitation to go hiking the next day. I practically jumped through the phone as a deep bass voice on the other end told me he bought vegetables to grill for me. "Do you want to go with me?" he asked. Somehow, I managed to squeeze out the word, "yes", and I hung up. Then, out of nervousness, I immediately called my bank to check my balance. I don't know why I check my bank balance when I'm nervous, but it is better than biting my fingernails. The thing is, I was so nervous that I accidentally pushed the button for Spanish. I don't speak Spanish, but I went ahead and listened to a list of my most recent transactions. Apparently, I like to buy things that cost cinco-something.

Friday night I went to bed and tried to sleep. Instead I stared at the ceiling and waited for morning to come as if Santa was on his way with toys and beefcake. Saturday morning I pulled myself together and drove over to Thor's place. I remember nothing about the drive over. I may as well have been pulled over for driving under the influence, because I was definitely under the influence of some unidentified toxin. When I arrived at his place, I had butterflies in my stomach. Do you know how many years it has been since I felt actual butterflies? I do. It's been 10 years.

In the truck, I barely said a word to Thor, but he kept looking over at me and laughing a little just before turning away. I wondered if he was nervous. Maybe riding with a comatose guy next to him made him uncomfortable, I have no idea. After we pulled into the parking area, Thor shoved a couple bottles of propane in the waist of his jeans, which proved to be strangely erotic. Then he picked up the cooler and the grill. I carried, like, a bag or something. I don't remember.

We set up our picnic spot and left right away to go hiking. I was terrified. Not because of the wildlife or threat of poison ivy. No, I was terrified because Thor insisted that we leave a bottle of rum and a bottle of whiskey at the picnic site. Unattended!? For just anyone to come along and steal? It was at this point that I surrendered to Thor and realized this relationship will never work if I don't learn to trust him. So, glancing back at the paper bag holding our spirits, I said a silent prayer that no harm would come to Henry McKenna and Captain Morgan.

As Thor led me down the path, I could hardly speak. I know. Me, not speaking. What a concept. He pointed at a duck and said it was beautiful. I just replied something stupid. I think I said, "Ducky says quack" or something like that. Thor wiped some sweat off my forehead and joked about how good it felt to have my sweat on him. I wanted to say, "You can have my sweat all over your gorgeous body if you want to," but instead I think I replied, "Sun hot. Make people sweat."

"What is happening to me," I asked myself. "Answer me you ridiculous moron," I said to myself. Myself just giggled and refused to clarify. Thor told me stories, and I replied with one syllable words like "oh" or "oh" or, sometimes, "oh", since all the blood had rushed away from my brain and into other areas of my body. After he told me lots of stories and I said "oh" a lot, we returned to our picnic. I sat down at the table as he fired up the grill. I took a couple slugs of moonshine, which, thankfully, hadn't been swiped. "What is it, Todd," he kept asking me. But I just shook my head and pointed at birds. "Birdy go tweet," I told him.

It wasn't until Thor reached across the table and held out a piece of grilled mango, that my lips became loose. That came out sort of wrong, and yet completely right.

I took the mango into my mouth and licked the juice from his fingers. He asked me to do it again without taking my eyes away from his. So I continued eating from his hand, which was convenient since I could barely move my arms at that point anyway. Then, after a couple more mango slices, I admitted to him, "Oh my god, I like you so much."

Yeah, I said that. Out loud. The feelings I've been trying so hard to control just gushed out. I talked and talked and talked. I drank and talked and couldn't stop doing either one. I felt a tremendous release of pent-up words, and I didn't hold back. Then, I finished talking and sat there staring into his deep blue eyes. Now that I had admitted my affection, what would he do?

His reaction was not what I expected. He flipped over the picnic table and began throwing hot charcoal at me. He called me a drunk and forced me to clean the entire picnic table with Ajax as he screamed that he was mad at the dirt, not at me.

No, actually he didn't do that. Instead, I received a few more mango slices, some grilled vegetables, and a rum-flavored first kiss as a reward for admitting my feelings. Later, we climbed into his truck, I put my hand on top of his, and we shifted gears together all the way back to town. I still couldn't say much in the truck. I was too happy to talk. The weather was beautiful, I felt full and peaceful. It took us quite a while to get back to Portland, and, even though I'm back at work on a Tuesday morning, I have a feeling that the ride isn't over yet.

Call Me Irresponsible

One unique aspect of blogging is that you open yourself up to all kinds of advice, even if you don't ask for it. I've been receiving e-mails and comments from friends who want to ensure my safety and well-being. I'm touched by people who seem to care about what happens to me, even if they've never met me. Whenever someone questions my motives or mentions potential consequences of my actions, I am surprised to see they are raising some of the same questions I have asked myself as I fumble through my life.

In the end, I do what feels right. Sometimes I have to deal with consequences I would rather not face. Often, there are no right or wrong choices when we're faced with personal decisions. We can only take leap after leap in the dark, and wait to see what happens.

Call me irresponsible but,

I will take that twenty bucks The Handsome Prince gave me to gas up my car after driving him to the airport and, instead, use it for a bottle of vodka.

I will let my heart feel warm and excited when a handsome man flirts with me, and I won't worry about whether he'll hurt me later.

I won't feel guilty about calling in sick to work if I don't want to get out of bed because I just want to lay there and listen to the rain.

I will take sixty bucks out of savings if I want to buy my friends drinks and don't feel like worrying about whether I'll need that money tomorrow.

I'll fly to another city to meet a boy, even if there's a chance we won't make a love connection.

If I have a moral objection to eating flesh, I might have a piece of pepperoni pizza when the mood strikes me.

If somebody asks me out, and I'm not sure they are right for me, I might go anyway. You never know.

If my company sends me to a conference, and I want to skip a workshop because I'm listening to the sound of the ocean at a cafe by the beach, I'll sit right there and enjoy myself.

I'll blog about things I "shouldn't" and write about how my heart feels even if it's "too soon".

I will sit in The Vortex at midnight on a Tuesday and listen to music, even if I can barely keep my eyes open and I have to go to work the next day.

I won't be afraid to be tickled or bit or even tied up if it sounds fun at the time.

I'll ski down a slope without ever having had a lesson, even if the only way I can stop is to throw myself backwards onto the snow.

I'd rather hear, "I told you so," than wonder what might have been if only I'd followed my instincts.

