2nd Person: Tales from the Gay YOUniverse

You're Not One of Those Fags Who Disappears Without a Trace...

2008-10-10T14:36:00.001-04:00

...GPS is never even required because usually there's just a sloppy trail of martini olives that end up giving away your current location. However, today is another beautiful beach day on Fire Guyland so your olive trail ends smack in the middle of Beach Hill. You're sitting in the most ridiculous contraption that looks more like a sex sling than a beach chair only it's less comfortable. Luckily you get a very sweet, yet very misspelled text message from the Daytripping Freeloader which takes your mind off of your beach sling, "Thnx for an icredible evening. I miss your kisses and eyes already." The two of you end up texting back and forth about meeting one last time before he hops on the Fairy Ferry to head back to Boston, but you are tired and a bit cranky after sharing a twin sized bed with a grown man who snored, and the idea of rushing off the gorgeous beach is not your number one choice. But you agree to meet your new pothead friend at (ironically) 4:20 so you can have some quality time before the 5pm ferry.

All of your housemates, the entire Kinsey 8, are leaving the island today also so they can head back to civilization. Unfortunately, you are between apartments so you need to stay the entire week, which, quite honestly, is creating havoc on your liver. You're definitely ready to vote yourself off the island, but you'd much rather be homeless in The Pines than in The Rambles.

When your stomach needs something more nourishing than the lime garnishing your Corona Light, you run home to make sandwiches for everybody. However, your vegetarian friend, Fat Albert, places a special order and informs you that he'd like a grilled cheese. You stare at him for an incredulous moment before saying, "I'm not cooking." But he goes on to explain how simple it would be to find some Gruyere and lightly butter two halves of some French bread and lightly fry it, not too much though, because Fat Albert doesn't want his sandwich to be burnt. You are like, "What part of 'I'm not cooking' did you not understand?" and then you head back to the house. Even though there's nothing left-over but kitchen scraps, somehow you pull a Jesus on the Mount and miraculously turn the water into wine, and make enough turkey and cheese sandwiches for everybody but the vegetarian. However, since there's no bread left, you decide to bring Fat Albert some delicious left-over fish casserole which he made last night, and you head back to the beach.

You dole out the sandwiches and Fat Albert is not happy. Although you thought you were being extremely clear, for some reason he really actually thought you were really actually going to cook him up a grilled cheese. Really actually! Fat Albert seems so upset that he doesn't even eat the fish casserole and ends up giving you the silent treatment until it's time for you to leave to meet the Daytripping Freeloader at the Bay Bar. Needless to say, you don't mind excusing yourself from the awkward situation at this point.

You find the Daytripping Freeloader standing on the dock with his luggage and his street clothes and you give him a big kiss hello before your hungover ass grabs a table and orders *gasp* a soda water. It's has an odd taste without the vodka, yet somehow you're able to gag it down. The Daytripping Freeloader immediately gets down to business and catches you off guard with, "Where is this going to go?" and by 'this' he actually means 'relationship.' His question is as equally refreshing as it is off-putting. Seriously. How are you supposed to answer a question like that? You can't predict the future. But you can tell the truth. And you fear that you have met your match as you say, "I really have no idea. But I have two concerns. Number one, we live in different cities. And number two, you are six months out of a seven year relationship." You let your words sit there on the steel-mesh table as you wonder whether the Daytripping Freeloader's great intensity for you seems to be screaming "rebound," which has the direct effect of making your intensity much lower and much more wary.

However, the Daytripping Freeloader doesn't seem to be particularly concerned with either of your issues and he easily dismisses them with a simple, "This can go wherever we want it to go." But then he adds, "Unless you're going to be one of those guys who just disappears." You just sit there stunned, sipping your vodka-less soda while you wonder if you have actually met the one guy in the gay YOUniverse who happens to be even more conversationally direct than you? You immediately promise that you won't disappear, and you mean it. It's not like you haven't ever done the vanishing act before, but regardless of where this situation is headed, it suddenly seems worthy of truthful explanations.

That's when the Fairy Ferry arrives and the Daytripping Freeloader gathers his things together and asks for a kiss. Although you're not typically a big fan of P.D.A.'s (especially sober ones), you lean in toward his scruffy face and he kisses you so well that you actually lose yourself for a moment. The kiss is so damn good that, if you were standing your knees would give out. When he pulls away you end up pulling him right back into another kiss. You want more. You want that damn ferry to go away. You want everything to just stop so you can lose yourself in another kiss. The only thing that you are absolutely sure of at this very moment is that you will definitely see him again. Eventually you walk the Daytripping Freeloader over to the loading dock and watch him as he gets onto the boat. You end up staying and watch the ferry until it disappears into the horizon on it's way back to civilization. Anyway...

You're Not One of Those Fags Who's Good With Numbers...

