Guilty Pleasures

Okay...so there are a number of indulgences of which I am deeply ashamed. The picture above is just a quick example of such things. Firstly, the appalling Photoshop collage of these three images is below amateur and bordering on absurd. However, it is never a threat to the nation of absurd as it is constantly locked in the battles of a Civil War...the great war of self-deprecation.

So let us begin. Michael Bolton. He hasn't exactly had a lot of headlines or articles devoted to his marvelous talents in quite some time. I remember very fondly back to a high school english class where a certain teacher (who shall remain nameless) decided that it would be an effective strategy to include relevant and contemporary pop music in order to demonstrate some literary term. She chose to use Michael Bolton's Love is a Wonderful thing...I believe because it was a blatant rip-off of some poem we had just read or something. Regardless of the intention, she held the entire class captive and flabbergasted and she swished and swayed in her moo moo-like polyester garb. She made an impression alright but it certainly wasn't about plagiarism. It was this very memory however that inspired me to revisit Michael Bolton a few years later. It was then that I discovered to enormous gems, "How Can We Be Lovers If We Can't Be Friends" and "Said 'I Love You' But I Lied." Now, if you can ignore the lengthy song titles (and I am sure you can since we've been made to deal with much longer ones thanks to Panic! At The Disco). Now when you listen to these songs, you can easily understand why Michael Bolton's face always looked like it was concealing a brain aneurysm in progress...it's because he is FEELING every single note and word...each of which slightly ups a millimeter of Mercury in the ol' barometer. I remember being completely thrown off by the "Said 'I Love You'..." song title, thinking that this gobstopper of a cheese ball would never sing a break-up song...but all it really takes is one closer listen to reveal:

"Said 'I love you' but I lied. Cuz this is more than love I feel inside/ Said 'I love you' but I was wrong. Cuz love can never ever feel so strong"

Whew! No wonder he was plucking the heartstrings of every housewife in America...they'd all been lied to about being loved, but not quite like this before. It really IS a shame that while cutting his hair did wonders for his looks...the ol' Delilah snip removed all of his powers and he quickly washed away like a color rinse on Ashley Judd's prematurely gray hair.

On that note, shall we engage the trashiest of all my guilty pleasures, namely Coffee Mate. Now this stuff is just wrong...it should probably be used only as a compliment to Sanka decaffeinated Coffee Crystals. I can't be sure exactly what this non-dairy creamer actually is beyond a chemically enhanced form of Palm Seed Oil. I can just see a palm tree going in one side of a factory alongside barrels and barrels of poisonous and noxious materials to have a nice little container of coffee mate hopping out the other side. So I blame my alcoholic, white trash ex boyfriend for getting me started on coffee mate. He was too much of a drunk to ever keep any fresh food in the house...let alone half and half (a necessary evil for coffee consumption). But Joy of Joys, coffee mate didn't ever go bad and this is what he had lying around...though I think it was probably some giant generic canister of the stuff. But nowadays, I find myself unable to live without at least one treated cup of this a month...I go back to my normal lattes and cups of coffee, but there is some redneck, trailer trash kid that lives inside my stomach that demands this stuff at least once a month.

Speaking of that hillbilly hick that lives in my stomach and makes dietary suggestions louder than any FDA office ever could...this kid also demands a more frequent dose of something even more despicable: Beef Jerky. Now, don't get me wrong, historically I would venture to say that this country was BUILT on the slaughter of the Native Americans and the drying of meat products...without those two things, we would not be where we are today. However, the beef jerky of prairie times was made out of necessity...they would kill a buffalo and know that they would never be able to consume it all before it spoiled...so they would jerkify it in order to munch on it later on in the year. They didn't have access to sodium benzoate and msg to really amp up the nasty factor. Today, the packaging very clearly reads:

"The meat contained herein is for personal use only and not for resale. It is derived from animals that received ante- and post mortem inspection and were found sound and healthy and has been inspected and passed as provided by law and regulations of USDA."

Which makes me wonder...is Beef Jerky made from cows that just ended up croaking, in walks the FDA and says "Yeah, you can make jerky outta this one." I am just disturbed by this message and yet I cannot stop eating beef jerky.