"Living is a form of not being sure, not knowing what next or how. The moment you know how, you begin to die a little. The artist never entirely knows. We guess. We may be wrong, but we take leap after leap in the dark."
Agnes de Mille

Peace and Noise

Why do people always say they want some "peace and quiet"? What is wrong with peace and noise? I've been experiencing quite a bit of both lately.

After things went south with Clayton, I took refuge in the peaceful friendship I have with Auburn Pisces. I began spending lots more time at her house. Although I'm sure the wild energy at home drives Aub crazy, I appreciate the chaos of a typical night at her house. It must be very hard for Auburn Pisces to stay calm, cool and collected as she attempts to raise two kids. The two kids I'm referring to are Auburn Aries, age 8, and Thor, age 34. Thor rents the downstairs living quarters from Auburn Pisces. Auburn Aries and Thor are quite a crazy duo, and I find comfort in talking with Auburn Pisces as her kid runs around the house being chased by Thor.

A peaceful home is not always a quiet home. Last night was noisy. Thor was so worked up he had sweat covering his shaved head, and he teamed up with Auburn Aries to teach me a little game called "Mercy Me". They discovered that my feet are ticklish, so I had to shout "Mercy Me" in order to stop the torture. The television blasted an awful rendition of The Star Spangled Banner (in surround sound), and Auburn Aries was shrieking with laughter, as Thor made these (kind of hot) growling noises while tickling my feet, yet I've never felt more peaceful in my life.

Do you want me to tell you how I feel lately? I feel like a bottle of 7-Up that has been shaken up with the cap still on it. Bubbles rising in my heart, and anxious tension tickling me inside. Mercy me!

There must be a better way to describe how much I'm loving this peace and noise. Okay, let's say you were a prisoner in a labor camp and suddenly a clown car drove up and a little midget with a rainbow afro wig and red clown noise shouted to all the prisoners, "Everybody hop in! We're going to Chucky Cheese's for pizza!!!" Can you imagine how happy the prisoners would be as they piled into the clown car headed for a day of fun?

That's how I feel.

Pony Services Hot Toddy

Yesterday, I visited the website for my bank to do some online banking. Nobody could have prepared me for what was in store. I am trembling as I write about this traumatic experience.

My bank is Huge Northwestern Banking Conglomerate, and they recently updated their website. The colors have changed, and the login fields have been moved. It totally threw me off, and I dashed off an e-mail complaining about the redesign. It just so happens that the person who designed my blog also works for Huge Northwestern Banking Conglomerate. So I asked for Pony's help:

Dear Huge Northwestern Banking Conglomerate Technical Person:

Today when I logged on to the HNBC online banking website, I noticed that the place where I enter my username and password has been moved to the right side of the page.

I liked it better on the left side. Please move it back.
Thank you for your prompt attention to this matter.

Financially Yours,
Hot Toddy's Toaster Oven

I was impressed at the speedy reply I received from Pony, the HNBC Technical Person:

Dear Mr. Oven,

Thank you for your feedback regarding the new Huge Northwestern Banking Conglomerate Website.

We consider all feedback equally and we assure you that all comments and suggestions are evaluated for future improvement to our products and services.

After review, we are happy to inform you that when your checking account balance is more than $0.68, we can have the login box moved for you.

Even at that, the login information was never requested on the left side. It was always in the middle. We have, however, added the login box to the right side of the main page. This will save you a single mouse click on each visit to our Website. We feel that this will collectively save our customers 198 million click hours a year -- a considerable time savings.

Please enjoy the new "cool blue" Huge Northwestern Banking Conglomerate Website. If you have
any further questions or comments, please feel free to not send them to us.

Thank you,

Huge Northwestern Banking Conglomerate Technical People

My question is, how did he know my bank balance? I didn't know the HNBC technical people had that kind of access to my personal information.

A Very Refined Evening with Hot Toddy

The Handsome Prince celebrated his birthday Saturday night, but I got more attention than he did, so it was still fun. We went to a cool restaurant called Montage. They specialize in Cajun food and Mac-n-cheese. I had the sun-dried tomato mac-n-cheese, but I really lusted over Thor's blackened chicken. As a vegetarian, I often lust over my friends' food, but eating animals makes me feel guilty unless I'm drunk. I wasn't drunk, so I just sat there and lusted over Thor. I mean - his food.

Anyway - at the end of the meal, the servers wrap your unfinished portion in foil and make sculptures. Several of the guys at the table received aluminum foil lilies or swans or giraffes. Huge, impressive, sometimes phallic (to me, at least) sculptures arrived at our table. Then they brought mine. It was a mouse. A silly stupid tiny unimpressive mouse. So I smashed it.

Monday, when I reheated my sun-dried tomato mac-n-cheese, it was just a ball of food. I had smashed the mouse so well, that it became a dough ball. It still tasted good.

After we ate, we went to sing karaoke, but I didn't smash anything while I was there. Well, actually, I did smash someone against the wall in the men's room and did some fun stuff with him. I think if you are someone reading Hot Toddy's Toaster Oven for the first time, you must be under the impression that I am a very classy guy. I know I seem like a very mature and refined individual, but I am able to cut loose now and then. Stick around. You'll see.

Be Good to Each Other

My mom always said to my sister and me, "Be good to each other." She wouldn't tolerate much arguing and absolutely would never allow cruel taunts or vicious fighting. I was raised in a home where being good to each other was more important than getting straight A's or keeping our rooms clean. I'm thankful for that.

Lately, I've seen some mean-spirited comments at Hot Toddy's Toaster Oven, and I would hate to start deleting them or banning people from commenting here, but I will have to make some changes to my commenting features if some of you don't start being good to each other. You can disagree with me and comment to that effect. I can even tolerate an occasional insult (and have) but when nasty comments about other people start showing up, that's where I have to draw the line. Just so you know.

I think there's enough cruelty in the world. I'd love for this blog to be a refuge from such behavior. As for babysitting the other night, who ever said I wasn't enjoying the company of a hunky man at the same time I was doing my friend a favor?

Babysitting with Thor

There are certain activities I try to avoid in life. My most disliked activities are attending the rodeo, doing jigsaw puzzles and projectile vomiting. Not necessarily in that order. I have to admit that babysitting is also on my list of unenjoyable experiences, but last night I decided to do my friend Auburn Pisces a favor. So I went over and joined Thor, her housemate, for a night of babysitting.