2008-10-08T18:29:00.002-04:00

...but you definitely have faith in the Law of Averages. With all these silly boys you date, eventually one of them's got to be boyfriend material. Right? Anyway. You wake up on Fire Guyland feeling pretty fantastic after receiving a sweet text from the Day Tripping Freeloader, "Good morning handsome. Hope you slept well. send me a text and let me know when you are free." After last night's extremely romantic evening, you really can't wait to see him later! However, you're happy to have something to look forward to while enjoying a gorgeous beach day with the Boy Luck Club. But today is actually the Boy Luck Club plus one, as Fat Albert's Parisian boyfriend has flown in for the weekend. Ooh la la!

Although he's older than you, somehow you feel like you've become his unpaid babysitter because Le Boy gets off on teasing you and pushing you to the brink. For example, Le Boy begs you to go swimming with him, and when you politely decline he eventually comes back and shakes the water off his body in such a way that it sprays all over you. You ignore it even though this happens several times, but the last time Le Boy returns from a salt water swim he actually spits a mouth full of the Atlantic all over you. You jump up off your beach chair and Le Boy races down the beach like a seven year old straight boy. You let Le Boy get a nice lead before you grab his book of light summer reading, "Risk Management," and head toward l'atlantique to see if it can swim. Your friends cheer you on while you decide exactly what to do. You wind up propping the dry book in by the edge of the wet sand, letting Le Boy decide what's more important: saving his book from an approaching wave, or dragging your dry ass into the ocean. Of course Le Boy takes the risk and leaves his Risk Management book while chasing you down the beach. But eventually Fat Albert screams out to his Le Boyfriend and points out a giant approaching wave. Le Boy races back to save his beach book, and somehow he actually beats the wave by a split second. Only when he reaches down to whisk it away, he accidentally kicks the book with his big ol' adolescent pied, and Risk Management goes flying through the muggy air, landing smack in the middle of a wave. You feel a bit bad. But not too much. Anyway.

Although your cell signal seems to come and go like the tide, you and the Daytripping Freeloader text back and forth trying to make a plan for later. Somehow the day gets away from you, but you decide to invite your Boston Boy over for some pretoxication cocktails before Low Tea. Although you imagine your little Long Island Iced Tea Party to be a civilized sunset thing around the pool, it actually ends up being a lame Q&A around the dining room table as all your housemates are more interested in manhunting on their laptops than in the extremely flattering light outside. Everybody has loads of questions for the Daytripping Freeloader. Rice Queen is especially interested in his work, but you are horrified when you get a glimpse of his laptop while going to refill your empty glass. Rice Queen is actually googling the Daytripping Freeloader's keywords in the form of an unbelievably rude internet background check! But when the dialog turns back to the numbers conversation from last night, you are simultaneously curious and horrified when your housemates ask your guest about how many people he has slept with? And without a beat, the Daytripping Freeloader joins the highest ranks as he nonchalantly offers, "Over two hundred fifty," which, honestly, is not what you ever needed to hear.

You get one drink at Low Tea and can't help but notice the Daytripping Freeloader's roving eye, which is irritating, but easily remedied by a romantic walk down the pier to watch the sunset. He lays down on the boardwalk and you rub his hairy belly while yapping about nothing in particular. You do, however, learn that he is six months out of a seven year relationship and suddenly his roving eyes make complete sense. Can you say, "Rebound"? Regardless, time seems to slip away into the sunset, and since the Daytripping Freeloader has to go back to his place to cook dinner, he invites you back with him and you happily RSVP with an emphatic, "Yes!"

He ends up being an incredibly confident cook, and you, being a good sous chef, enjoy taking his explicit directions. The shrimp scampi turns out to be delicious, however the Daytripping Freeloader's roommates don't seem to be the least bit appreciative. Not only do the two of you end up cooking the entire meal, but you also end up setting the table, serving the dinner, clearing the table and doing the dishes! Were these gay boys born in a barn? Half of them seem to have cleaned their plates before you even take your first bite! Even though you helped cook, you are the only one who compliments the Daytripping Freeloader's delicious dinner, mostly because you are horrified by his vagabond housemates' behavior.

Afterwards, the Daytripping Freeloader asks if you want to get stoned and since you're pretty happy with your cocktail you politely decline. But then he adds, "Would you mind if I did?" To which you say, "Not at all," even though you think it's a bit odd that he'd want to get stoned alone on what is technically your first date. Does he find you to be so unbearable that simply being drunk is just not enough? Or is he just a big ol' pot head? Anyway.

Later on, you wind up back at your place in an empty bedroom with twin beds and walls that are tragically mirrored, but you quickly get over yourself and give into the tacky design as the two of you become extremely tactile. It gets pretty hot and everything goes swimmingly until the Daytripping Freeloader suddenly stops everything and asks you if you'd like to do poppers? Although you could take it or leave it, you accept his popper offer mostly because he's inhaling them like an smog ridden Angeleno at his first oxygen bar. Initially you're into the rush, but it quickly ends up being a grave mistake as you find yourself jumping from the bed and racing your naked ass to the veranda to get some fresh air for your spinning head. Luckily, you pull through and you and your headache head back to watch yourself contort into positions you've never even dreamed of in the mirrors which thankfully happen to be slimming.

