My Favorite Handshake

I have never enjoyed shaking someone's hand more than the softball player I met on Saturday night.

After our tournament games on Saturday, I was talking to the Toddtender at a softball party held at CC Slaughters, and this cute girl walks up to me and reaches out her hand.

"Hi. You caught the ball I hit into right field today. I was so mad at you. It was the first time I've ever been able to place the ball in right field."

That was such a great moment. All those years I spent being afraid of sports - sure that I had no athletic ability whatsoever. Hell, the whole reason I quit playing flag football in elementary school was because I thought I could never get any better at it. I was asked to join the swim team in high school, but I declined because I thought I'd cause our team to lose every swim meet. I never played basketball because I thought I couldn't learn the rules.

All of it was a lie.

Why do we let ourselves be brainwashed when we're young? Kids take in everything they hear. The world tells them who they are, and children believe it. Gay men face this more than most men, since we're programmed to believe we are not normal or that we aren't real men. Anybody, straight or gay, who has the idea that gay men are "less than" just needs to spend a single Sunday afternoon at the ballpark watching Portland gay softball teams play. I saw some of the studliest guys I've ever seen this weekend, and they were serious athletes. VERY tough competition.

My team didn't place in the tournament, and I know that I have lots of room for improvement. However, I did race to home plate in a rather dramatic moment during one of the games and scored a run for our team. (The opposing team was sure I'd stop at third base, but I surprised them!)

I caught a couple pop flies and even had an umpire tell me, "That was a nice catch you made out there today, sir."

Me?

Yes, me! Shake my hand!

Call Me

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gay Games Tickets

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thirsty

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

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

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

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

Octopus Boobs

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

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

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

Open Letter to Pride Guy #2

Dear Volkswagen,

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

We met while I was still with Thor...


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

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



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



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



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



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

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



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



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



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

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

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

"When?" I asked.

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

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

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

V for Vacuous

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

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

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

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

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

Open Letter to Pride Guy #1

Dear Airborne Ranger:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then it occurred to me.

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

Huh.

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

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

Todd & Pony Show

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

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

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

Where's My Parade?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Best Gay Pride EVER!

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

I'll help you pack.

Open Letter to Natasha Bedingfield

Dear Natasha Bedingfield -

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

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

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

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

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

Two Things That Kill Comments

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

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

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

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

KTONTGA

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

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

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

Happy Natasha Bedingfield Week!

Hot Toddy's Theme Song

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Salsa Shoulders

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

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

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

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

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

What?

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

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

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

Battle of Intellect

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

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

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

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

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

Your Bitch

I looked at my stats today on Statcounter. I almost never do that. When I first started blogging I checked them all the time. I wanted to know who was visiting and how long they stayed on the site. I wanted to count how many times people returned, and I couldn't wait for my hits to reach 1,000 or 10,000 or whatever.

As of this moment, I've had 381,166 hits. I have no idea what that means. Probably 80,000 of the hits are from me anyway. What matters to me is that I have found some amazing people through blogging. Amazing cool friends and, unfortunately, a handful of amazingly two-faced jerks.

After I checked my stats, I wrote this. I'm not sure why.

I'm here when you need me. I'm an exhibitionist, and I'm baring it all for your pleasure.

It's a Tuesday or Wednesday afternoon at the office. You're bored and decide to surf on over to Hot Toddy's Toaster Oven and see what's happening in my world of gay softball and CC Slaughters and lovesick puppydog eyes and burning lust over wrestlers and bartenders.

You're up late one night and can't sleep, so you browse through my archives and read about Snapple lids and volunteerism and Charmed.

The weather outside is miserable, so you're parked in front of your computer with a mug of steaming coffee, and you're reading all about me and Thor. Or me and Crunchy. Or me and Pony. Or me and [Insert The One True Love of My Life and Soulmate Here]. You know everything there is to know. And yet, there is so much you don't know. Things I can't (or won't) tell because I still have to protect somebody or someone's feelings or their privacy or whatever - even if they didn't give a shit about my feelings or my sanity or my well-being.

You read, and you decide...

Hot Toddy is:
cute/stupid/weird/funny/pathetic/adorable/pitiful...

Maybe you write e-mails to your other blogger friends and say shitty things about me, not realizing that e-mails can be forwarded and just may, someday, wind up in my hands.

Maybe you read and just aren't impressed, so you move along to somebody who floats your boat. Someone more politically savvy or someone with shirtless pics on his profile.

Take what you want from me. Watch me. Judge me. Love me. Hate me. Fantasize about me. Dream of me. Push my face down into the pillow. Pull my hair. Spank me.

I feel dirty, and I like it.

Crickets

Wow. Guess you were all a bit underwhelmed with my last post?

Okay, I got nothing today. Well, except for one tiny little thought.

I was thinking that a bad slogan for ANY company (no matter what the service or product) would be this:

[Insert Company Name Here] - We feed the homeless! Just kidding. We don't.

Cascade Cup

If you'd like to visit Portland, Oregon this summer, maybe you should come for the Cascade Cup softball tournament July 1-2! If you have a softball team, check out the site and consider signing up for the tournament. Spectators of the sport are welcome too, of course! C'mon, take a road trip to Portland! Witness my amazing skills on the softball field.

If you are local and want to volunteer, please contact your whiskey-swiggin', truck-drivin', softball playin' volunteer coordinator, Hot Toddy. Just send me an e-mail, and I'll put you to work selling t-shirts or checking in (checking out??) the softball players. I'll gladly sign you up, whether you're an athlete or an athletic supporter. Gay/Straight/Bi/Trans/Weird/Normal - whatever. We'll take anybody! We need help on Friday, June 30 - Sunday, July 2. You can sign up to help for a couple hours or all three days.

To send me an e-mail, scroll down to "Talk to Hot Toddy" in the left sidebar. My e-mail link is right above the picture of the lady who says, appropriately, that I suck.

There will be a big closing ceremony and party at the Jupiter Hotel on Sunday, July 2, and we'll need volunteers to help out with the grill, security and cleanup detail. One, or possibly two, lucky ball players and/or volunteers may be selected for the after-after party at my house. We'll see....

Under the Porch

Last night I had a dream that I invented a new kind of fire that wasn't hot. I was really excited about this invention, but nobody could understand what a heatless fire could be used for. I told them all, "You can use it for light!!"

The symbolism of this dream is quite obvious to me. My fire is almost out right now. I feel empty and need to recharge. Jokingly, I told Ms. Karma the other day, "I have too many friends."

That sounds awful. I was joking, but at times I do feel like I can't possibly spend anymore time with another person. I vant to be left alone....

Yesterday I wrote about how nobody should be lonely. But sometimes a person should be alone. I'm craving it so much. Last night as I talked to Apollo about it, my eyes actually filled with tears. I'm so tired of people. For no particular reason, I guess.

Somteimes, when I am like this, I can't even take an elevator if other people are on it. Instead, I will wait for an empty one.