Auburn Aries is an eight-year-old princess with fiery red hair and an awesome sense of humor. Her laughter is contagious, and she can play harder than almost any kid I've met. Fortunately for her, Thor is capable of playing for hours and hours. He picked her up, he spun her around, he bounced her, he threw her, he tickled her. It was cute. Until they made me participate.

So, Thor and I are out in the front yard after a pouring rainstorm swinging Auburn Aries. He held her wrists and I held her feet. The grass was soaked. After a few rounds of "Swing the Kid", I wondered why I was the only one getting wet. My jeans were soaked and my shirt was wet too. So, I asked if we could stop playing and just go inside to clean the playroom. I now see what a mistake I made in suggesting such a preposterous notion, but I wanted so desperately to surprise Auburn Aries' mother. She works so hard as a single mom, and I knew she'd love to come home to a tidy house.

So, my brilliant plan had been to clean the playroom, making a game out of it like Mary Poppins did with Jane and Michael. But, unlike Mary, I did not find that in every job that must be done there is an element of fun. No, while I agonized over where to store the baby blankets (she must have been so cute as a baby. And quiet), Thor and Auburn Aries seemed to be having the time of their lives playing with the toys. Thor became My Pretty Pony and let Auburn Aries ride around the small room as I folded blankets and put dolls away in a chest. Sometimes I would pick up a Barbie shoe and think it might be easier to throw it in the trash than figure out which crate to store it in, but Thor wouldn't hear of it. He insisted that every Barbie shoe be saved and stored away for future losing. According to the song "A Spoonful of Sugar", if you find the fun, then, SNAP, the job's a game. Mary Poppins lies.

Thor rewarded Auburn Aries and me with a visit to the ice cream parlor after we cleaned. They didn't have Maker's Mark at this establishment, so I had a scoop of coconut ice cream and wished I had eaten dinner. When Thor tipped the girls working behind the counter, an awful thing happened. They launched into a song. Misty, who was probably about 16, shouted to her co-workers, "Hey, guys! We just got a tip!!!" and they all started clapping and singing The Tip Song. I don't remember the lyrics or the tune, but it was loud. Auburn Aries asked if I had a dollar so she could tip the girls again. "Nope, sorry, Auburn Aries. I do not want to watch those poor girls go through that humiliation again." I mean, can you imagine having to sing every time someone gave you a lousy dollar as you scoop ice cream for minimum wage? Thor, of course, liked when they sang, although he admitted he enjoyed it more when the high school boys were working and launched into song.

When we got home, I realized I had been set up. Thor had decided long in advance of this night that he was going to be good cop and Hot Toddy was going to be bad cop. I didn't figure it out until I was washing dishes and begging Auburn Aries to head for bed (45 minutes past bedtime) while Thor tried to get her to chase him through the house. I took over getting her to bed, only glancing briefly at the unopened bottle of whiskey on the counter. "I'm coming, baby," I whispered to the bottle and went to tuck in Auburn Aries.

As I sat outside on the deck with Thor enjoying a drink and talking, I hoped my friend Auburn Pisces was having fun on her date. I have new respect for what she goes through each and every day. Thor asked if I ever thought I could raise kids, and all I could reply was, "Not by myself. I think I would rather go to the rodeo."

Fags Discussing Flags

Sunday night I went over to Auburn Pisces' house for some emotional grounding after a rough weekend. I had the time of my life, and especially enjoyed helping her daughter, Auburn Aries, practice a speech about the African Rock Python. Thor, Auburn Pisces' housemate, and I held a twenty-eight inch piece of yarn from opposite sides of the room so we could help little Auburn Aries demonstrate the length of the snake. (Oh, Auburn Pisces just clarified that it was a 28 foot piece of yarn. Size matters.)

I was really pulling for Auburn Aries when I realized that she was being assisted with the project by her geographically challenged mother. At one point, I asked about a flag pasted to the visual aid posterboard.

"That is the flag of Africa. I found it online for my daughter," boasted Auburn Pisces.

"No, I don't think there is a flag for all of Africa," I replied. "Maybe it is the South African flag," I suggested.

"It is the African flag," insisted Auburn Pisces.

Since I know of no continent that has its own flag, I tried to clarify this. "But we don't have a North American flag, Auburn Pisces. I don't think Africa has a flag."

"Yes, we do too have a North American flag. What is that red, white and blue one?" she said in a very challenging manner.

"Um, that the US flag, Auburn Pisces. Not the North American flag."

"Oh, that's right. Canada has one, don't they?" (And I used to love the Canadian flag before I discovered that link).

Good luck with school, Auburn Aries. I'll be around if you need me for anything related to geography. But I have to draw the line at Algebra. Sorry.

Cruel to be Kind

I stood in the driveway this weekend looking at the ground as I listened to angry words that I know I deserved. My face flushed with shame, and I listened to how I'd led someone on and, in his words, humiliated him. I didn't defend myself or try to justify what I'd done. I didn't fight back and attack. I just took it and probably would have kept my hands at my sides if he had hit me.

What I did was admit that I wasn't in love. It felt horrible to admit this. For the past several weeks I've been trying to get there. I've accepted gifts and kind gestures and given my heart as much as I could. I wanted to return love to a wonderful man who treated me like a prince. But I wasn't in love, and he was starting to feel it. He said to me last week that he felt the honeymoon was over after six weeks because I wasn't kissing him or touching him as much. I guess I was just feeling overwhelmed. No, that is the word you use when you are trying to make someone feel better. But the more honest word - the word that earned me shame and angry words, was suffocated. I felt suffocated.

Before he drove away angry, he asked if I had anything to say for myself. I just shook my head and said, "You did nothing wrong. There's nothing more you could have done. I don't have anything to say in my defense."

Hurting another person is an awful experience. But I will never forget my discussion with CT when we broke up almost three years ago. I asked him why he never showed me any affection, and he said that he had made a conscious decision to withdraw from me so that I'd end the relationship. He admitted he didn't want to be the bad guy, and he knew if he stopped showing love that I would eventually walk away. I equated that action to deliberately starving an unwanted pet. I thought it was the cruelest thing a person could do. And I didn't want to do that to anyone else, because I know how it feels to emotionally starve to death.