The next morning your Kinsey 8 housemates are having breakfast around the table when you emerge down the stairs. You happily report that your "How many people you've slept with " number has increased by one, but Rice Queen needs you to be a bit more specific. "Which category? Fooling around or penetration?" You smile and simply say, "Both," as your dimples blush their way to the surface. Anyway...

What do you do when you get into an altercation and some random breeder calls you a faggot?

2008-10-08T16:02:00.006-04:00

47% of You said, "I smile and say, "Is that supposed to make me feel bad?" "

23% of You said, "I ignore it because it's not worth my precious time or energy."

11% of You said, "I beat the shit out of him and remind him that his ass is being whipped by a fag."

10% of You said, "After my initial shock I fight fire with fire and call him a Wet Back / Gringo / White Trash / Kike / Terrorist / Chink / Nigger / Frog / Nazi / Dago / Nip / Yid / Cholo / Newyorican / Gook / Jungle Bunny to see how he likes it."

6% of You said, "Suddenly I feel like I'm in seventh grade again and I prepare myself to be shoved into a locker after a painful wedgie."

Number of Fags Who Voted: 103

You're Not One of Those Romantic Fags...

2008-10-01T23:59:00.002-04:00

...but when the DJ at Low Tea plays "What I Like About You" by The Romantics you can't help but race your way to the dance floor. Although you're a bit wary about running into Aussie Bum, you're actually more worried about cooking Sunday supper for the Kinsey 8 tonight, even though it's just hamburgers. Plus an Ahi Tuna steak for Fat Albert who is perpetually on a diet even though he weighs the same in pounds as you do in kilograms. Half-Share has vowed to help out so you figure you can enjoy a few cocktails at the Low Tea Meat Market before heading home to burn some much less delectable meat. However, when Low Tea comes to an end, Half-Share gives you a hard time and practically twists your arm to get you to go High Tea when he says nonchalantly, "Wanna grab another drink at High Tea?" to which you respond with an extremely reluctant, "Sure!"

You order the best value on the Island, a Planters Punch, and you've just begun to sip it when you notice a really sexy, scruffy guy across the bar who is so attractive that you forget to swallow. Almost. He looks over at you and it's one of those moments where you lock eyes and don't feel uncomfortable. At all. You give him a big toothy smile because you are suddenly very happy. Mostly because he's smiling back. And his look lingers, which gives you butterflies as well as confidence. This boy's got skinny little glasses and looks like a Jewish Doctor in desperate need of a WASPy dimpled Shiksa from Connecticut. Suddenly you don't want to leave to go home and cook. In fact, screw the food! This boy is so cute that you may have just started a new starvation diet. You tell your housemates that you refuse to leave before meeting this blue-eyed boy and when you turn around to look for him, he's standing right in front of you. He actually came over to meet you!

You introduce yourself and chit-chat about simple things that seem to take on a much deeper level, mostly due to your intense attraction that seems extremely mutual. Your blue-eyed Jewish doctor turns out to be an Italian salesman visiting from the South Side of Boston. He’s staying with friends who are renting a house for the week. Although you don’t want to leave High Tea, you explain to the Daytripping Freeloader that it is, unfortunately, your turn to cook tonight, and you must race back to prep for dinner. But that’s exactly when the DJ puts on an obscure mix of "Just Can’t Get Enough" which seems extremely appropriate since you Just Can’t Get Enough of the Daytripping Freeloader. When the extended remix unfortunately comes to an end, the Daytripping Freeloader asks for your number so you, of course, give it to him along with a kiss, which, just like Depeche Mode, you Just Can’t Get Enough. However, you’re a bit surprised when you are saying goodbye and the Daytripping Freeloader whispers, “What do you like to do in bed?” Although you’re never one to kiss n’ tell (kiss n’ blog, perhaps) you smile at the Sexy South Sider and say, “I'm sure you’ll find out later.”

Thank God you didn’t skip High Tea is all you can think as you race home to cook! Dinner, however, turns out to be a debacle. You practically asphyxiate yourself trying to start the grill, until Half-Share comes home and realizes that the starter is broken and you need a match. Then, considering how flammable of a flamer you are after a day’s worth of cocktails, you practically singe away any future need for manscaping. You’re husking corn when your cell flutters on the counter top as you receive a vibrating text from the husky-voiced Daytripping Freeloader. But it’s your heart that flutters when you finally read his message, “Those eyes are captivating I hope I get to see them again. Good luck with dinner.” Thanks to a few of your Kinsey 8 housemates who are much more skilled in the kitchen department than you are, dinner actually turns out to be almost edible and surprisingly nobody gets poisoned by your food. The frozen margaritas you make, however, should probably be served with a skull and cross bones on the glass.