Sometimes, when I am like this, I have an overwhelming urge to check into a hotel for a night and not tell anybody where I went. I want to order room service and pull the drapes shut.

I'm not sad. Really, I'm not. I just feel like hiding somewhere. I feel like crawling under a porch in Mancato and living there like Albert Ingalls, but I don't want to get that dirty.

Maybe I should see if Auburn Aries will let me use her treehouse.

Open Arms

Have you ever welcomed a complete stranger into your circle of friends? Since starting Hot Toddy's Toaster Oven a couple years ago, I've had some great opportunities to meet new friends - friends I would have never met had it not been for blogging.

Last October I received an e-mail from a very intelligent guy who read Hot Toddy's Toaster Oven. Intelligent, obviously, because he read HTTO. He expressed empathy for the depression and angst I was going through at the time, and he asked if we could hang out sometime.

"i don't have a circle of friends in the area and i would love to meet more people, and you and yours seem grounded, compassionate, and fun-loving."

Since the time he wrote that e-mail last fall, The Professor has become firmly entrenched in my circle of friends. Tonight we're going to celebrate his birthday at Montage. I remember the day I received his e-mail. I wasn't sure if it would be a good idea to invite him to join us. What if he turned out to be a psycho crazy nutjob? (Then I'd want to date him.)

I'm glad a took a chance on The Professor. He's engaging and articulate and funny and, well, very attractive. And, by the way, not available. If I hadn't welcomed him into my life, I'd be missing out on a lot. I still laugh about one late night drive-thru experience we shared at Taco Bell.

Professor: Hey, they didn't give me my chicken soft taco.

Hot Toddy: (to Taco Bell employee) Ma'am, you guys forgot the chicken soft taco.

Taco Bell Girl: Are you sure? Did you check under the quesadilla?

Hot Toddy: Yes, ma'am. We moved around all the contents of the bag and looked under everything. There is no chicken soft taco.

They gave him his chicken soft taco. Later, as we drove home, The Professor and I cracked up.

Professor: What kind of question was that? 'Did you look under the quesadilla??'

Hot Toddy: Like we're that stupid.

Professor: Oh, you mean there could be something underneath the quesadilla?? Oh, we didn't think to look under the quesadilla!

Hot Toddy: I wonder if they teach them that in orientation. 'Make sure the customer checks under the quesadilla for misplaced food. Sometimes things shift in the bag'

Recently I received an e-mail from Jeff, a local blogger who reads Hot Toddy's Toaster Oven. Jeff hasn't had an easy go of it. He's quite open about his struggles on his blog, so I'm not sharing anything he hasn't already talked about publicly. Although I didn't know Jeff at all, something about his honest writing and the way he expressed his desire for friendship left no doubt in my mind that I wanted him to join me and the gang for drinks.

Last night he came to CC Slaughters for drinks and karaoke. He was quiet and a little nervous, but he smiled in a way that seemed to indicate he was genuinely enjoying himself and the company he was in. It made me happy to think he might be feeling less lonely and that he was becoming more at ease with each moment. I watched him chatting with Pony and Chopper and others at the bar.

I have always loved making new friends. But, even more, I think I enjoy watching my new friends build relationships with other people I've introduced them to. It makes me feel like I'm actually having a positive impact on someone's life. I often tease Pony and Auburn Pisces for becoming best friends and leaving me out. But it's all in jest. (The more they hang out with each other, the more time I have for World of Warcraft.) Ever since I introduced them, their friendship has grown stronger and stronger. Now he talks to her more frequently than he talks to me. It doesn't bother me. It makes me happy to have played a part in bringing two people together.

There are way too many of us in the world for anybody to be lonely. There's no excuse for it. Don't be lonely! Don't let someone be lonely!

Jeff, you hang in there. You're going to be just fine. Here's to you and the new friendships I know you'll make.

I'm Unique

Today at work....

Me: (humming "Part of Your World" and then stopping abruptly) Damn it!

Juju: (stops typing) What?

Me: Little Mermaid.

Juju: Oh. (Resumes typing)

Me: I bet there aren't that many people at this company who have ever said that before.

Juju: (stops typing) Said what before?

Me: Damn! Little Mermaid.

Juju: (resumes typing) I bet there aren't that many people in the world who have ever said that before.

Tempting

Saturday night I received the following proposition:

"I would loooooove to go home and pass out next to you...."

Tempting. But, no thanks.

(Almost) Perfect Weekend

The 24 Hour Play was tons of fun. I stayed up till 4:30 a.m. on Saturday writing the play. Then I slept for about an hour. Then I got up and drove downtown to my office so I could print the script. (Gotta buy a printer!)

At 8:00 a.m., I met with the director, Sha Sha, and the actors. What a great experience to listen to them reading the lines I had written only four hours earlier. It was so much fun to listen to my actors laughing at their lines.

I wish I could figure out some way to link to the script. Is there a site that hosts documents for free the way some of those photo sites work?

It's hard to describe the play I wrote. The photographs I drew from the hat were of four actors. Camille had a white coat and binoculars. Darius had dice and gloves. Dee wore a cowboy hat and held a paintbrush in her teeth. Buffie was dressed as a waitress and held a gun. Combining them into a story was a challenge, but I think you would have been proud of my results. I doubt that there has ever been a play with more Oprah and Little House on the Prairie references than the one I wrote: "The Tucumcari Morality Play". (My friend Ben commented that his favorite line was, "Half Pint was a liar..."

After the play, Auburn Pisces (thank you for going with me!) and I went to CC Slaughters for their 25th Birthday party. Someone actually recognized me from Hot Toddy's Toaster Oven and came up to introduce himself - that was fun. (Great to meet you, Rigo!) I've never wanted to stay and close the bar so badly, but The Toddtender was working that night and told me I should go home and rest before our game the next day. My team was playing his team (The Bears), so it would have been in his best interest to make sure I was not at my best. But he cares too much about me - that's why he's the Toddtender.

On Sunday we played 2 games. Lost both games. The Bears beat us 10-9. That damn Gay Men's Chorus trounced us. I don't think you should be allowed to be talented at BOTH singing and sports. Pick a talent, gentlemen.

The Cubs have really come together as a team, and we have a lot of fun together. I'm proud to be on a team with so much heart. I'm making some good friends. I actually look forward to rehearsal practice every week.

After a weekend of writing and theatre and softball and sunshine, I was feeling mighty good last night. Driving home from the game in Sven, my big white truck, I watched a tremendous thunderstorm approach from the west.

As I watched the storm through my rearview mirror and listened to Rufus Wainwright (thank you, Verdi!), I couldn't help but wish for a partner waiting for me at home. He would say, "Your play was so great, baby" and hand me a glass of Port as I sat down next to him. "I'm proud of you, Toddy," he'd tell me. While I took a shower, he'd make a really healthy and hearty dinner. We'd eat and then we'd talk about the softball games, and I'd tell him how sore I felt. He'd pull out the Tiger Balm and massage my aching muscles.