So yeah...those are my guilty pleasures. Granted there are TONS more than that. I guess in the end I just needed something to write about. JOI!

Shameless Promotion

Okay...so I've decided that things are much more interesting if there are others that read this and comment and hate and love. Alas, I don't think I have had more than a handful of visitors or readers. The question remains: Who am I writing this for? For me or for the eyes of others. Well, I guess I am writing for the eyes of others, damnit. Otherwise I could just write in a stupid little journal and make Oprah happy. I don't want to make Oprah happy. I want freakin' people to read this.

I have read all these other blogs that are little chronicles of sexual exploits...I'm sorry, but that's just boring. I have my own sexual exploits, and I don't really plan on sharing much of that here. I would rather go on tirades about stupid things that are happening in the world around us. Like we should all be talking about the fact that Rumer Willis is BFF with Lindsay Lohan (or is it Lindsey). We should be talking about Panic! At the Disco or Battlestar Galactica. Moreover, we should be talking about this amazing new blog called Thisn't a Blogue...we should be discussing how this blog is beacon of hope in an otherwise boring and humdrum world. That's what we should be talking about.

Oh well...I will have to find ways of promoting myself. I think I will rent an airplane, print up hundreds of flyers, and throw them over the Castro on Halloween!

In any case, today is new music Tuesday and while Sarah MacLachlan usually rouses a bit of excitement out of me, I just can't bear to hear her singing holiday songs...that being said, she comes out with an album every 12.5 years so I really should just go ahead and get this one. I did discover a new little group called Shiny Toy Guns...I am listening to their album "We are Pilots" so far so good! I just long to be blown away by a new artist...the kind of music that you can feel through your entire body...its been years since I've really felt that. Perhaps that's because I left my heart and feelings in the last millennium. Oh well.

So is anyone out there? I am doing this for you! I NEED YOU!

Theraflu: "Why hast thou forsaken me?!"

Before we get started, let's just get that little immature impulse recognized and out of the way. Forsaken...Foreskin...hardy har har. Do we feel better? Can we move on now? Okay, let's do!

Theraflu has been the center of my cold fighting regimen for years. For whatever reason, I am a DIE HARD fan of the kind that you dissolve in hot water. You know the kind, right? The kind that tastes like a drug addict's piss. The kind that looks as though it is going to taste like warm and comforting chicken broth. The kind that tastes like crushed up Tylenol with a hit of Aspartame. The kind that makes you THANKFUL that your nose is stuffed up and you can't taste a damn thing any way. Yes...THAT kind of Theraflu. In all of the years that I worked at the coffee shop, I was constantly exposed to sick people in search of that Antioxidant Tea that everyone was talking about on Talk Radio that morning. I was handling their money that they had apparently used to wipe their noses and then their asses. I was forever sick and ill and hating life while simultaneously working a job that made no time for sick people. I used to rise at the LOVELY hour of 5:15am just so I could be at work to open the store at 6am.

How in the name of all that is unholy did I manage this with a head cold that appeared at least once a month for three years? THERAFLU is the answer, my friends. THERAFLU is my savior! Not only does Theraflu block symptoms from even appearing on a tough cold...it blocks them for at LEAST eight hours, long enough for any shift at a coffee shop. Yet even BETTER than all that, the pseudoephedrine (nasal decongestant) mixed with a little caffeine made me insanely hyper and plain slap happy. It was a brilliant mixer to my morning coffee...in that I consumed the Theraflu and then gulped down gallons of coffee as a chaser.

Which brings me to the point of this little entry here. Pseudoephedrine, my favorite little nasal decongestant and also happy little OTC stimulant, is quite legal in all 50 of our wonderful states. Many of them, including my native Georgia allow unfettered sale of products containing pseudoephedrine. Ah, pseudoephedrine, one of the most sought after ingredients of the oft criticized methamphetamine, also known to many as Crystal Meth, Meth, Tina, Ice, Crank, etc. Please note that the picture above is a time lapse of mug shots over 8 years chronicling the degeneration of a human being, apparently addicted to Crystal Meth...not Crystal Light! Not Crystal Gale! Not Pseudoephederine! Not Theraflu! BUT Crystal Meth. So, our little cracked out darling is probably dead now. As you can see the last mug shot was taken in '88 or so...she would seem a pioneer of the meth addiction actually as I didn't even hear of the drug until MANY years later. In any case, I was ignorant to many of the laws surrounding the ingredients of crystal meth. While there doesn't seem to be any regulation around bath tubs or trailer parks, there are regulations in many states surrounding the sale of certain over the counter medications. Georgia has no such laws. Georgia, my sweet home for 27 years, does not HAVE any laws about pseudoephedrine, but you sure as FUCK can't buy alcohol on Sunday.