I am sorry for what happened. And I now understand the men I loved who just didn't feel the same way about me. It wasn't their fault. The tricky part of love is finding someone who shares the same feelings you do. Compatibility is a good start, and it's what I'm banking on from now on.

Hot Toddy's Behind

That means "Hot Toddy is behind" - this is not a post about my butt.

I am just overwhelmed right now. I'm running behind on all my errands. I finally caught up on drunk dials last night. Well, not exactly caught up. There are a few more people I owe drunk dials. And by a few, I mean a couple dozen.

I also have to send a pair of my underwear to Chad. I guess he is not doing too well and can't afford undergarments. Poor guy. Just makes me want to put my arms around him and hold him and do some other stuff, but that's not important right now.

Two friends want me to meme. The meme is complicated, and I don't feel like doing it. Too taxing.

I need to buy a birthday present for The Handsome Prince. But what do you get the guy who has everything. And by everything, I mean he has me for a best friend and housemate. What more could he possibly want?

Reasons to Be Proud

I am so proud of myself. I just saved my company over $39,000 on training costs due to my clever negotiation skills.

But I am more proud of myself for drinking two cocktails at lunch and learning that if you flick ashes near the television set at the sports bar, you can make them stick to the screen.

And People Say I Can't Keep a Secret...

Only four people in the entire world know who is in this show. And none of them is in the cast.

Fourteen actors will arrive at the performance dressed in street clothes. They will get a ticket and a program and take their seats. After the play begins, the actors will make their entrances from the audience, standing up and delivering their first lines en route to the stage, where they will meet the rest of the cast for the first time.

A cascade of comedy and a solid hit on Broadway, Don`t Drink the Water takes place inside an American embassy behind the Iron Curtain. A family of American tourists rushes into the embassy two steps ahead of the police who suspect them of spying and picture taking. It`s not much of a refuge, for the ambassador is absent and his son, now in charge, has been expelled from a dozen countries and the continent of Africa. Adding to the mayhem are other Embassy residents - a priest learning magic, a high-maintenance chef, a sniveling second-in-command, and a Sultan. "Moved the audience to great laughter.... Allen`s imagination is daffy, his sense of the ridiculous is keen and gags snap, crackle and pop." N.Y. Daily News

Theatre Vertigo & The Cardboard Box Theatre Company co-produce this fourth annual Anonymous Theatre Production.

When: Monday, May 9th at 7:30 PM

Guess what I did last night!?

I think I know what skydiving must feel like now. I've never had a more thrilling theater experience in my life. My heart was pounding so hard as I waited to stand up in my seat and shout out my first line. Each and every actor in the show received tremendously enthusiastic applause as they spoke their first line and revealed their participation in the show.

I've never had more fun on stage, and the memories of this night will feed my soul for years to come. I love being an actor, and I love working with other talented people who can kick ass in a show without ever having met for a single rehearsal. Today, I'm feeling so proud to have been part of this show. Sorry I didn't tell you. I wasn't allowed.

Now if only I'd stop sleeping with boys...

After reading this note from my mother, is it any wonder that my sister and cousins call me "The Crown Prince"? Other than the whole being gay thing, which my family thinks is a phase, it seems I can do no wrong.

Dear Hot Toddy's Toaster Oven:
Oh my goodness, my goodness! Gorgeous red roses like I've never seen before! I couldn't believe the Fed Ex delivery today...
I thought they had the wrong house. Hot Toddy's Toaster Oven, the roses are soooooooooooo beautiful...

What a very special gift - (you cared enough to send the very best ha?)

I will NEVER forget this - I am Blessed to have you for a son I was shaking after opening up the delivery, and it touched me very, very much. You are very kind to send roses, and they're sitting on the dining room table now for my enjoyment throughout the coming days and into Mother's Day! What a nice thing you have done to make a very happy mom!

I love you.

What did I do to deserve this beautiful woman in my life? Can you imagine if I had upgraded to the deluxe roses? She'd have to go to the emergency room for palpitations of the heart.

I am the luckiest son in the world. I love you too, Mom!

Pumping Up

Today I sat at break so long with Ms. Karma and Auburn Pisces that I got bed sores. This afternoon the three of us have to sit in a four hour meeting. By the end of the day, I am going to have to learn how to walk again.

It is really sad and disgusting how many hours a day I sit. Working an office job is not a great way to stay in shape, and if I don't go to the gym on a regular basis, I get almost no exercise. Walking to my car every day isn't going to cut it. But I am trying to get back into a routine of working out a minimum of four days a week.

I don't know why bad habits develop so easily. A year ago, I was a regular at the gym. Every other day I was there for at least an hour. And I love the feeling of my own body after I work out. I feel strong and healthy, and I sleep better. My sex drive goes through the roof, which isn't saying much since my libido permanently hovers near the ceiling anyway.

But somehow in the past several months, I gave myself an out. I allowed myself too many days off from working out. I relaxed. Maybe it happened after I did the show 10 Naked Men. Once I knew I didn't have to be dragged across a stage in handcuffs naked, I stopped worrying about my body. It will be interesting to see how dating a man who seems quite happy with me the way I am impacts my fitness level. So far, having such a loyal and loving person in my life only makes me want to work harder on my body. Since I have nothing to prove, I am truly working out just for myself and not to impress someone else.

My favorite thing about the gym is lifting weights. Running or using the elliptical trainer can be kind of fun as long as I have good music. But it can easily become boring and tedious. And that is when my mind wanders, which gets me into trouble. With lifting, I always feel awesome immediately afterwards. I feel so good in my own body, whereas when I run I just feel sweaty. I don't know where I am going with this post. Maybe I'm just trying to remind myself why I need to work out. I have been too lazy for too long.

One way or another, I will get back into regular workouts. I wonder how many calories one burns having sex?

Eating at Work

Yesterday I was eating lunch at my desk. I licked gravy off a plastic knife and cut my lip. Today, I was eating breakfast at my desk and got Tabasco sauce in my eyes. Now I know why we are not supposed to eat at our desks at work.

How could I possibly turn this little anecdote into a full blog entry? Well, it was either write about this or write about how I left the house unlocked last night so Clayton could come over and climb into bed with me, and I'm sure nobody wants to hear about that.

Maybe I'll go out for lunch today.