I have candles and music and a bottle of Port at home. Plenty of Tiger Balm too. I can light candles and drink Port and listen to music alone. But I can't reach all the sore spots when my muscles hurt. This is not to say I am not happy being single, for the most part. At last I have learned to accept my life instead of always feeling desperate to have a partner. But I would be lying if I said there weren't moments that might be even greater if I had someone special to share them with.

The 24 Hour Play

Tomorrow night I will go watch a production of my latest play. I can't wait to see the actor's interpretations of my characters. I wonder what the lighting will be like? What music will they use in the play? I wonder how the director will guide the show?

I wonder what the play will be about?

That's right. I have no idea what the play will be about. I can't even start writing it until 10:00 p.m. tonight...


Four writers, four directors, and sixteen actors meet in a room late Friday night. The actors have polaroids taken. Each writer then randomly draws four photos and a director. Driven by inspiration and caffeine, the playwrights stay up all night and create the scripts. The actors and directors return in the morning and then spend the day rehearsing. Saturday evening, the plays are presented to the public.

Last month it was The Writer's Nightmare. Now this!

I sure like to torture myself.

Hello Again, Venus

Hey bitch,

It has been a couple years since I've written. The last letter I wrote you was pretty harsh, I know. It seems terribly inappropriate to write a hate letter to the Goddess of Love. So, I can only imagine your surprise at getting two hate letters from me. Believe it or not, I have more to say, so sit your hourglass figure down, you Rubenesque wenchbag, and brace yourself for another rant.

Venus, as you know, traditionally May is the month you make me do stupid things with stupid boys. I get crushes and get asked on first dates and fall head over heels for the wrong people in the month of May. May is when I start noticing the days getting longer and the shirt sleeves and pant legs getting shorter. I think you are taking unfair advantage of the unfortunate simultaneous appearance of both spring fever and muscle shirts. That's a dangerous combination, and you know it.

Recently I received a really sweet card from my ex, CT, and he mentioned that he thinks of me often. (Of course you know that - you probably made him write it.) I assumed I would probably see him again sometime soon. After all, I have no choice but to see him if I ever want to see my poor little ancient dog, Bonkers.

Venus, I have no doubt that you are the one who planted the idea in my heart today to go sit in the park with Ms. Karma during an afternoon break. We never ever go to that park, but today I felt absolutely compelled to cross the street and sit by the fountain. I now realize this was all part of your evil plan. You just wanted me to run into my ex and his partner while I was wearing a FAT shirt! I wore this big baggy shirt today because it's hot outside and I needed something nice and loose. It is not a "Today I shall run into my ex" t-shirt, you whore! It is a "Sit on the couch and cram Reese's Peanut Buter Cups down my piehole while I watch my stories" shirt.

Just yesterday I wore a very smart short-sleeve black shirt that fits me well and contrasts nicely with my complexion and blond hair. You could have orchestrated this little "chance" meeting yesterday when I looked like Hot Toddy. But, no, you thought it would be more fun to see me introduced to my ex's partner when I was dressed like Mama Cass in her psychedelic tent dress.

Also, was it part of your scheme to make sure I forgot to bring hair product to the gym this morning so that I would have Homeless Hunchback Hair today when I saw CT? Nice move, you trollop. I hope some lady cuts her leg open while shaving her legs with one of your razors and then sues your voluptuous ass.

In a few hours, I'll be changing into shorts and a t-shirt. You and I both know I look adorable in my jock clothes. So why, oh why couldn't CT and his new "VH-1 veejay circa 1986" boyfriend have run into me then?!?

How cool is it that I didn't get much sleep last night and woke up earlier than I wanted to this morning? I'll bet the bags under my eyes look so sexy. God, Venus, do you have nothing better to do than torture me? Can't you go fuck with Brad and Angelina and Jen some more? Go make trouble for Tom and Katie. I just want to be left alone!

Today was so embarrassing. I can't even hold my head up, Venus. As I sit here staring down at my chest, I notice there are tons of frayed threads on this tablecloth shirt I wore today.

I hate you so much, Venus.

Mom

I'm thankful for the way your heart shows up in me. Because of you, I can cry without embarrassment (It's God's way of helping us clean our eyes out), and I love without fear. You taught me to believe in the good in everyone. You taught me the best way to treat others. (Be good to each other!)

You always encouraged me to embrace art and beauty. I learned how to sing harmony by sitting next to you in church and listening to your sweet alto voice. I learned how to play piano and baritone horn because you toted me all over town to lessons and band practice. You encouraged me to write like your father did, and you always said I inherited his ability to tell a great story.

You're beautiful, Mom. You have impossibly youthful skin, and it seems you just get more fabulous every day. By the way - thanks for the genes. I still get carded, and nobody believes I'm almost 40. Also, I never have to buy skincare products, so I can afford to drink Maker's Mark. (I'm sure you're thrilled about that!)

Mom, you added words to my vocabulary. Thanks for "uff da" and "rigmarole" and "gallivanting" and "clutter noise". I try not to use these words around my friends too much, but in secret I say them all the time.

You would think that, with all this evidence, I'd have no reason to question my lineage. But, Mom, you love cantaloupe. You really love it. And I have also seen you eat cottage cheese without gagging.

Tell me the truth. Am I adopted?

The Jigsaw Cowboy

Although the reply form I sent to the courthouse was soaked in vodka, I was not excused from jury duty, so I spent the entire day doing my civic duty yesterday. Early in the day, thirty people were chosen to participate in jury selection or, as I like to think of it, "the reward challenge" - the reward being the chance to get the hell out of that room. (Please do NOT tell me what happened last night on Survivor - I haven't watched the tape yet!!)

Anyway, I was not chosen in the random drawing, (because I never win drawings) so I just sat in the jury room listening to podcasts. Every 20 minutes or so I would get up and wander over to the window and look out on the street. Pressing my face against the glass and watching people on the street, I felt like Anne Frank yearning for fresh air and freedom. I began to hate the confines of that room, and I almost wished a secret informer would just tip of the SS and end our ordeal. I mean, at least Miep Gies brought cheese or sugar or turnips to the Franks now and then, but I had no such savior. In fact, the vending machines didn't make change, so I was left there with no sustenance for at least three hours. I nearly got scurvy. The experience was oppressive, and at one point I started thinking about what might happen if I were forced to spend the rest of my life trapped in that room.

Immediately, the most urgent hypothetical problems leapt to mind. At some point if we were imprisoned in the jury room for life, we'd all get horny and would need to pair up. So early in the day I began working on my plan for which of the other potential jurors I'd have sex with. There was only one candidate (I'm so monogamous - even in my fantasies) in the room who met my criteria. My criteria, by the way, is difficult to pinpoint. Sometimes my criteria has to do with the way a man's jeans bulge or the way his arms bulge or the way his ego bulges. Always bulging is involved. In that jury room only one man met my criteria - the Jigsaw Cowboy. My man was dressed in a tight blue t-shirt and a pair of jeans. He was rather plain, but I am certain that Anne Frank thought Peter Van Daan was plain at first. Nevertheless, romance bloomed in that attic, and I saw no reason why romance couldn't bloom between us too.