During dessert the Kinsey 8 collectively decides to play a little “Get to know you better” game called, “How many people have you had sex with?” Luckily, you get to go last as this is not a game that you’re dying to play. You pour yourself a glass of wine but almost end up spitting it out when Rice Queen announces that his number is somewhere between 250 and 500! Although he’s older than you, he’s not that much older! You had no idea there were even that many gay Asian twinks in New York City! But you digress. As the game continues it’s way around the table, everybody’s numbers are very big (except for the San Francisco Treat who ended up marrying the first boy who put some Rice in his Roni), but when it comes to your turn you really think about it and come up with the number 50+. But then you make an amendment to the game and make everybody go another round. This time you want to know the penetration number. Enough of this Bill Clinton Blow-Job Bullshit. This time around the numbers drop considerably, and basically everybody's initial number is cut in half (except for the San Francisco Treat, of course) and you offer up a respectable 25, which seems rather reasonable considering fourteen of your thirtysomething years were spent in a relationship. And with that, you quickly change your t-shirt and race over to Slip N' Hurl hoping to increase your recently divulged player stats by one--specifically with the Daytripping Freeloader.

Only when you arrive at the bar it has somehow become 12:45 and after two complete loops your Boston Boy is nowhere to be found. Even though you know it's a bit ridiculous, you find yourself extremely disappointed until you remember that you have his phone number from when he texted you earlier. You quickly tap off a short note: "Are you out? I'm @ sip n' twirl but can't find you." Almost instantaneously you get a response that informs you to "Stay put. I'll be there in five." And luckily for you, the Daytripping Freeloader is a man of his word. When he arrives he looks just as good as you remember as smiles take over both of your faces and the rest of the boys in the bar quickly fade away from your concerns.

It doesn't take long before the two of you decide to take off and get away from the crowd. It also doesn't take long before you both realize that, due to unfortunate roommate situations, neither of you have a private place to go. You wind up back at the Freeloader's house (which is gorgeous) and start to make out on an uncomfortable concrete bench in his lush garden. His kisses are like buttah, and after the crappy dinner you made, you could use some nourishment! Honestly, even though it's buggy and you're being eaten alive by mosquitoes (and most likely, deer ticks), you really can't get enough of the Daytripping Freeloader's kisses and you continue to devour him until his housemates come home and turn on the outside lights. Embarrassed, you quickly jump off the bench and re-button your blouse and fix your lipstick in order to be introduced to his posse.

Moments later, you've already forgotten all their names as the two of you head down the boardwalk to go to the beach. You sit down at the edge of the beach and listen to the waves crash into the moonlit darkness as you get to know each other better. It's one of the most romantic evenings you've ever had on Fire Guyland, and you are perfectly elated, hours later, when you eventually find yourself walking home, alone, with your 50:25 ratio perfectly in tact, as well as plans to meet up with the Daytripping Freeloader tomorrow. Anyway...

Have you ever fallen in love with an online boy before meeting in person?

2008-09-30T22:05:00.001-04:00

38% of You said, "Yes! Forget about his hot photos, his emails alone get me horny. And when we talk I feel like a teenager who can't bring myself to hang up first."

33% of You said, "Are you insane? Although I remain hopeful, I don't invest emotionally into a relationship with someone I've never met. Or slept with."

18% of You said, "Love-schmuv. I've yet to fall in love with an offline person."

9% of You said, "Maybe. I'd like to believe in "Love at first typo," but it has yet to happen to me."

Number of Fags Who Voted: 92

You're Not One of Those Dignified Fags...

2008-09-29T20:03:00.000-04:00

...who thinks his pants are too fancy for Cherry Grove. However, you are definitely one of those lazy fags who rarely schleps his way through the Meat Rack in fear of losing his cheap pants on the way there. Actually you're kind of terrified of the Meat Rack, mostly because you know that if you found yourself in some dark, unsavory, sticky situation, you'd just wind up giggling like some nervous nelly and run out with your tail between your legs. You also prefer to actually see the people that you have sex with. Perhaps you're just a bit old fashioned in that way. But it's lunchtime and Rice Queen feels like a walk, so you, Rice Queen #3 and The San Francisco Treat decide to grab a bite in Cherry Grove. Luckily everybody's pants (all of which are much fancier than yours) stay completely buttoned as you pass through the mysterious Meat Rack.

When you woke up this morning at the ungodly hour of noon you instantly began to piece together the events of the previous evening before pulling your tired old ass out of bed . Although your memory is just as hazy and humid as today's weather, you unfortunately remember drunkenly agreeing to go to Aussie Bum's 29th birthday party at 2pm. Only you don't want to go. Although he was kind of cute, he really wasn't you're type. He was more than a bit too intense, more than a bit too young, and way more than a bit of an awful kisser. Even though you really don't want to send the wrong signals by going to Aussie Bum's party, you also hate going back on your word.