Now, dear, sweet LIBERAL California is a different story. I have come to discover that the more liberal the state, the more rules in place to ensure freedoms...seems a little oxymoronical [sic] to me. In any case, California, along with Alabama, Delaware, Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Michigan, Missouri, New Jersey, Oklahoma, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, Texas, Virginia, and Washington have laws which require pharmacies to sell pseudoephedrine behind-the-counter and to collect personal information from the purchaser. I had been in Calfornia all of two months when WHAM!, George Michael popped out and offered a blow job at Walgreens. Oops...wait...no...WHAM! I got a head cold. So, following my well established plan of attack, I headed to the nearest drug store to stock up on my depleted stores of Theraflu. I looked. I scoured. I peaked. I pondered. I surveyed. I rummaged. I inspected. I searched. But I did NOT find my precious Theraflu. Until some news ticker of the past floated up and scurried across the bottom of my vision: "States to begin regulated the sale of products containing pseudoephedrine."

Damn IT! So I had to go to the pharmacy counter, wait in line, show my ID only to discover that they were OUT of my precious Theraflu and only had some knockoff Walgreens, generic bullshit: WalFlu, I think they called it. I was NOT about to deal with anything called WalFlu nor was I at all amused by my adventure. SO I went to another Walgreens only to go through the same shenanigans with the same result: generic bullshit named WalFlu. Now, I don't think Hill Billy BILLY Bob ol' Boy is marching into Walgreens and purchasing 100 boxes of Sudafed to make his meth lab explode with the beautiful shards of the sleepless Devil. No! Billy Bob ol' Boy probably has another source lined up all together. In fact, I would venture a guess that Billy Bob ol' Boy has an addicted client who works as a pharmacists and who pays him with pseudoephedrine. But that's not why we have laws my friends...no no...our laws are not in place to curtail problems...they are in place to make us think that problems are being addressed by directly affecting our daily lives. Crystal Meth is a problem that we hear about on the news...and well damnit the only way most of any of us are affected is by this extra step in the way we deal with treating our cold symptoms...and yet people in the picture above keep showing up in our jails. In America, we don't deal with problems...we just talk about them and do things to make them worse. I want my Theraflu back. I have Social Anxiety Disorder and can barely stand to talk to strangers. Going into a Walgreen's is enough, but now I have to go and ASK someone about a controlled substance. They're going to look at me funny and judge me and hate me and call the police on me. I just want to treat my cold. Now I just have to sniffle in misery...I can't even snort my Crystal Meth today because my nose is all stuffed up! DAMN IT!

Fleet Week

Despite how it may sound, I will NOT be spending the weekend cleansing my bowels. No enemas for me thank you. I am sure there will be enemas purchased but only tangentially related to Fleet Week. No, this is the fabulous yearly event that brings all kinds of chaos and madness to the City by the Bay. I have been listening to the sounds of jets and helicopters all day. It is a little disconcerting to see jets flying through downtown San Francisco...just kinda feels like a war zone. I think the cutest thing about Fleet Week is that is just a wonderful excuse to get laid...even if it isn't with a Marine. Just make sure that your weekend somehow involves Seamen or Semen or some combination of the two. Lesbians! There are women in the Marines too...so just use your Dyke Detector ;)

So get yourself a traveler and catch a bus, train, bicycle, cab, motorcycle, or car (it's San Francisco...there are plenty of options) and head on down to the Embarcadero for some fun (here's hoping) in the sun! Or if you prefer, you can wait for the action to come to you...just stake out a bar stool in your bar of choice and prepare to pounce on the first uniformed man or woman that you see...just make sure it's a white uniform. Drinks will be sought these men and women have been long at sea. Show how much your support our troops!! WOO HOO!!