My cowboy was so sweet. He sat down with a couple older ladies (complete strangers to him) and helped them work their jigsaw puzzle as we all waited to see if we'd be called to serve on a jury. How sweet is that? I mean, here he was in a room with Hot Toddy. He could have easily put aside the needs of others and given in to his primal urges to ravage me in the jury room. But my cowboy was altruistic and good. I seriously contemplated going over to the table, taking the empty seat, and offering my assistance with the puzzle, which was a picture of matryoshka (nesting dolls). But I can't stand jigsaw puzzles. Seriously, I hate jigsaw puzzles so much. If I were Anne Frank in hiding and Miep brought me a jigsaw puzzle, I would have told her to get out and never come back. Then I'd have changed the locks on my secret annex. Jigsaw puzzles are the cottage cheese of entertainment. So I just did a lot of back stretches from my chair because he was sitting almost directly behind me and it was the only way to stare at him.

At 3:00, everyone in the room was dismissed, and the unfinished jigsaw puzzle was dumped back into its box. I watched my cowboy swagger out of the courthouse taking a little piece of me with him. And I never even knew his name.

Reasons I Don't Update and Chicago

1. I can't think of anything to say (yeah, it happens - even to me)

2. I don't have any crushes that I can discuss. Not that I don't have them. I just don't want to reveal any of these crushes.

3. I haven't been on any bad dates this year. No blog fodder.

4. Linking stuff is tedious. I have wanted to write about my trip to Chicago and just not

Okay I will write about my trip to Chicago. (Did you get whiplash from that sudden change of direction in today's blog? That is what it's like to live in my brain)

I purchased my airline tickets today - so I am officially heading to Chicago in July for the Gay Games. (If you want the link, Google can help) I also purchased two tickets to see Margaret Cho. I'm holding off on deciding who will accompany me to that event. See how brave I am now? I was going to purchase just my ticket and go alone, but I'm trying to think positive.

I love the part of Chicago known as Boys Town - I had some really great talks with the guys at the bars when I was there a few years ago. Really, all we did was talk. I was partnered at the time and am one of those freaks of nature who doesn't cheat on his boyfriend, so nothing more happened.

I grew up in the Midwestern US, and I relate strongly to other Midwesterners. Although Chicago is a big city, it is definitely a city in the Midwest. Corn is my friend. (Do you even get that? If not, you're not from the Midwest.)

Another thing I love about Chicago is the Art Institute. Visiting the museum has been on my itinerary each time I've been to Chicago. I used to go almost every summer when I was a kid. See, the church I attended growing up has its headquarters there. So every summer we would drive up from Kansas City to attend a huge conference. I remember running around that city with my teenage friends and absolutely no adult supervision. What a feeling of freedom!

Experiencing Buckingham Fountain and the museums and Lake Michigan were eye-opening experiences for this Missouri boy and his friends from Topeka and Wichita, Kansas. Now that I am a grown man (and single!) I look forward to some eye-opening experiences this summer too!

In honor of my Chicago post, here are some Chicago Bloggers you should visit. They are listed in order of who I've slept with the most times.

Just kidding:

Evil Gay Lawyer
Rick
Kris
Debbi

If I missed (sleeping with) you, let me know!

Funny how I complained about hating to link and ended up linking four or five times in this post.

Good Things

Here are a few good things that happened to me this weekend:

1. My ex sent me a picture of our dog along with a card that said, "I think of you often" - It was really sweet. It has been a long time since CT contacted me.

2. World of Warcraft was especially fun this weekend as I continued to level up two of my characters. For those not familiar with "leveling up" - it means that I gained new skills, additional spells and increased the overall strength of my characters. In gay terms, it's like losing 10 pounds and getting three or four phone numbers at the bar in one night. The experience is not comparable to actually sleeping with someone. I will not experience that thrill until I reach level 40 and am able to buy a mount. How appropriate.

3. We raised about 1000 bucks at our party on Friday night. My team can party, I tell you. I love them so much - they've got heart! Anyway, Jell-O shots sold out in about an hour. We sold tons of raffle tickets, measured lots of inseams, and I became a stripper pole for a super hot teammate on the dance floor. (Better than leveling up - not as good as a mount)

4. Unlike the last time we played against them, this time we beat the Gay Men's Chorus 10-2. Suck on THAT. (My buddy on the team actually said that he felt beating them was almost better than sex - so I guess it was sort of like he acquired a mount)

5. It was really cold at the games. The day was rainy and windy, so the Toddtender snuggled with me for a couple minutes as we tried to keep each other warm. (Yeah, that was probably almost as good as a mount)

Grab Your Balls

Tonight is the big season kick-off party at CC Slaughters. You should have seen me clutch my chest and gasp for air when I saw the original flyer that said we would be selling "raffel tickets". Thankfully, somebody corrected it before I had to be taken to the emergency room.

Pony complains about the use of color on the flyer, but I can't make fun of his graphic design snobbery. After all, he is the master designer of Hot Toddy's Toaster Oven. Without Pony, I would be just another pumpkin orange Blogger template. Thank you Pony!

At CC Slaughters the other night, someone asked Pony, "Excuse me, where is your bathroom?" That was such a funny moment to me. I love when my friends are mistaken for the help. Actually, at CC Slaughters, many of my friends are the help. I'm sorry - perhaps referring to them as "the help" is condescending, so I will rephrase that. I love when my friends are mistaken for servants.

The party tonight will be great, and I am looking forward to my first party as a jock. It is so wonderfully incongruous to be downing Jell-o shots in a softball uniform. Something about it seems so wrong and so right.

I sort of took on the task of organizing volunteers for the event, and I was pretty efficient until this week. While waiting to start our fundraising meeting Tuesday night, I drank several whiskeys. By the time the rest of the guys showed up for the meeting, I was too drunk to take minutes.

I'm a class act, I tell ya.

Parenthetically Speaking

If I were going to create a title for this post, it would be something stupid like "Reflections" or "Pondering" or "Musings" or some such nonsense.

It has been too long since I just sat down and let my fingers fly across the keyboard without editing, without withholding, without second-guessing. I need to do some spring cleaning now. My thoughts are cluttering my mind, and I need to get some air circulating or something. (Many people think there is already way too much air circulating in my head, but that's a different matter entirely.)

By the way, if a sentence in parenthesis can stand alone, you put the period inside the parenthesis. If the parenthetical statement is contained within a sentence but ends that sentence, the period goes on the outside (like this).

I learned that a couple days ago (it was cool).

My friend who works at the bar got fired, and I hate that it happened. From my perspective, he was one of the most entertaining, good-looking and highly-intelligent people ever employed at that bar. I loved coming to see him every day. If he gets a job at a different bar, I'm pretty sure I will follow him as a patron, because I would miss seeing him after work.