Hypothetical Question

Do you ever sit down to update your blog and draw a blank as to what you can safely write about? For example, let's say you are in a new relationship with someone, and you really like them, and they say they don't read your blog, but you can't be sure, so you don't want to mess things up by revealing too much. Or, maybe they love to read about themselves, and if you don't say enough about them, they will be hurt. Or maybe you will sit down and realize that your conversations lately haven't been witty enough to write about. For example, maybe the funniest thing you said yesterday was something about a "herd of ferrets" and nobody would understand the joke unless they were sitting on that park bench with you yesterday smoking a cigarette and talking about living on spongecake.

Or maybe you are ashamed to blog because you promised your Best Friend Forever (BFF) that you would send them a gift, but you were drunk when you promised, and you haven't mailed the package yet, but you really do have a present for them, it's just that you're too lazy and selfish to go to the post office and mail it. Or maybe you were drunk dialed by a sexy man with a deep voice, and you feel guilty for not calling him back, so you don't blog because you don't want to draw attention to yourself. And then there is your dear friend who called to let you know how much they love you during a particularly hard time, and you never returned the call, which is completely inexcusable since you certainly have no time accepting gifts like homemade scarves and delicious nuts from them but can't be bothered to call them back just to say hi.

Sometimes you may not blog because you have to work on the budget for your department, and you're overwhelmed by numbers anyway because you couldn't pay attention during math class in school because you kept thinking about The Exorcist and the vomit scene instead of learning how to do simple division.

Or maybe you just don't have anything funny to say. Or maybe you keep thinking about sex and about your boyfriend's 19-inch rock hard calves. Does that ever happen to you?

The Show Off Chef

I love my housemate and best friend very much. He is a wonderful cook. Want to hear more about it? Listen...

I'm Going to Live!!

The doctor did not remove my feet yesterday. As I was leaving the office I told her I felt like a big baby for coming to see her for something so minor. I do not have diabetes. I have athlete's foot. I haven't seen a doctor in two years, and when I do finally go, it's for athlete's foot. What a dork.

Anyway, now that I know I am probably not dying, I'm going to go ahead and continue planning my future. Of course, I am not really ready to make any long term plans.

Hot Toddy's Weekend Goals

1. Make Auburn Pisces laugh so hard she shoots Snapple out of her nose. (Done)
2. Drink vodka in the Vortex.
3. Get laid.
4. Get a haircut.
5. Play canasta
6. Get laid again.
7. Drink wine.
8. Get laid again.
9. Work out.
10. Get together with friends for an informal play reading.
11. Drink Maker's Mark.
12. Establish world peace.

Here's hoping you attain all of your goals this weekend too!

You Are the Boss of Me

Last night I asked the guy I'm seeing if he would still date me if I didn't have feet. He said he might. I think it is important to clear up those issues early on in the relationship, don't you?

After he half-heartedly agreed to dating a potentially footless Toddy, he gave me some medicine for my foot pain and tried to get me to stop worrying so much about my appointment with the podiatrist today. I'm not sure why I'm so nervous. Maybe it is because I almost never go to the doctor.

I know I will be okay, but some of the comments I received yesterday were kind of scary. But some of the comments made me laugh. What really cracked me up was the people who said I should contact my health care provider. If you knew where I worked, you'd laugh too.

Anyway, I can't believe I have blogged about my feet two days in a row. And the day before that I blogged about car wrecks and nuns. What is going on here? I have officially run out of material. I apologize, dear readers, but I may have to solicit your help.

What the hell should I write about!?

I Took Two Aspirin, But I Can't Call You In The Morning

When I first discovered I had Attention Deficit Disorder, I decided I'd better do something about it, so I started researching all sorts of options for treatment.

My first thought was that I needed to go to a concentration camp, but then I learned that it's not what it sounds like. I am so thankful I didn't sign up. After I abandoned that idea, I figured I would just take medication to help me concentrate. But I can't remember the name of my doctor, and I can't find his number.

I'm serious. I have no memory of my doctor. I saw him two years ago when I bruised my ribs wrestling with this guy at a party, which I remember quite clearly, of course. Every detail. Every muscle and tight hold, thank you very much. Anyway, I know my doctor's name is something like "Tom Sawyer". He definitely shares a name with one of Mark Twain's characters. I looked up Huckleberry Finn in the Portland phone book, and there was no listing, so I know that's not it. Then I found a Becky Thatcher, but I know for sure my doctor had a penis. (I figured it was only fair that I grab him back.)

So now I am stuck without a doctor and don't know what to do. There is something wrong with my feet, and I have no idea who I need to see about my condition. At first I thought I had athlete's foot, but I am starting to think it is a little more serious. My feet hurt a lot, and they burn when I am trying to fall asleep at night. The skin on my feet looks like it is disintegrating in places. (I'm sure you don't want to hear about it, but I want to talk about it so you are out of luck.) Do I have a flesh-eating virus? The rest of my skin is fine. Only my foot skin is going away.

Maybe I am just being paranoid. But, I once saw this documentary in school, and they showed all these horrible medical conditions experienced by people in Africa. I am not sure what the class was. I am pretty sure it wasn't typing class. Anyway, there was a man with elephantitis, and some woman with an awful disease caused by walking barefoot in the mud. Worms that lived in the mud went into her foot and just started eating her or something. I don't remember walking in the mud, lately, so I am hoping I don't have what she had.

But I am tired of my feet hurting, and I worry that if I don't go to a doctor soon I won't have any skin left on my feet. Just bones. And, although it might be fun to pull of my shoes at parties and show off my skeleton feet, I doubt anybody would want to sleep with me ever again. If people hate sleeping with someone who has cold feet, can you imagine how undesirable they would find someone with skeleton feet?

I don't like sharing this ugly side of myself, but I don't know what else to do. I can't remember my doctor's name, so I am hoping he will read this and get in touch with me.

What were we talking about?

Hot Toddy's Catholic Post

My housemate, The Math Whiz, is one of the funniest people I know. His delivery is so dry. We were telling car crash stories this morning, and he told me that he once got into a collision with a a nun. I asked if it was her fault, and The Math Whiz said it was. Then he told me the police officer went up to her and said, "I wouldn't make a habit of this." The officer didn't really say that, but I loved The Math Whiz for coming up with that. The nun was apparently running a red light, so TMW now refers to her as "The Flying Nun".