You poll your friends over lunch about how you should handle this Aussie Bum situation, and the general consensus is, "If you don't want to go to his party, then just blow it off." Although you know that this tact will send a very clear signal to Aussie Bum, you still feel lame about it. But that's when you receive a text from Aussie Bum that says, "Let me know if you are swinging by, if not, no stress. Cheers." The worst part comes when you notice that the timestamp reads 2:05pm. With all your lollygagging about whether or not you should go to his damn party, you are now officially five minutes late, not to mention more than a half-hour away. But during your past thirtysomething years in the YOUniverse, the one thing you've actually learned is to trust your actions more than your feelings. When it comes to your emotions, you're just a big ol' gurrrl who doesn't want to hurt Aussie Bum's feelings. But if you look closely at your actions, you obviously have no desire to go to his party. Hell, you've been hemming and hawwing all day, you've lost track of time, and now you are about as far away as you could physically be from Aussie Bum. As C + C Music Factory would say, "Things That Make You Go Hmmmmmmm." Obviously you just ain't that into Aussie Bum. So you text him back and say, "Hey. Im in cherry grove for lunch and not feeling so hot. If im feeling better maybe I'll see you @ tea. Happy Birthday!" To which Aussie Bum replies, "Yes, I imagine a lot of people on the. island feel not so hot today.Thanks for letting me know, enjoy the Grove..."

After a delicious lunch you all decide to take a peek in town before you head back, and of course you end up running into Baby Daddy who is, ironically, wearing nothing but an Aussie Bum bathing suit. Albeit last years '07 model, Baby Daddy is filling it out very nicely. His friends are also scantily clad and seem to be irritated as you stop them to say a simple hi and give Baby Daddy a kiss hello. You chit chat for approximately 2.2 sentences before Baby Daddy's friends say, "We have to go now," and drag him away rather rudely. Although it's weird, it's totally fine. The last time you saw him he was busy describing the romantic date he was going to take you on, and now he's too busy to say hello? It's not like he's wearing a Tuxedo and late for a wedding. He's in a skimpy Speedo! Even if he's late for the beach, it's totally overcast! Baby Daddy is an enigma wrapped in a riddle shoved into a fortune cookie sealed in cellophane that you have no desire to unwrap, let alone eat. Next!

The day progresses like any other on Fire Guyland. Beach Cocktails, Pool Cocktails, Low Tea Cocktails, High Tea Cocktails, Dinner with an overpriced bottle of cheap wine, a bit of after-dinner dancing on the dining room table in your underwear, and then, of course, it's off to Slip N' Hurl. Luckily at High Tea you ended up swiping an entire sleeve of Fire Island Pines cups from the bar when the bartender was busy ignoring you. With these special cups, not only do you have a wonderful To-Go cup for cocktailing along the boardwalk without being hassled by the police, but with these particular magical cups you can actually walk right into the overpriced bars because they assume you ordered the drinks from them! Not that you condone stealing, but come on! Would you convict a starving child who stole an apple from a bodega? Of course not. And this is the same exact principle.

As usual, upon arriving at Slip N' Hurl, it's everyman for himself and the Kinsey 8 quickly divides to conquer. You, of course, get sidetracked on the dance floor, but before you can even complete an entire Fruit Loop, your inner Elaine finds yourself flailing, or rather dancing, smack in front of Aussie Bum. You quickly ask, "How was your birthday party this afternoon?" and when he replies, "It didn't happen," you are equally confused and yet completely relieved. You can't imagine showing up to a party for someone you just weren't that into, where you were not only the sole guest, but his only present to boot! But Aussie Bum doesn't seem to care that his only guest was a no-show. Your attempt at a simple, trite conversation quickly segues into how Aussie Bum seems to think you are just the greatest thing since the invention of the Gay Bar. And come on, nobody's that great. Especially you. This boy barely knows you. You chatted yesterday. For a bit. Your signals of disinterest were pretty clear (except for the kissing part, of course). Hell, he doesn't have any clue about who you really are! The fact that he is so interested when he knows nothing about you is kind of a turn off. Perhaps he likes you because he thinks you're playing "Hard to Get," when in reality you are really playing "Impossible to Get"? Actually you're not playing at all. But then again, on the other hand, his enthusiasm for you makes you wonder if you might be turning into one of those boys who is only interested in boys who have no interest in you? Ugh.

Regardless, the conversation begins a downward spiral. Aussie Bum's intensity, coupled with his bad breath begin to singe your eyebrows. Even though you are practically mute, he begins bombard you with requests for dates when he returns from an upcoming business trip. But when you politely decline he becomes relentless. He begins explaining how you two got off to a rough start and that he wants to make it up to you. Suddenly you are aware that this boy, for some unknown reason, has completely romanticized you into someone who doesn't exist. Which is more than a bit disconcerting. Although you do believe in love at first sight (okay, lust), you also believe that it has to be a two-way street! And right now Aussie Bum is on a lovely, yet very private cul de sac. So before the conversation gets even more awkward, you decide to be as clear as possible in response to what seems to be escalating into an unsolicited marriage proposal. You say, "I don't think it's a good idea if we go out."