So many things are changing right now. Friends are moving away to New York City and Chicago. Other friends are getting engaged and buying houses, and I'm not even close to buying a home. And lord knows I am nowhere near ready to try another relationship when I'm still reeling from the last one. (I will say this much - unless my future boyfriend already reads my blog, I'm not letting him know how to find it.) I just came up with the title of this post after writing that last sentence.

Auburn Pisces has her new job - another change! She leaves the house earlier and gets home later, and I know the hours are rough, but she has been working out at 4:30 a.m. - her discipline has been inspirational!

(Sometimes when I write I feel like you are reading my words and using this blog as a way to get updated on the lives of those you know here in Portland - but it makes me mad at you, because you have never once bothered to update me or anybody else since you broke up with me. You still make me cry, and I bet you like it. I had no idea that inflicting pain was more than just a sexual turn-on for you - it is more like a way of life).

Focus. Be relevant, Toddy.

We used to do this writing exercise in my creative writing class where we had to write for 10 minutes without stopping. If we couldn't think of anything to say, we had to write, "I can't think of anything to say" and just keep the pen moving. That's sort of what I'm trying to do right now. Keep the thoughts flowing - stop editing. I know that people say I have no filters and that I don't seem to know how to edit - but you'd be surprised at how often I edit myself. I keep a lot inside for the sake of keeping the peace. I am not like Auburn Pisces - she is not afraid to say what she thinks.

What is relevant right now? Is playing Softball relevant? It feels that way. (Don't edit - you capitalized the word for a reason - Softball - leave it).

Is World of Warcraft relevant? Definitely. Such a wonderful escape, and it doesn't rot your teeth or give you lung cancer.

Is blogging still relevant? It doesn't always feel that way. Once I invested so much of myself into my relationships with other bloggers. But I keep thinking about the awful things some of those bloggers said about me a couple years ago. They don't realize I know what they said and wrote. They think I'm clueless, but they're wrong. I would never call them on it. Let them think I'm dumb. Playing dumb works well for me sometimes. (They certainly tarnished the world of blogging for me in quite a significant way. They made me hesitant to get overly involved in the lives of most of the people I "meet" on the Internet - though, thankfully, I have made some exceptions and haven't regretted any of the friendships I've formed via the Internet).

I am glad I have friends who help me stay on the path. Living with all this noise in my head isn't easy.

I just agreed to do the 24 Hour Play - in which I must write a play on a Friday night and deliver the script on Saturday morning at 8 a.m. - then the actors memorize and rehearse it and perform it Saturday night. It is quite a popular practice in Portland to put ridiculous amounts of pressure on budding playwrights.

(I miss you so bad. SO bad.) Why do I miss him so much? It's been almost a year since our first date. May 14 is gonna suck so bad. I'm not gonna make it. (Yes I am).

I wonder what is next for me? Or for you? Don't you sometimes wish we could know? (Be honest.) Just a little info about what's coming up could be helpful. I don't need to know everything, but if I could just see what is up ahead around the next bend, that would be great.

I should have named this post Schizophrenic Musings or Reflections of a Crazed Obsessive Personality or Pondering the Bend.

Still with me? Thanks. You deserve a reward!

I Believe

In college, my friends Kathleen and Renee went to see Sting in concert. At breakfast the next morning, I asked them for details, and they said Sting saw them in the audience and kept making eye contact with them.

I was impressed.

Then they said that Sting sent his manager out to the audience after the show and invited Kathleen and Renee backstage.

I was stunned.

Then they told me Sting partied with them all night.

I was astonished.

Then they told me Sting took them to White Castle for "sliders" at the end of the evening.

I was aghast.

Then they told me there should be a picture of me in the dictionary next to the word "gullible".

I was embarrassed.

Lost

Note: This is one of those posts that scare me. I have thought about taking it down, because I am afraid it will make me look pathetic. I am afraid people will say, "Oh, here we go again. Why can't he get over it and just go back to being funny!?" I really am doing well. I'm learning about the Buddhist philosophy of acceptance and detachment. I'M meeting some great people at softball. I'm losing weight and getting tan and enjoying my friends. But I'm posting this dream anyway, because sometimes I still cry. Sometimes I still have dreams that make me wonder when (not IF) the pain will go away...

The comments I've seen so far make me so glad I posted this. HTTO readers are the best!

Last night I had a dream that I owned a very good, sweet and loving dog. My little dog had a favorite toy - a puffy cloth toy covered in fake wool. My dog and I were best friends - inseparable - and his disposition was loyal and gentle. For reasons I couldn't' figure out, my father decided to make the dog turn mean. He tied my dog in the backyard. Then he took my dog's beloved toy and put it on the other side of a big fence in full view of my little dog. His plan was to frustrate the dog so much it would turn wild and attack me.

I came into the backyard and immediately sensed something different. My dog was looking at me with a crazed look. He actually seemed to be fighting the urge to attack me. When I saw what my father had done, I began to mourn the loss of my dog. I knew that my pet was ruined and would no longer love me. Suddenly, it occurred to me that if I wanted to help my dog I could try climbing over the fence to get his toy. I managed to get over the fence and take hold of the toy, but I suddenly became very distracted. I had the urge to stay on that side of the fence and take care of other seemingly urgent, but unidentified, issues that needed my attention. I almost forgot about my little dog waiting on the other side of the fence.

"Be relevant," I told myself. I said it out loud, and that helped me focus on the task at hand. "Be relevant," I said again as I climbed over the fence. My dog was so very happy to have his toy back, and he was instantly soothed back into sweetness and love.

I am trying to figure out what this means. I know it is about obsession. I know it is about loss of love.

I know that I am the dog, but I am also the owner. Once I had a person in my life that I loved so much my every happiness seemed tied to this person and our relationship. When I lost it, I lost my happiness. I became like a wild animal, wanting to lash out at myself. Like that little dog, I couldn't take my eyes off of what I loved. I was so close to having what I wanted, but it was held out of my reach. Every day for so long, I've stood at that fence wishing for something I can't have. And maybe I was never supposed to have it anyway.

The only person who can save me from becoming hateful and angry is myself. I understand why I climbed over the fence in the dream. I needed to take charge and realize that the obstacles to what I want are not insurmountable.

But in the dream, why did I get lost for a moment? And how did I regain my focus by ordering myself to be relevant?

In technology, relevance can be defined as the ability to retrieve material that satisfies the needs of the user. To be relevant means to be related to the matter at hand. Maybe I have been focused on something that is irrelevant. The other day a friend said to me, "Toddy, what if Thor was the one? What if you were meant to be with him?" Although my friend meant well, that thought was so devastating and has continued to haunt me. What if Thor was my destiny? I can't accept that my dreams were all tied up with one person and if I don't have that person, I will not have happiness again.