I couldn't come up with anything funnier than TMW did. But I did suggest that maybe the police officer said to the nun, "If you think you're not getting a ticket for this, you better say your prayers, sister." Ba-dum-bum.

And continuing my Catholic theme for today, I am going to bet that Vatican City's new leader will be named Pope something. They seem to favor that name. If I ever had a child, I would name him (or her) "Pope" just to increase their chances of someday being the Catholic church leader.

Thank you. I'll be here all night.

Hot Toddy's Meme

Scott-o-Rama and I are on the same page today. Or, as my former boss used to say, "we are on the same plate."

In my opinion, Scott is a meme expert, so it wasn't all that surprising to me when I went to his blog and found he wrote about this topic only a couple days ago. There are probably better definitions for a meme, but my personal definition of a meme is, "read my blog entry and just copy what I write into your own blog." But the trick to a meme is that you have to change the answers, which makes it more than just copying. You have to personalize your meme.

If you would like to fan the flames of my already out of control ego, just copy this meme into your blog today. Be sure to credit me and link to me and talk about how great I am or I will fall apart. I do that sometimes. Anyway, I hope I write the best meme ever. I can't wait to see your answers!

Hot Toddy's Meme

Which song reminds you of when you worked in a drugstore in high school?
"Oh Sherry" by Journey

What is your saddest memory of being in a cult?
I hated "Breaking Sessions", in which the leaders of the cult would sit with you in a circle and try to make you break down crying about your sinfulness. I usually buckled after only two or three people voiced their criticism of my wicked heart.

What was your most embarrassing moment that happened when lube fell out of your coat pocket?
In my car this morning, when I had to explain to my housemates why I had a bottle of lube in my car. It had fallen out of my coat pocket. I had purchased the lube at a Pure Rome Ants party, but it was backordered, so I picked it up from Juju a couple days ago and just never brought it into the house.

When you were kids, why did you call your little sister "Margarita" instead of her real name?
I was trying to convince her she was adopted and that she was really a little Argentine girl left on our doorstep, even though she was a blue-eyed blonde girl who looked just like the rest of us.

What was the strangest thing you ever ate in Africa?
Crocodile meat

Do you ever think about that time you slept with your friend, the gymnast, in high school, and you were both drunk and messed around together?
Every day

Do you ever wish you had taken things further?
Every second of every day

When was the last time you came home drunk and watched a taped episode of "American Idol" and then decided to watch it backwards too so that the people who performed later got a chance to go first?
Monday night

Were you surprised when the judges were just as harsh regardless of the performance order?
Yes. Stunned.

Please think about your answers carefully. I can't wait to hear your lube and cult and gymnast stories!

Hot Toddy's New Boss

Today I will meet my new boss. It will be important for me to quickly get him wrapped around my little finger so that I can continue my fun carefree lifestyle. If the poor man has any delusions that he is going to pound some kind of work ethic into me, he has another think coming.

In fact, I'm just going to direct him to my blog and outline my expectations here.

Welcome aboard, Eugene!

You are in for the ride of your life. Working with Hot Toddy is fun and exciting, as long as you follow a few simple guidelines.

Although it is none of your business, Hot Toddy's work schedule is as follows: Hot Toddy usually shows up at the office around 9 a.m. (unless there was a good song on the radio and he sits in his car to listen) and he immediately leaves his desk after booting up the computer. Around 9:30, he will return with coffee and breakfast.

Next on his agenda is catching up on e-mail and blogging. 10:00 a.m. is break time, so you'll find Toddy with Auburn Pisces and Ms. Karma over at Kobos Coffee.

Around 10:30, Hot Toddy will wake up and begin to undertake actual work. He will begin to accomplish things as if by magic and will outwork anyone on your staff due to his abilities to charm the pants off vendors and internal customers. By the way, Toddy hates using words like "internal customers" because he knows that is a euphemism for "the idiots I work with", but he will pretend to be on board with the whole corporate farce.

Under no circumstances should you ever attempt to monitor Toddy's work. He is independent and has no need for you as a supervisor other than to approve his vacation requests, which you will basically approve without discussion. Beyond that, just find something to do with your time and leave Toddy alone. He is quite capable of doing his job without your meddling in his affairs.

Please be aware that once or twice or three times a week, Toddy will need to leave early for doctor or dentist appointments. He is a health fanatic and is obsessive about his dental hygiene. He must be heavily medicated by Dr. CC Slaughter every day in order to function. Do not attempt to interfere with Toddy's treatments.

If you follow the rules, you and Toddy will get along fine, Eugene. You're gonna love him.

Stuck

Toddy, just write something. Anything. Stop worrying about who reads it or what they say behind your back. Stop fretting about the reactions of others. Quit avoiding this blog and worrying that you will upset someone. Because you're going to upset them whether you try to or not.....

Okay, I'm back. I got my shirt caught in the rumor mill a few days ago and found myself dangling several hundred feet in the air contemplating my escape. Unfortunately, I've discovered how vicious people can be. Someone shared information with me about things that were being said behind my back, so I needed some quiet time to regroup. I held a committee meeting in my head with all the voices, and I think I've reintegrated my multiple personalities now.

I doubt there is anyone in the world who hasn't experienced the act of betrayal. But that doesn't make dealing with it any easier. A few people I thought were my friends, really aren't. It would still hurt if just one "friend" secretly disliked me. But I learned that there is actually a secret coven of Hot Toddy's Toaster Oven haters. I can move past it, and I will. Over the past several months, I've started some new e-mail correspondences with people I respect, and now I will have more time to cultivate those friendships instead of wasting time on false people.

Readers of HTTO have expressed various opinions regarding my need to write about my private life. Some believe I should keep revealing my thoughts without censoring. Others say I need to keep things to myself. Some are too foolish to realize that there are many things I keep to myself, and that when you read a blog entry you are reading a portion of the whole story.

So, here is a portion of a story about a new person in my life. I am experiencing a new friendship that frightens me. I met a man who seems to want to give me everything I've ever asked for. I feel spoiled when I spend time with him. I am overwhelmed by affection and am treated like a prince. I feel as if I could snap my fingers and receive anything my heart desires.