Your honesty, of course, backfires. Whoever said, "Honesty is the best policy," was definitely not gay. Anyway. Aussie Bum is now both slightly mad and probably more-than-slightly embarrassed. But he definitely heard you, so you decide to shut your big trap in order to let your words sink in. Aussie Bum actually begins to argue with you about why you should go out with him and you begin to get freaked out. Being a lawyer, Aussie Bum seems to think he can somehow sway your drunken jury. But his closing argument actually concludes with, "If you want me to go away and never come back, then just say so." How on earth did it suddenly get to this point? You just met this guy last night! Such drama! Unfortunately you realize that you have no other choice but to answer his question, so you say, "I think you should go." Aussie Bum stares at you for an endless, yet incredulous moment, and then he turns and disappears into the crowd at Slip N' Hurl. A sudden wave of relief takes over as you walk outside to find Rice Queen and fill him in on your latest drama.

But two seconds into your recap with Rice Queen you are tapped on the shoulder by none other than Aussie Bum! You are dumbfounded when this relative stranger asks you why you don't like him. Although you would usually say something like, "Does it matter why I don't like you?" but something about this boy is off. Very off. For some unknown reason he is a bit obsessed by yours truly, and images of boiled bunny rabbits begin to dance through your head. So you say as politely as possible, "You are really freaking me out!" Eventually Aussie Bum leaves, and this time you watch to make sure he leaves. At this point you are done. You want to leave immediately, but you ask Rice Queen to walk you home because you're actually freaked out that Aussie Bum might follow you and jump out of the bushes on your way home. On the walk back to Beach Hill Walk you receive a text from Aussie Bum: "Hey – I’m sorry. I’m terrible in siuch situations, but an eternal optimist. I may hit you up in a few weeks, hope I’m not so scary. I’m intense but do think you’re worth a touch of my dignity." Anyway...

You're Not One of Those Indecisive Fags...

2008-09-24T20:47:00.002-04:00

...but when you get to the Fresh Market in Fire Guyland with the dire need to caffeinate, you are annoyed to have nothing to choose from but Coke products. You stare at the refrigerated bottles for so long that someone actually asks you if you're okay. No, of course you're not okay! There is no Diet Pepsi on this whole damned island which is your new home for an entire week! You usually vote yourself off of Temptation Island after a measly three-day weekend, but since you and your Lovely Lady Mumps are between apartments (a.k.a. homeless) you are stuck on the Isle of Guy for a full week. Thank the gay gods for your share house. And thank the gland gods that your Lovely Lady Mumps seem to be getting a little bit better. Anyway.

You finally decide on Coke Zero, which turns out to be infinitely better than Diet Coke and as you are paying you start scanning the extensive crowd on the dock which has gathered to watch the Invasion. Every year since the Dawn of Gay Man, the Cherry Grove Drag Queens descend upon The Pines in droves and paint the town red with way too much lipstick and blush. There's some sort of beachy, Stonewall-ish historical significance, but you've long since forgotten. Hell you've forgotten last night already. Until, of course you are reminded of last night when you see him standing amongst the crowd wearing nothing but a skimpy little Speedo. True to his word, the day-tripping Baby Daddy has come back for another gay day. Actually, today is the gayest day. Anywhere. Baby Daddy doesn't notice you through the store's window, and you briefly consider knocking on the glass to say hi, but your run-in with him last night was so odd that you decide to just let it go. If he's really as interested as he said he was, then he's got your number. And if you're really as uninterested as you think you are, then you've got voicemail.

It's hot and muggy and there's absolutely no breeze so you wind up watching only a smidgen of the festivities before you, Half-Share and Fat Albert decide to rehydrate with something more refreshing than some second-rate, poor excuse for a Diet Pepsi. You all head into the Pavilion and your boys need to hit the bathroom before the bar, but you wait outside since your Coke Zero hasn't made it's way south to your bladder yet. You futz with your phone until Half-Share comes out and informs you that you must take a peek at the show going on inside the Men's Room. You, of course, don't need to be coaxed more than once so you pop your head in and indeed there are two boys pressed up against the urinal, making out as if it's not actually one o'clock in the afternoon with plenty of other much cleaner places to get it on. That's about when their zippers get yanked down and the circle jerk, party of two, begins.

Later on, you end up losing your friends so you decide to wait for them at the bottom of the steps which lead up to Slip N' Hurl, which ends up being a great spot because it's the final destination for all of the fabulous D.Q.'s so they all end up sashaying past you along the runway as if you're Michael Kors (but luckily not as Gay Fat). Unfortunately all the Straight Looky-Loos who came out for the day have found the same primo real estate as you have, and they're all a bit drunk and obnoxious. It kind of feels like you're at some bizarre gay Hooters, until one Bad Breeder grabs a hold of Marilyn's famous white dress in an unwelcome attempt to blow it up as if she were standing on some explosive sewer grate. Needless to say, Marilyn is pissed and instantly turns into the Seven Year Bitch and goes postal on the The Misfits, because it's more than obvious that Something's Got To Give.