I can't believe that over four months have passed since our relationship ended. My progress is slow and painful. It is exhausting. I want it to just stop. But I can't give in, and I can't give up. I must focus on what is relevant right now. If only I knew what that were.

Go Ahead! Bring Your Kid to Work!!

As soon as I found out that today my office would be overrun with miniature versions of the people who drive me nuts on a daily basis, I scheduled a vacation day.

It is almost nine a.m. and, instead of listening to parents yelling at their kids to stop crawling under the cubicles, I'm sitting here at home in my polka dot flannel pajama bottoms and a green thermal underwear shirt. (No, I don't subscribe to GQ)

This morning I had time to read a couple articles in the latest issue of Poets & Writers. There is a man on the cover of the current issue, and he looks just like a Q-tip. (Meanwhile, at the office, kids across America are being handed reams of paper recycling and being sent to the shredder. I'm sure they can't wait to grow up and work in an office like Mommy does.)

After I finished reading articles about writing and publishing, I spent a couple minutes beating myself up for not writing more and for not yet publishing anything. Then, I updated all my podcasts in iTunes.

Next, I checked the latest World of Warcraft census, and I'll soon be playing WoW for hours. Right after I get my big mug of coffee and finish listening to The Instance podcast.

Later I'll go to softball practice and get some exercise and fresh air.

I am sorry for thinking "Bring Your Kid to Work Day" was a dumb idea; I take it back.

As a public service, the Jive translation of today's post can be found here.

The Crying Hooker

One of my hobbies is coming up with good names for a bar. The Handsome Prince and I came up with "Fat Linda Rondstadt's Bar & Grill" back in May of 2004. I also like "Pretentious Faggots Bar & Grill".

Last night I had a crazy dream that I made out with a hooker, and she started crying because she was so touched that I wanted nothing more from her than a kiss.

It all started when I was talking to Heather Locklear and she suddenly asked me to kiss her. I asked if she was serious, and she was like, "Of course! Kiss me! I've been wondering how long you'd make me wait!!"

So we made out until I got annoyed because Heather Locklear's hair kept falling in her face and getting in my mouth. After Heather Locklear and I stopped kissing, she asked me to kiss her hooker friend that was hanging out with us. So I very obediently kissed the hooker. That is when the hooker cried. From happiness. These were not tears of sorrow, trust me. It made me happy to know I had touched the hooker so deeply and in a very different way from the way most people touch hookers deeply.

I believe this dream is telling me to open a bar called The Crying Hooker. But if you are an expert at dream analysis and see a deeper meaning, please feel free to share it with me lest I make a terrible mistake.

Softball

I'm so sunburned, and pretty worn out after two games yesterday. I had a great time, and I only got weepy one time. It happened when I saw the banner at the concession stand that said, "Welcome Back Rose City Softball!"

I mean, I am part of Rose City Softball. How could you not get weepy about that?


We lost both games. Now, let me repeat. I had a great time. And I share this loss with you so that when I write about winning, it will be that much sweeter.

Anyway, during the second game, after two strikes and three balls, I was at the plate hoping to get a hit. The pitcher had walked several of our players, so odds were sort of in my favor to get to first base. My team, The Cubs, was yelling from the dugout, "Make him pitch to you, Toddy! A ball is as good as a hit!"

So, I didn't swing at the pitch. And the umpire shouted, "Huuiah!"

I stood there, not knowing what to do. I tried to read the body language of the other players. What does Huuiah mean?

"What just happened?" I asked.

Many people from my team, and some of the guys in the outfield, responded, "You're out."

So, I guess Huuiah is another way of saying "strike!" I have so much to learn about this game.

Oh, and we lost to the Gay Men's Chorus. No offense to those of you into that sort of thing, but I thought we'd win for sure. For one thing, we have four lesbians on our team.

The Thing in My Ear

Verdi, I am sorry I haven't called you back, and Katehopeeden, I still owe you a call, and OH MY GOD, Jodi, forgive me for not returning your call. I don't think we've spoken since you moved! If you've e-mailed me lately, I assure you your response is coming. Your message has been marked with a little gold gMail star telling me not to forget you.

It's just that I can't tear myself away from a new toy I got. No, not my computer or the truck or even World of Warcraft. The thing is, my cell phone went kaput, so I upgraded. Now that I have my SLVR, three parts of my day have changed dramatically.

The mornings are better, because I listen to the Kidd Kraddick Warm-up Show podcasts on the way to work. This show, produced in Dallas, TX, is the only morning radio show that regularly causes me to laugh out loud. When I was a waiter in McKinney, Texas, I didn't have to get to work until about 11 a.m. on most days, but I still woke up and listened to Kidd's show every morning at 8 a.m. while I sat by the pool with my morning coffee. Now I drive my truck to work and listen to my favorite Texans and feel like I'm back in Big D, only without the stifling heat!

My workouts are better because of the great songs I am listening to, but, in particular, I've deemed Venus Hum's "Soul Sloshing" possibly the best elliptical machine music ever made. Apparently 116 beats per minute is the best tempo for a mid-work out stride. Not too fast and not too slow.

Finally, work is better because I can drown out The Man in The Next Row Who Makes Me Want to Claw My Skin Off as He Drones on His Phone All Day Long Without Ever Hanging Up and/or Taking a Breath. Instead, I listen to World of Warcraft podcasts. Some of them are good, and some are horrendous, but none of them are "cool". I mean, it's not like I live with my mom or anything. I just have nerdish tendencies. And I am trying to counteract the podcast listening and World of Warcraft playing with copious bone-crushing and muscle aching bouts of softball practice and weight training. So, the next time you hear "Soul Sloshing," and you get to the "drumline" part of the song (when the snare drums fire up for the final chorus), maybe you will feel happy inside like I do, and you'll forgive me for spending more time with iTunes than I do with you.

Little League

I knew that I should go with The Toddtender on my first trip to the batting cages. But, after being home sick for a couple days, I decided last night to go practice batting by myself. And, no, that is not a euphemism.

Several of the batting cages were being used, so I went down to the one at the end, set the machine for "Slow Pitch Softball" and positioned myself over the plate the way I was taught at practice.

The first ball came in low, but I swung anyway. Missed.
The second ball seemed low too, so I let it go by.
The third, fourth and fifth balls were, like, knee level, but I figured I'd try to hit them. God, that hurt my arms to swing at such a low angle.

After ten or fifteen pitches, I was mad. Yes, I'm pretty new to softball, but I was relatively successful a couple of weeks ago at batting practice. I knew I couldn't be that bad.

I stomped out of the batting cage and, still holding my bat in case I needed to make a point, went to the front desk.

"Is there any way to adjust the height on those machines?"

The guy at the front desk told me that there wasn't. "Wrigley Field batting cage has a higher arc, if you want to try that one. And the one at the end, Fenway Park, is the kids' batting cage."

Wha? The kids cage? I was practicing in the kids' cage. How very Will Ferrell of me.

Hot Toddy: Model Citizen

Yesterday I sent in my juror response for jury duty.