I will be going to the Red Bull Air Races tomorrow with a front seat somewhere on some Pier. I am TOTALLY excited...I mean who doesn't LOVE a Red Bull 'n Vods?! Hmmmm?? So yeah...in case you're trying to find me tomorrow...I'll be there and then we'll be cruising all the Marines who will be running around looking for some ass. Hehehe. I am only partly kidding.

Ah Manhunt, how do I love thee?

I have never used Manhunt for its intended purpose. Okay...that's not entirely true. I hooked up with some guy more years ago then I care to remember. He had a crooked penis, but he had mastered how to deal with it and consequently modified his angle of attack. It was quite an interesting experience as his approach was distinctly 45 degrees rather than the typical perpendicular path. It was novel but not entirely enjoyable. The fact that I don't remember his name puts him in a class comprised of two nameless faces. Come to think of it, the other guy was my one and only gay.com hookup. Hmmm, apparently I use these services for their intended purpose, realize how uninspiring the random hookup is, and then set about to finding a more interesting use of the system.

Whew!!! I say all that to say that I LOVE Manhunt, but not for reasons that you may be thinking ;) It's a great way for a pussy little voyeur like me to get a peek into an otherwise pretty uncomfortable world. It's like this amazingly pristine bath house where you feel like you can get a great idea of what is going on but you never have to see it...let alone smell (ew) or hear (ugh) it. Okay...so voyeurism aside there are plenty of reasons to keep me occupied for hours and hours. Obviously this is not some clandestine little secret that I keep from everyone...no this is NOTHING to be ashamed of. My boyfriend knows every little detail...right down to my profile and pictures.

So...Manhunt is the first place that I discovered the effects of the disease that is sweeping across queerdom faster than a Drag Queen to a M-A-C store opening (okay...so I am not very good at those...it was worth a try). Namely, Cranial Cropping Syndrome...which is a symptom of the more serious I Don't Own A Digital Camera So I Use My Bathroom Mirror And My Camera Phone (And Even If I Did Own A Digital Camera I Certainly Don't Know How To Use Photoshop So I Will Settle For Microsoft Paint). In other words, where are the heads? Where in the hell did all the heads and faces go? I mean an ass and cock shot are ALL fine and good...it is after all a hookup site, but am I wrong in thinking that a face is kinda important? I mean if the requisite for sex in this day and age is a cock and ass...well then, there should be more people coming over to the dark side...namely those fat fucks that are left on their couches to be rescued by Jerry Springer, one show at a time...they could just be getting laid all this time and burning off some of that excess energy...instead of stuffing Twinkies in their mouths they could just be sucking twinks off. Even though the abovementioned disease is quite a mouthful what it boils down to is a whole shit ton of cock and ass pictures. So in response to this I only have head shots in my profile...only heads and necks. I love my profiles though...this brings me to my next love...whether people say they do or they don't PEOPLE READ PROFILES...intently and with judgment!

Example of Josh Profile #1: In an unfortunate freak of nature accident, I had to have my body amputated. I am left with a head, a neck, and parts of an arm that have been attached to said neck in order to use the JOYstick on my wheelchair and the keys on the computer. In a sense, I have evolved to a higher level of humanity...in the future, we will all communicate through computers and will no longer require direct contact. In the meantime, I am looking to join forces with one of you headless bodies so we can get laid and so my chewed food goes somewhere.

Example of Josh Profile #2: I am not a super model. I am not even a model. I do not have an eight inch dick. I am not even sure if it's six. I do not wear Abercrombie...I think its from Old Navy. I do not drive a BMW. I do not own a house. Please do your duty and ignore me completely.

Example of Josh Profile #3: Don't blame me. I voted for Bush

That last one I used for the week following the results of the 2004 election...I made a BUNCH of friends after that. The truth is though...people read these and respond to them...all of the ones except for when I started mentioning that I had a boyfriend...suddenly that fact was overlooked even though it was plainly written in the profile.