As usual, cocktails flow all afternoon until it's time for The Dance on the Bay which is a fundraiser for the Gay & Lesbian & Bisexual & Transgendered & Eunuch & Asexual Community Center. You watch the sun begin to set as the cocktails really flow (mostly because they're free) and that's when your inner-Elaine starts to, um, dance on the bay, until eventually, yadda, yadda, yadda, the next thing you know it's 1am and you're surprised to find yourself back at Slip N' Hurl. You cross your fingers hoping that one of your missing Yaddas included dinner as you stumble into the busy boy bar.

Almost instantly you meet an Aussie Bum who just turned 29 today, and, get this, feels old. You roll your eyes and inform him that, "Well, here's the good news. You're still too young for this ride," as you gesture toward yourself. It's actually a bit hazy (surprise, surprise), but somehow the conversation quickly turns and suddenly you feel like you're on a date with a 38 year old woman who's eggs are reaching the end of their shelf life. Just like Baby Daddy from last night, Aussie Bum starts talking about the future. Or more specifically, your future together! Like when he gets back from his business trip, blah-blah-blah. Or when you meet his family in Australia, blah-blah-blah. The whole conversation becomes even more surreal when he actually says aloud, "Since today's my birthday I deserve to have you go home with me." Did you skim over the part of the script where you agreed to jump out of a cake? Well, actually, you are about to jump. Right down the stairs. So you tell Aussie Bum, politely, that since you are turning into a pumpkin that it's time for you to go home. Unfortunately, that's when Aussie Bum insists on walking you back. You're too exhausted to decline so you just give in reluctantly.

When you finally get back to the Kinsey 8 house on Beach Hill Walk, you try to say goodnight politely, but Aussie Bum insists on a kiss. Although you're not feeling it, you're not feeling like dragging out the uncomfortable moment either, so you give into his birthday wish, yet quickly wish you hadn't. It's one of those Jackhammer Kisses which instantly makes you feel like a Jackass for agreeing to the whole preposterous situation. You're too old to be bulldozed by a 29 year old, but when Aussie Bum asks you if you'll come to his birthday party tomorrow you find yourself reluctantly saying, "What time?" Aussie Bum stutters until finally he says, "What time do you want to come?" And since you don't want to come at all you end up answering with a snarky, "When the party starts." The whole thing is so weird that you begin to wonder if there is even going to be an actual party, but you say, "Just tell me when to come," because you are cranky and tired. The indecisive Aussie Bum tells you to come at 2pm and you say goodnight. But not before he Jackhammers your one last time. Anyway...

What do you do when you get a Facebook Friend Request from, gasp, your Parents?

2008-09-22T00:10:00.004-04:00

27% of You said, "I decline the friend request, because, after all, they're my parents, not my friends!"

25% of You said, "I sit my parents down and explain that they are much too old and frail to be on Facebook. And then I buy them a CB Radio to keep them busy. 10-40, Good Buddy!"

24% of You said, "I develop a Facebook app that censors everything that's not G-rated from going to my parents feed. Then I make a mint and retire."

13% of You said, "I accept the request, but immediately send out an email to all my friends and plead with them not to tag me in any more scandalous photos."

8% of You said, "I realize that Facebook has finally jumped the shark and immediately deactivate my account."

Number of Fags Who Voted: 86

Greetings From...

2008-09-21T14:49:00.002-04:00

the Christopher Street Pier! All is well on the gay riviera.

xoxo You!

You're Not One of Those Fags on the Rebound...

2008-09-19T17:55:00.000-04:00

...but you do bound out of bed in the morning and race to the bathroom to inspect your teeth. As you laid in The Ex's bed inspecting your Lovely Lady Mumps (which haven't shrunk one tiny bit since they mysteriously appeared five days ago), you suddenly realize that perhaps an infected molar might be causing your Jabba the Neck-like glandular swelling? Although you floss twice a day (you are a Dentist's wet dream, perhaps you should date one?), you've had some mild irritation since your last cleaning. Suddenly you feel like your gums are receding around that particular tooth and before you know it you are on the phone making an emergency dental appointment. Since your homeless ass is moving into your share house on Fire Guyland for the next week, you want to have this tooth looked at before you end up needing to be airlifted from Low Tea for a root canal.

By the time you arrive at your dentist's office you are absolutely positive that the tooth needs to be extracted and that everybody you date from here on out will think that you have Meth Mouth. But after some digital x-rays, your dentist informs you that there is nothing at all wrong with your tooth. She concurs with your doctor that your Lovely Lady Mumps must be a stress-related condition due to your recent move as well as your current situation of homelessness. Ugh.

Later that afternoon, you and your Lovely Lady Mumps decide to schlep out to Jackson Heights so you can check on the progress of your new apartment renovation and then hop on the Fire Island Fag Express in Jamaica. Luckily, when you see the apartment they are actually painting it! Your whiny Real Estate Broker, Annette Weining, informs you that it will be finished next Wednesday so you'll need to schedule an appraisal. Suddenly you start to see an inviting porch light at the end of this hellish homeless tunnel! Then you race over to the LIRR station in Jamaica and, as usual, meet three of the Kinsey 8 in the second car of the train. They've scored one of the social, six person banquette seats but right after you sit down, a hefty middle-aged woman squeezes her way through your He Man Woman Haters club and plops herself in the middle seat between Fat Albert and Rice Queen. Although everyone is irritated by the intruder, Fat Albert actually says aloud, "American trains need bigger seats because everybody in this country is fat." Your jaw drops, as does the Middle Aged Heffer's, and she says, "I will choose not to take offense to that." And with that the train continues it's way down the tracks of Denial.