However, before mailing the form to the courthouse, I accidentally spilled a vodka tonic on it. I soaked up as much as possible before mailing it, but I imagine the smell will still be pretty strong when some poor county clerk opens the envelope.

Nightmarish Weekend

Most people have heard of the actor's nightmare. You find yourself on stage with no knowledge of what show you are performing or what your lines are supposed to be. I've had this nightmare many times.

Saturday night I'll experience a waking nightmare known as "The Writer's Nightmare". This event is like jumping without a parachute from an airplane. Then you land on a train headed straight for a painted canvas that looks like a tunnel but is really just covering a wall so you jump off and roll off an embankment into a canyon and land in a river inhabited by crocodiles. It should be very enjoyable.

I participated in the first nightmare a couple years ago and (somehow) created a scene based on the lyrics to a very strange song. My favorite surprise that night was that a Greek chorus found its way into my scene. That Greek chorus saved me.

What if I am not so blessed this year? What if the muse does not whisper helpful hints in my ear ("Use a Greek chorus, Toddy") this time?

My own personal writer's nightmare is that I will produce a script that goes something like this:

Two ladies and two men are standing on stage.

LADY ONE: Hi Joan. That is a nice dress.
LADY TWO: Do you want it?
LADY ONE: No thanks.
LADY TWO: Okay.

The ladies and men are silent for a few minutes. Suddenly, MAN ONE speaks.

MAN ONE: I want that dress.
MAN TWO: I want it too.

LADY ONE: Why would you want her dress?
LADY TWO: That is crazy!

Everyone laughs. They are silent for a few more minutes.

The End

If you're in the area and want to see me sweat, come on out. There will definitely be drinking afterwards.

As requested by Debbi, here is the link to the script I wrote two years ago when I participated in the event.

Dreams Do Come True

Yesterday I was last to work because I was having a dream that I was late to work, so I overslept. True story.

The Bandit

Juju is over at her desk laughing so hard right now because she just met "The Bandit". I nicknamed this guy at work "The Bandit" because he dressed as a burglar one Halloween, and I wrote a blog post about him during my very first month of blogging.

When I realized Juju had never read the post about The Bandit, I immediately sent it to her, and now I have the privilege of hearing her giggling at her desk. I especially love when she tries to stifle her laughter.

I don't think I have ever once reprinted a blog entry, but hearing Juju's laughter makes me think I should make an exception today.

After she read this, Juju said, "It's funny because I can picture you doing this..."

Thursday, December 04, 2003

Am I in a Movie?

Sometimes I do things that you would only see in a very bad romantic comedy or a sit-com. A few minutes ago I was sitting at my desk, and a cute guy from an office upstairs was standing nearby waiting to talk to a coworker who was on the phone. The cute guy dressed up as a burglar for Halloween this year, and he looked really sexy in his mask and stocking cap. He has aroused passions in me as only a criminal can.

I was about to pour myself some coffee from my sleek little stainless steel thermos as he approached my desk and started talking to me. We were discussing the view out my window and I was looking up at him smiling. Suddenly my leg felt very warm, and I looked down to see that I had been pouring coffee from my thermos directly onto my desk. Nowhere. Near. My. Mug.

He didn't notice.

Of course, I am neither quick or clever when a cute guy is around, so I promptly pointed out to him what I had done and commented that I was, indeed, the dumbest person to ever walk the earth. Yeah, way to flirt. Good tactic. Isn't that the first rule of sexual attraction? Always Draw Attention to Socially Retarded Behavior.

Cottage Cheese and Me

I gag when I eat cantaloupe. It disgusts me. There is only one thing as bad as cantaloupe, and that is cottage cheese.

I am sitting at my desk with about six ounces of cottage cheese, and I am going to try to eat it for lunch without crying. God as my witness, I will get this crap down my throat even if I have to grimace and whine as I chew.

Why am I torturing myself? Is it not enough that I stayed at softball practice for 4 hours on Sunday when some people left after 2 hours? Don't I already deserve a medal for taking the stairs yesterday all day when my muscles were so sore I could barely walk? Am I that much of a masochist?

Well, yes, actually, I kind of enjoy pain, but that is another story for another daddy.

The fact is, I decided to do a "duathlon" at the office gym. I was sort of chuckling to myself when I signed up, because it wasn't even a triathlon. I mean, it's only two thlons. Big whoop.

I tried it today, and oh my god. Now I'm thinking, "Wow! That was only two thlons!?! What if I tried to do three?!?!" It was surprisingly tiring. I can't be the slowest duathlon participant. I just can't. I have much to prove here.

And that is why I am eating cottage cheese. Here is me eating my third bite of cottage cheese just now, and I am not trying to be funny in this picture.

This is my natural reaction to cottage cheese.



The things I do in the name of physical fitness.

This is Me

I doubt you would even recognize me tonight. This is Hot Toddy writing, but I am almost unrecognizable even to myself. The following sentiments are so foreign, so unfamiliar to me.

I just want to say that the best feeling I have experienced in a long, long time is the amazing vibration through my hands and arms as the bat hits the ball, and I watch it sail far into the distance - much further than I ever imagined I could hit a softball. I'm not joking. My hands were tingling and stinging after softball practice today, because, apparently, I am a decent hitter. The catcher, who has played on the league for a few years now, actually said, "I wish I could hit like that," after I hit the ball today.

That can't possibly be as much of a shock to you as it is to me. When I step up to the plate I can hear the derisive voices of my junior high and high school peers telling me I suck. The echoes of juvenile laughter ring through my ears, and I have lost the game before I even grab the bat.

But today was like living a dream. Some of the guys gave me some advice about where to place my hands on the bat. They warned me not to swing too early. They showed me how far away from the plate I am supposed to stand. And because they cared enough to teach me how to be better, I stepped into each pitch with a power I didn't know I had. They yelled at me to stop watching the ball and run to first base, but they didn't understand that I had to watch the ball fly through the air after I hit it. I could simply not believe I was the one who had hit the ball over everyone's heads, so I had to watch the ball fly through the air. I will have to work on that. Just hit the ball and then look away. I'm still trying to get used to the idea that maybe I won't be a big joke on the field this summer. Traditionally, I have not been that guy. I'm always the one who strikes out or just barely hits the ball with the tip of my bat.

If there is anything more exciting than hearing the crack of the bat as it smacks into the ball, I don't know what it is. Sometimes we tell ourselves who we are, and we draw lines in the sand and declare boundaries for ourselves. But those limitations are our own inventions. That is not who we are.

You only know who you are when you go outside the boundaries you have established for yourself. Can you believe I just said that? Who is this guy who plays softball and is a decent hitter? Who is this guy who catches a pop fly and then cheers for himself and does a little happy dance because he can't believe the ball stayed in his glove? This is me. Believe it or not, this is me.

Miracle on Davis Street

Warning!