The great thing is that there are always people signing in so you can actually change your profile midsession and have a whole new set of messages to deal with. And for a hookup site that is supposed to be ALL about sex there is a HUGE amount of emotion and feelings brewing there. I have actually had huge diatribes launched at me merely because I did not respond to a message that was sent to me within an appropriate time period. I was called a whole host of names simply because of my silence. I didn't realize that I owed every single person on that site so much respect. I was under the impression that feelings and thoughts were left at the login screen along with our brains and out heads...I certainly left my heart at the login screen with my boyfriend and my body (only headshots for me). It's a hookup site...and just because your profile says---

"I'm NOT here to hookup just meet cool guys and hang out, but if something happens...well that's fine too."

--doesn't make it any less true. It's not what your profile says afterall...it's how you chose to live...so I list all of the lewd and disgusting things I want in my profile and if I never answer a single message then it is NOT a hookup site for me.

So like all things...it's full of people and consequently full of contradictions and hypocrisy. I just like to go in there and have a little fun. I never do anything that is directly mean to one particular person...if someone doesn't get the joke I let them know that I am only kidding. I tell them that it is just to get attention and that I really want to get pounded into the ground and go rooting for truffles like the dirty pig bottom that I am...usually that cheers them up and they are able to properly label me. Josh: Completely uncomfortable with being a dirty, pig bottom and acts out by posting STUPID profiles.

Manhunt provides hours of entertainment and at the small price of $10 for 30 days...how can I resist...once a year. That time of year just happened to begin last night. Why? Because I was bored. And ya know what...I have met some dear friends from gay.com and Manhunt and in the end THAT is why I love Manhunt!

Anne, sweet Anne!

Okay, now I realize that choosing Anne Coulter as my first real attempt at this is hardly ingratiating myself to my brand new audience. But I think it's important to note that I am not here to make people smile or agree with me. I have enormous respect for this woman and that is what I want to write about here.

First, I can just see it...a young girl at age ten who's hormones are just getting the message that things are in for a little shake up...little hormonal hints here and there readying the body for its changes and flourishes into womanhood. Well, that's the TYPICAL girl. I imagine that Anne's body behaved slightly differently. I think that the first wave of dissent came from the hips, the poor hips who heretofore had been a little narrow runway for escaping urine...now they had to make way for the IDEA of a child. I can just see the hips, ranting and raving on a street corner, hollering about the abduction of the girl and her replacement with this strange imposter WOMAN! It didn't take long before the ovaries too decided to join in the fight. In fact, in a move to more closely align themselves with the hips' struggle, the ovaries brazenly decided to up and relocate. They very quickly snipped their little tubes, migrated down the abdomen, and found themselves a new home in the labia majora so they could more closely dictate what goes in and what comes out. In short, our little girl now has a nice pair of balls! What does she need with body fat, babies, and hips? She's got balls, brains, and blonde hair!

Now we all know that reckless abandon is only attractive if we're still nineteen and sheltered in our Christian homes. Being unbridled and insane quickly loses its allure as we get older. However, that ballsy confidence, if tempered with intelligence, can be quite the thing to get the test tubes clinking. Let me just say that Anne's got my laboratory in a kerfluffle for sure. This woman's got balls, but she's also got an intelligence. She is exceedingly smart, overwhelmingly calculating, and incredibly tenacious. She has created this persona that we have all come to know from which she will not deviate. I have never seen anyone visibly reach her...through all the insults and the pies being thrown, no one has ever visibly shaken Anne Coulter. She is a rock. She has made a career not from her insightful points but rather through the extraordinary examples she uses to make her points. Instead of simply decrying the use of victims as a means to shield the perpetrators from rebuke, she simply attacks four women who are acting in this way. She does not attack their tactics, she attacks the women themselves...thus creating a nice divide. On one hand, she is able to make her point and whether valid or not, it will not even have a chance of discussion because her support of this point is so inflammatory that people are compelled to respond. Ms. Coulter claimed that Bill Clinton obviously had latent homosexual tendencies based solely on his indiscriminate and frequent sexual encounters. Her point being that only homosexual men are indiscriminately promiscuous...now that is a point I would like to discuss, instead the ONLY thing people can respond to is calling the President a fag. It's brilliant!