This weekend, I pushed him away. I didn't call him. I avoided anyplace where I might run into him. And then, last night, there he was. The look in his eyes wasn't what I expected. I anticipated bitterness. Anger. Resentment. All the things I've been experiencing from the secret coven of haters. Instead, he asked me if I felt better after having time to myself. He said that he hoped I was back to my old self. He put his arms around me and drew me close, and I felt safe. I felt nothing but warmth. And the best part is that a little part of my heart melted, and I began to trust this man.

Lately, I've started saying, "We'll see..." whenever I encounter new friendships. Instead of saying, "I hope this works out," I choose to keep things tentative. That's new for me. I know there are those who say I can't change, but I think I can. I have changed many times before. This blog is a record of my growth and change.

Hot Toddy Lovers & Hot Toddy Haters: Sometimes I will let you down with my words. Sometimes you'll disagree wholeheartedly with what I have to say. You'll read a joke about how much Maker's Mark I drink, and you'll decide I'm an alcoholic. I will write about my disappointment in love, and you will say that I am writing to hurt or attack the person who disappointed me. Think what you will. I'm trying to be the best person I can be. Like everyone, I fail sometimes, but nobody can say I'm not trying.

What is Important...

Loyalty. Trust. Honesty. Kindness.

Love.

Being Famous Author Rob Byrnes

Last night I rehearsed the play for a staged reading I'm involved with on Monday at Artists Repertory Theatre. I haven't acted in anything since last summer when I did all my naked shows. ART is a great theater to be involved with, and I'm hoping this reading may give me some visibility so I can increase my chances of doing a mainstage show at ART someday.

The role I'm reading is that of a playwright, a role with which I'm somewhat familiar. But this playwright is not a corn-fed Missouri boy like me. He's a New Yorker. So, in my reading of this character, I need to convey that rapid, nervous, neurotic, insane, "whack" behavior exhibited by all New Yorkers. Actually, I'm kidding. I know some pretty laid back New Yorkers, but the director wants me to be a little more frenetic. So, I've decided to use Famous Author Rob Byrnes as inspiration. Now, I've only spent a few hours with FARB, but I think he has the qualities I'm seeking to imitate. FARB is a mover and a shaker. He is the type of man who will never miss his train or lose his bags. I mean, I don't know that for sure, but I imagine that FARB, when sober, is quite capable of catching trains and keeping track of his possessions. Not that I ever saw him sober.

It felt good to be back in the theater last night. I was Norma Desmond roaming the rehearsal halls singing, "I don't know why I'm frightened. I know my way around here...", and, yes, it truly was "as if we never said goodbye". Not that I have been on an extended leave of absence from the stage, but it seems very strange to perform back to back shows and then, suddenly, find oneself on hiatus for almost eight months.

Finally, I'm doing something other than blogging, drinking or dating. At last, I will have something to talk about at parties other than Hot Toddy's Toaster Oven, Maker's Mark and boys. I'm sure my friends are tired of hearing about all three of those subjects. Not that I plan to go on curbing any of those activities anytime soon.

If You Don't Know Me By Now...

I stir up a lot of controversy lately. It's weird. I've always been a peacemaker. I try to get along with everybody and genuinely love people. The bartenders at CC Slaughters have started calling me "Jesus" because I will talk to anybody, even if they are a freak. Especially if they are a freak. I hate to see lonely people at the bar. I say hello to people on the elevator at my office. I don't always know them, but I figure that since we work at the same place we ought to at least say hi. The other day I called the county courthouse to inquire about proper procedures for disputing a parking ticket. Ms. Karma overheard the call and said, "You were awfully nice to them considering they are screwing you over." I just responded that the person who answered my call had nothing to do with the person who wrote my ticket, so I didn't see the point of being angry with them.

YET...

No matter what I write lately, it seems to be pissing people off. Okay, like, three people. But I hate pissing off three people. My goal before I die is to have every single person in the entire world like me. I want to be the first man in the history of the world to have no enemies. I'll bet I can do it. As long as I write things like this:

Today was a great day. For me, I mean. Not for everybody. I mean, I know there are some people in the world who have problems, and I don't mean to seem apathetic about what they are going through. But for me, personally, it was a good day. I heard from a couple friends via e-mail and had lunch with another great friend.

I know I didn't call the friends who e-mailed me "great friends" but it doesn't mean that they are less of a friend than the one I had lunch with. I like everybody the exact same amount.

If you didn't have lunch with me today or hear from me today, it doesn't mean that my day wouldn't have been even better if you had been part of it. Quite the opposite!! I would have loved to spend time with you, but it just so happened that I spent time with a different friend.

Oh, and if you are the different friend I actually did spend time with, I'm not trying to say that I wish I could have spent time with the other friend whose feelings are hurt because I spent time with you.

Anyway, I was really excited to be asked out on a date recently. I know that I may be coming off as incredibly narcissistic right now for writing about having a date. It might make me sound like I think I'm so awesome or that I'm bragging about how everybody thinks I'm hot and wants to sleep with me. But I really just like going out on dates. Every date I ever go on is perfect, and every guy I have ever dated is perfect. I love everyone and everything, unless you hate them, in which case I agree with you.

I haven't had much time to read blogs (I did read yours, of course) lately because my job is so busy. Sorry to talk about myself so much. I am sure your job is busy too, and I am sorry it is so busy for you. And it is my fault. I will try harder to support you.

The blogs I have read are all funny and touching and controversial and thought-provoking, and, yes, I like your blog the best. It is way better than mine, and I am sorry I act like I think my writing is so great, because it is so obviously just my desperate attempt to get attention any way I can. In real life, nobody will ever talk to me so I have created this virtual world, and I pretend it is real.

I had the craziest experience in the grocery store yesterday, but it involved a lady buying tomatoes and two cashiers. Since I did not obtain their permission to write about what happened, I'm going to have to let it go. But it was funny, and nobody was harmed, and nothing racist was said or implied, and no animals were harmed during the incident with the tomato lady and the cashiers. But it sure was funny.

Anyway. I guess I can safely tell you about things that happened when I was alone, right? As long as it doesn't involve anybody else, nobody can be upset with me.

This morning I put on my shoes while I sat on my bed. Then I got up and drank coffee (sorry, Mormons!) and had a protein shake. Yes, yes, I know that there are people starving all over the world, and I am a selfish American protein shake drinker. But don't worry, I realized my selfishness and threw up the shake right away. And then cleaned up the mess myself using environmentally friendly cleaning products.

