No Exceptions

Bluetooth headsets bug the shit out of me. I don't care if my baby's daddy David Beckham likes to wear them, they are still annoying.

Choices

Sometimes I forget how lucky I am. There are people, people I know, who are seemingly trapped in a box. They have created an existence for themselves which discourages and even prevents change and flexibility.

Lately, I've been feeling a bit overwhelmed by the array of decisions I've had to make and options I've had to sort through.

I should consider myself lucky that I am still in a position to choose any direction I want to take in life, and I do.

Sometimes you feel like a nut, sometimes you don't.

Just because...

I miss Jordan Catalano.

Jordan Catalano

I just finished watching Chapter 27 - an independent film depicting the murder of John Lennon by Mark David Chapman. Jared Leto (a.k.a. Jordan Catalano) plays Chapman. I thought the movie was tacky and shallow. Plus, I'm not particularly a Beetles fan, so I'm sure most of the sentiment escaped me.

Leto gained sixty-seven pounds for the role by eating microwaved pints of ice cream mixed with soy sauce and olive oil. What the deuce? There are so many delectables he could have enjoyed. Why make getting fat such an unpleasant experience? I would have savored every Dairy Queen Dilly Bar, Wendy's Stack Attack, McDonald's chocolate milkshake, Pepperidge Farm triple-layer fudge cake, and Papa John's pepperoni pizza with garlic butter dipping sauce on the side until I was unable to see my own penis while standing.

I think Jared Leto is a masochist. And for what? So he could make a shitty movie that only grossed box office sales of $56,125 in the domestic market.

Bacterial poisoning

I work with a bunch of fat-asses. They find any possible excuse to have a potluck of some sort. I work at night. At least twice a week, when I come into work, the break room is littered with the remnants of a buffet cluttered with cheap, fattening snacks, a variety of dips, and lots of baked goods. Since most of the items that are left when I come in have been sitting out for at least ten hours, I rarely eat anything. Generally, someone has thought of me and has wrapped a few cookies or a slice of cake to place in my mailbox.

When I came in yesterday, a coworker informed me that a plate was left for me by the sink in the break room.

A plate of meat.

First off, I fucking hate hot dogs! Nothing disgusts me more than seeing mechanically separated chicken, pork, and beef parts encased into the shape of a phallus.

Secondly, to add to my disgust, one and a quarter piece of hamburger patty were left. The hamburger patty wouldn't have been so bad alone, but I don't want part of another partially eaten patty.

Lastly, there were no accouterments. No buns. No ketchup. No mustard. Just tacky.

I know that my coworker did not know that I do not like hot dogs, and I'm sure there are people out there who like room temperature hamburger meat; but seriously, I'm a classy ho.

After I took the picture, I threw the shit in the garbage. No one was around to watch me throw the meat plate away. However, two people did comment on how quickly I had eaten the meat. My response, "are you fucking kidding me?"

The next time someone wants to save food for me, don't. Just leave me cash or a gift certificate to Chipotle.

Thanks.

Gay Pride 2008

When I was a baby gay, Pride was my favorite time of year. Summertime meant gay pride parades and lots of hot guys without their shirts on not giving me the time of day.

My friends and I used to spend all of our dollars going to the gay pride festivities throughout the United States.

I haven't celebrated Pride in a major way since 2002. I wasn't planning on doing much this year either, but I then discovered that some pretty cool acts would be in town. What was supposed to be a casual night of solo entertainment turned into a four-day Pride partying binge with a huge group of people.

Despite saying that I am getting too old for this shit, I really did have fun. Albeit, I don't think I could handle another long weekend like this one for at least another year.

The highlight of my Twin Cities Pride was seeing four really cool acts: Village People, RuPaul, En Vogue, and Deborah Cox.

Here are a few thoughts:

• Village People - c'mon, they're fucking gay icons! Y.M.C.A., Macho Man, and In the Navy - those songs are classics, and it was so awesome to see them performed live by the somewhat original lineup.
• RuPaul - another gay icon. The first time I realized that my father didn't like the gays (and subsequently didn't like me) was because of RuPaul. Back in 1993, when RuPaul's hit song Supermodel (You Better Work) came out, I remember sitting in the living room, watching the video, and commenting to my father on how beautiful the woman in the video was. My father glared at the TV screen and didn't say much else. A few days passed, and my father approached me to explain that RuPaul wasn't a woman but a "fucking queer!" Our relationship was never the same again - thanks Ru! Just kidding. I think he is an amazing talent with an amazing spirit.
• En Vogue - can someone say "the original Destiny's Child?" Well, except that they knew how to dress. The ladies of En Vogue were so glamorous. For an entire summer back when I was around twelve-years-old, I would lock myself in the garage with a cassette player and practice MY routines to their first album.
• Deborah Cox - my love for Deborah is like diabetes, progressive. Her first single, Sentimental, was a hit, so I bought the album. I would subsequently purchase her second and third albums upon release. A few years ago I flew to NYC to watch Deborah's performance in the lead role of the Broadway musical Aida. It wasn't until I was watching her perform for Pride that I realized that she and I go way back. It was great to see and hear that she's still got it.

Eye Spy

I saw the most beautiful set of eyes this past weekend. Well, actually, it was on Monday. This past weekend was the Twin Cities' Gay Pride festivities. A friend had a "recovery" party at his house the following Monday.

Anyhow, I was at this party and saw these eyes. I immediately asked the owner if I could take a picture. He seemed flattered and asked for my phone number. I, of course, gave it to him. After a few seconds of playing with his phone, he asked if my name was Joseph.

He had my number already saved in his phone! What the deuce?

I don't recall ever meeting him, and he seemed surprised to have my number.

Creepy huh? Well, a good kind of creepy. There must be a word that describes a good kind of creepy. Fate perhaps? Naw.

Although, I wouldn't mind staring into those eyes one more time.