Let's just be honest here: It's fucking hard to be a woman in this world...whether you're in America or Africa, it's just hard. Anne Coulter is being a woman in a man's world and she is getting book deals, getting air time, and making some serious cash. Kind of reminds me of another often blonde that most of my faggy brethren would deem a goddess, some might even go so far as to take a bullet for her (I wish they would). Yes, I am talking about Madonna, who made it her mid nineties mission to prove that a woman could be simultaneously sexually provocative and intelligent. Madonna chose to make her point by making a sex book in which she cavorts with the likes of Naomi Campbell and Isabella Rosellini. Anne chooses to make her point by publicly calling President Clinton a latent homosexual while flipping her hair and adjusting her bra strap that has just mysteriously found its way out from behind that tiny black cocktail dress. Yes, Anne Coulter is making all of these men drool over her as she backhands 9-11 widows and Darwinism.

Anne makes a point and then quickly throws up a shield of controversy so that people never get around to debating her thoughts and feelings, but merely argue her tactics. She is so devious that no one can get a hold of her. The liberals which she so vehemently opposes don't even have a chance of finding someone equally effective and provocative to purvey the left's agenda. Anne's got more balls, more brains, and more beauty than anyone that you find in the media these days...she's got the market cornered, she's making money doing it, and no one can seem to pin her down long enough to hold her accountable for any of it. THAT is why I respect this woman because she figured out the game and now she is using it to her advantage. Please don't think that I ignore the fact that she is an extreme conservative with many views that directly oppose mine. I may disagree with everything she says, but I can still respect her. The problem with most people that respond to Anne is that they fall into playground antics where they start name calling when in fact they're simply afraid to deal with her. Human beings are imperfect and hypocritical...but it is that and the acceptance of that that even makes us capable of loving one another. Only those that are in denial of this simple fact are the ones that have no tolerance for one another.

So all I am saying is if any of you bleeding hearts have any wish-upon-the-stars left, that you wish for a liberal Anne Coulter...otherwise just keep wishing for a brain.

DIS(gusting)CLAIMER

Okay then...there are a few things that need to be discussed here before we really begin. I am in the habit of always issuing a disclaimer in the very beginning just so I have my ass covered. Consider yourselves warned. While I adore and honor grammar, the verbal vomit that comes forth onto these keys does not submit to grammar...it just flows...er ebbs and flows. That being said there are a number of tricks, albeit annoying, that I will employ to get around proper grammar. Namely: the use of ellipses. It's not that I think that whatever I have to say is so important that it extends above the application of proper grammar...it's just that while I do have an undying respect for grammar...I just don't give a shit in this context. The years of writing research papers are behind me and I would prefer to leave them there. So if you're a grammar gremlin then get the fuck out of here. You are going to be annoyed and feel the need to let me know where an apostrophe belongs...as far as I'm concerned the apostrophe belongs up your ass if there's even any room in there with all the other light bulbs and other bright ideas you might have along the way.

Okay which brings me to one final disclaimer. Being that this is simply verbal vomit, I have very little to actually back up what I am saying. All of this is opinionated bullshit from someone who doesn't regularly read the newspaper, someone who doesn't have cable, and someone who's primary source of information is wikipedia and google news and those visits are sporadic at best. So if you want to go to the mat with me and wrestle out ideas and facts, then I will behave much as I did during our wresting units in middle school: I will dress out and wear the appropriate gym cloths. I will report to the mat as dictated by the teacher. I will assume the proper position on the mat. And when that whistle blows, I will not do a damned thing and you will easily flip me over and we'll have a completed match. I am simply NOT interested in arguing.

Fuck! So I thought of one more thing and this really just brings it all together (not altogether). As you can see by all of these excuses and disclaimers that I assume my audience is nothing but a bunch of judgmental, petty, bellicose fucktards. Well, please be aware that this is merely my insecurity and not an actual reflection on my audience. I simply assume that anyone reading my writing will immediately find flaws in grammar and logic and will be persuaded to lightly correct or polightly [sic] remind me of some rule or fact. This will of course send me over the edge and cause me never to have another opinion again. In short, you're dealing with an idiot. If you can handle that...then read on my friend. READ ON!