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.