What I am about to tell you may cause you to question your reality. Your spiritual foundation may feel a bit shaky after you read this account of last night's miracle at CC Slaughters. This is an eerie tale - a tale of the supernatural. I have never witnessed anything like what I saw last night. And, to validate this unbelievable tale, I have photographic evidence, which I will share with everyone in the toaster oven today.

Ms. Karma and I were sitting casually at the bar (sometimes we sit at the bar very formally, and we ask for finger bowls, but not this time) when some condensation from my gin and tonic was absorbed by the cocktail napkin under my drink. I do not know what prompted me to do what I did next, but now I can see that a force beyond my understanding prodded me into action.

As Ms. Karma blathered on and on about some nonsense that had little or nothing to do with me (boring!), I unfolded the napkin. I guess needed something to do to keep me awake, because her stories were really bad last night. One of them went like this:

"Oh my gosh, Toddy, this morning I was coming into work and then I got into some traffic and at one point I was, like, 'where did all this traffic come from' - and then I was cut off by somebody!" I nodded and waited for the punch line. Ms. Karma noticed my anxious expression and realized I was anticipating some sort of point. "That's all," she said.

So, you can see why I was preoccupied with a cocktail napkin. That napkin turned out to be a powerful conductor of profound symbolic manifestations. When I opened the napkin and laid it out on the bar, I noticed the light from underneath highlighted the wet spots of the open napkin. I began to pick at these spots so that the surface of the bar was visible through these "portals" I was creating. Once I opened the portals, I stared at the napkin as Ms. Karma told a story about ironing a shirt or something. "Then I just pushed the iron across the fabric and all the wrinkles went away!! That's all."

Suddenly, I saw it. My personal message. I gazed into the light emanating through the napkin. I felt an energy shift within the bar, and I reached out and grabbed Ms. Karma's arm.

"Oh my god, you are not going to believe this, Ms. Karma. Look at my napkin."

"But I was about to tell you how I refilled a salt shaker one time!"

"Just look, Ms. Karma!" She stared at the napkin and I helped her see the vision. "Look, it is the Cingular wireless logo."

The Cingular wireless logo was made manifest in my lowly cocktail napkin. I always knew I was special in a Joan of Arc kind of way. People heard Joan's words and thought she was insane. People read my words and feel really confused and sort of thankful they are not me. Joan and I are the same. We are messengers.

People, heed my words. Make the switch to Cingular wireless if they are not already your wireless provider. You and I will be bound, not only by the force of my cocktail napkin, but by free mobile to mobile calling.

Look upon the amazing Cingular wireless napkin. Remember the glory of what you are about to witness. Tell everyone you know. If you can make a pilgrimage, come see for yourself the napkin that I have in my coat or at home or in the truck. (I know I have it somewhere.)

Infatuation Overload

I have so many crushes going on right now, I can't even handle it. Maybe it is because spring is coming. (You're not supposed to capitalize spring, are you? Unless that is someone's name - like "Spring Phoenix" or something, right?)

Spring is coming (or if it comes at the beginning of a sentence) and I am getting pelted with Cupid's arrows left and right. If I were to make a list of crushes right now (as we thirteen year-old junior high school girls are prone to do) the names of boys (written in glitter pen) would cover an entire page of notebook paper from my Hello Kitty Trapper Keeper.

I am trying a new thing. I am not telling any of my crushes how I feel. It's an experiment of sorts. Instead of shoving my bleeding heart in people's faces, I will try to be mysterious. There will be lots of sexual chemistry and romantic undertones, but me and my crushes will act like we are just friends. Think Cybill Shepherd and Bruce Willis in Moonlighting.

I have a crush at work who literally makes my face red when he talks to me. He bends his knees and pretends to walk down stairs when he passes my cube. Do you know how incredibly adorable that is? He is pretending to walk down stairs. For me! To make me smile!! I'll bet his wife loves that.

Some
Most
All of my other crushes read Hot Toddy's Toaster Oven. I'm pretty sure they do anyway. But if you think YOU are the one I have a crush on, you're wrong. Besides, as I've already explained, I wouldn't tell you even if I did have a crush on you, because I think it would be better if we waited to confess our feelings until I am standing up in front of the congregation at my wedding, and then you can run in and shout, "I object!" or whatever you're supposed to say when you are about to watch the love of your life marry the wrong person.

Or, if you want, we can do the airport thing where I am about to get on an airplane bound for - I don't know - the Gay Games in Chicago - and you can buy a ticket at the last minute and come with me and we will stay together in the hotel and have amazing sex and then, at the opening ceremony for the games, you'll ask me to marry you. Or you can ask at the closing ceremony if you need extra time to think it over. We don't want to rush things.

Cause and Effect

I had to use bolt cutters to break the padlock on my locker at the gym.

Why?

Because I locked my keys inside my locker.

Why?

Because this hot naked guy was standing at the locker right next to mine, and I kept trying to sneak glances at him.

Why?

He was amazingly well-endowed, and I lost what little concentration I have.

I'm working out 4 or 5 days a week now, so there is a good chance I'll be seeing the guy and his appendage again. I better switch to a combination lock.

Losing My Demographic

Deep and profound apologies for Friday's post - I don't know what is happening to me.

Hanuman spoke for many of Hot Toddy's Toaster Oven readers when he indicated my post was incomprehensible to him.

To summarize for those not into gaming those of you with lives, I was reviewing my notes from a business meeting and found evidence that, instead of focusing on my own professional development, I was completely engrossed in the task of thinking about good names for dwarves in my game.

Further proof that something is amiss in Toddy Land:

This morning I drove the two Auburns, Pisces and Aries, to Union Station so they could board a train for Seattle to watch the Mariners season opener. Auburn Aries suddenly realized they had forgotten to bring a baseball glove. They were hoping to catch a foul ball. Without missing a beat I told the two disappointed ladies, "It's okay. You can use mine. I have it in the truck with me."

Six months ago, I would have never imagined I would utter that sentence. I can only imagine your confusion, dear reader. What happened to the Hot Toddy who wrote about The Rock and Little House on the Prairie in the very same post? Why are there no links to Margaret Cho or Megan Mullally on a regular basis?

Nobody knows how to label me anymore. Am I a nerd? A jock? A gay blogger? A gamer?

Gay people are disappearing in droves. Fag hags (or fruit flies, if you prefer) and Stag hags alike are heading for gayer pastures.

I have to do something fast, if I don't want to alienate my readers. This calls for drastic measures. So I will confess to something horribly embarrassing.

I watched The Facts of Life this weekend with Ren. Maybe I even hummed along with the theme song. (I said maybe!)

Given my current blogger identity confusion, I can understand this may be difficult for you. How do you know if you are even in the right place anymore? What if Hot Toddy never again writes anything gay? What if he never tells that story about how he dressed as his mother for Halloween when he was in third grade?

Here is a simple test for you. If you now you have the theme song for Facts of Life stuck in your head, or if you are making plans to go back and read Nellie Oleson's website, you're in the right place.