Thank you for taking the time to read today, and I'm sorry if this entry was too long or too short. Or if it was too medium length. Anyway, if I have upset you today, I am sure that you are right and I'm wrong and that if I would just let you express your opinion more through my writing, everything would be fine. So, if you are mad, please comment for all to see. Although there is an e-mail link at the bottom of this blog, (appropriately located under the 'Dear Hot Toddy, You Suck' picture), if you are upset with me, I think you should comment about it. That way everyone will know that I am a jerk and you are an innocent victim of my unwarranted malicious hatred towards you.

Proud to be your whipping boy,
Hot Toddy

To Tell the Truth...

I think it is interesting that I wrote this entire post about my need to express myself, and when I tried to publish it, Blogger crashed and lost the whole thing. You can't stop me, though, as I will discuss in this post.

Some people hate this blog, which is sort of like hating puppies and kittens, but they still hate it and will tell me so. Mostly, they'll do so anonymously. They will conduct the literary equivalent of flipping me off in my comments. I think they are probably itching for a good old fashioned drive-by shooting and just can't find the time or the firearms. So they just shoot at me in my comments and keep driving.

How do I deal with it? Do I fall apart? Hardly. Usually, I just e-mail Famous Author Rob Byrnes, and we make fun of the commenter. Or my loyal friends will jump in and defend me (usually making me laugh at their cleverness in the process). Negative comments really don't bother me, because I know most of these comments are a cry for attention from people trying to stir the pot. I mean, if you really hated reading a blog, why wouldn't you just move on? Why waste time telling the blogger that you hate them and think their blog sucks?

I have to admit, though, the other day I received an e-mail from someone I once knew. He basically called me out for exposing too much. He was especially upset that I wrote about a boy that I liked, who made out with someone else at the bar one night when we were out at CC Slaughters. I had, at the very least, a sexual relationship with this guy. It turns out I was wrong that we could possibly mean more to each other, but that was something I didn't write about. So I wrote about how I still wanted to be friends with this guy, but that we would be nothing more than that. Without knowing anything that occurred between this guy and me, other than what he read in this blog, the person who e-mailed me jumped to this guy's defense. He said that, unless I stopped writing about boys I like, anybody in Portland will think twice before dating me.

I tried to open up a dialogue about it with my critic. I tried to remind him of all the nice things I had written about him. I tried to get him to see how shallow it would be for me to only write about sunshine and light, when we all know that's not the whole truth. But he didn't respond. I wrote him twice, but heard nothing back. Another drive-by shooting, but this time it came from someone who once meant a lot to me.

Well, I thought about his words for about a week. I came to the conclusion that, if a man can't handle dating someone who is open and honest, he's not the man for me. If I am only allowed to write about the wonderful side of dating him and can't be real, I will just have to pass. Even if I don't blog about my life experiences, including, but not limited to, romantic relationships, I must have an outlet for expression. I'll write a play about it, or I'll sing a song to express my feelings. If you are horribly unlucky, I will write you a love poem. Heaven help you if that happens.

The point is, I can't stop telling my truth now. It's like me and my ex, CT, used to say. "The steamroller of truth can't be stopped." It is like an avalanche of truth that starts with a small snowball rolling down a hill, picking up speed, and becoming devastatingly enormous. Well, at least that is how a cartoon avalanche looks. I've never been in a real one. Or, if I have, I can't remember.

Anyway (focus, Toddy, focus!!) I came exploding out of the closet of repression and lies eight years ago. Tired of lying and pretending to be someone I'm not, I decided to get on board the Silence=Death train, and I'm not ever getting off. And e-mails like this one I received from a reader I'll call Kent Almighty, encourage me to keep telling the truth,

"You know, I did notice in the more recent HTTO archives, that there were bits of censoring going on, and even caught some hints of advice from your friends to keep it down. There are a lot of people who just don't want to hear about personal feelings and of what speaks to the heart, other than something that's been homogenized for safe human consumption. It's difficult and scary to expose and talk of one's personal feelings…but I know that that is what makes the absolute difference in life…

I'm convinced that that's the secret to a fulfilled and happy life -- to share about oneself and innermost being and then to have someone else really listen and receive it, to hug it and cherish it and allow it inside…I for one, have benefited greatly from your words…and I would be saddened if you changed the way you are just for other people's comfort level."

Thanks, Kent Almighty. I won't change. I promise.

I have a good friend in Portland who makes fun of Hot Toddy's Toaster Oven. He mocks me and says he never reads the blog. I love this guy, and I know he has better things to do with his time than read my blog. Right now he is going through a very rough time. He called me yesterday and left a message. "Toddy, call me. I need to tell you something." Worried that he might need me to rush over with a bottle of Maker's Mark and a lot of stupid jokes, I called him back. I was surprised and encouraged as he told me his truth, "Toddy, I have started reading your blog. It means so much to me. Frankly, it is one of the only things that keeps me going lately."

That's all the encouragement I need to keep going. I don't care if I get a hundred negative comments a day and scathing e-mails from people all over the world. My friend was moved by what I wrote, and it makes him want to keep going. Which makes me want to keep going. And that, my friends, is just one of the countless benefits of being honest. I'm not changing a thing.

Ready, Willing and Abel

Sometimes, while playing canasta, I will try to distract my opponent. But Auburn Pisces is exaggerating greatly in her post about my Vortex performance last weekend.

True, I was belting out a tribute to music of The Sixties. My medley was an American Idol-worthy performance. True, I didn't stop, no matter how many times she warned me. But I completely disagree with her claim that I was jealous. I had the best cards in my hand. If The Math Whiz hadn't interrupted our game with his burning yearning need for CC Slaughters, I would have won.

If you go read her blog, you'll see she is clearly making the whole thing up. As if I would complain about a glass of Maker's Mark. Enough about that.

I am writing this during a conference call at work. As different people speak, I pull up their picture on the organizational chart so I can see what they look like. Right now I am fighting the urge to send an instant message to Abel saying, "You are so hot." That would be highly inappropriate. But as I listen to him speak, I am falling for him. I think we would be so good together.

During the introduction segment of the meeting, we were all asked to name the first album we bought with our own money. (I know. Corporate trickery in an attempt to make us think we are having fun at work. It doesn't work on me, don't worry.) Well, Abel's first album was WHAM! and mine was the soundtrack to Xanadu. If that is not a match made in heaven, I don't know what is.