After a semi-awkward ride to Babylon, you all have to switch trains and for some unknown reason the new train is much too small and it's a chaotic mess so you all get split up. You wind up lucking out and actually get a seat sitting next to a very cute boy, however, the two of you can't even chat due to a very loud, extremely cellfish phone conversation directly behind you. It actually becomes comical when the poor girl starts bawling and says way too loudly, "It's just harder to be with you than without you!" The whole train stifles a collective schadenfreude giggle. However you literally burst into tears laughing. You feel bad for the poor girl and her public break-up, but you have absolutely no control over your sick sense of humor.

Once you boys reconvene at the house the Kinsey 8 decides to pretoxicate before Low Tea, and, really, who are you to judge? The vodka is flowing through your veins by the time you begin to circulate through the throngs of boys at the Blue Whale. Collectively you all ignore the beautiful sunset in favor of much prettier Tequila Sunrises that you're drinking. But suddenly the sunburned boys part like the Red Sea and you find yourself catching eyes with Baby Daddy. You both smile awkwardly but you decide to be the bigger person and go over to actually say hello. Honestly (not that you really care), but the way he blew you off was rather strange and you're sort of curious as to what the hell happened so you figure chatting for a bit will be a nice way to smooth things over.

Only when you start talking, the conversation quickly turns all deep and weird (his doing, of course) and you're a bit confused about what the hell is actually happening? Is he into you or isn't he? And ultimately does it really matter because, honestly, you're just not that into him. But the mystery sucks you in and the next thing you know Baby Daddy pulls you out of Low Tea and walks you down to a quiet space on the dock so you can "talk." You are actually so confused by the elaborate romantic gesture that you quickly confess that you assumed that he just wasn't interested in you. At all. And then since it's one of the rare occasions in your life where you have absolutely nothing to say, you end up listening intently to everything Baby Daddy tells you. He starts yapping about how he isn't over his Ex and about how he wants to go out with you again. You can't help but think "Rebound!" as he apologizes for his sudden disappearing act, yet he explains that it had nothing to do with you. You appreciate the gesture, even though you thought that you both kind of mutually disappeared by choice. Baby Daddy then makes a bold promise that the two of you are going to go out again and that it's going to be a great date! After that Baby Daddy starts using the future tense about how "We'll do this," and "Then we'll do that!" You're so confused. It's almost like he's planning your whole relationship which you assumed never even began. The whole thing is so weird that you begin to wonder if he might be on something? But you play along just because the conversation is so bizarre that it feels best to not make waves. Luckily Baby Daddy is going home tonight on the last ferry with his friends, but he informs you, with a kiss, that he's returning (or possibly rebounding) to Fire Island tomorrow for The Invasion. Anyway...

Greetings from...

2008-09-18T00:42:00.001-04:00

...the Funny Gay Males 20th Reunion! You laughed till you cried (even during the token lesbian's set...)

xoxo You!

You're Not One of Those Hypochondriac Fags...

2008-09-16T21:14:00.001-04:00

...but as you're sitting on The Ex's stoop, homeless, surrounded by everything you own in the world that wasn't just carted away into storage, as you sit there with the wrong set of keys, you start to obsess about your Lovely Lady Mumps and begin to feel like your lymph nodes have become so swollen that you are actually having trouble breathing. Or perhaps it's just your hysteria? You begin to leave frantic messages for The Ex and his friend who left you the wrong set of keys, but, of course, nobody is taking your calls. That's when, smack in the middle of your homeless dilemma, a party boy you kissed years ago walks by and looks up at your Sesame Street Stoop and asks you, all impressed, "Is that where you live?" and you are just so irritated by his sudden interest in you that you respond, "No, actually I'm homeless." And with that Ms. Fair Weather Fag turns up her nose and keeps walking down the picturesque block.

When your cell finally rings you realize that your battery is almost dead, but luckily it's The Ex who feels terrible for your situation. Unfortunately he's in LA and he informs you that there are only three copies of his apartment keys, one of which is in your hands and doesn't work. One of the remaining two is in the possession of his Co-Op Board President, but she's apparently on a Straight Cruise (not to be confused with a Tom Cruise). Just in case, you try to buzz Mrs. President's apartment but there is no answer. The last person happens to be your Ex-Niece, only she's busy moving today too, so even if she has the keys they are probably lost in an unmarked box somewhere between Manhattan and Brooklyn. But you leave her a frantic message anyway, just in case her move has been less chaotic than yours.

And then you nervously inspect your Lovely Lady Mumps while waiting for your cell to ring, hopefully before either you or your phone dies. Luckily your Ex-Niece gives you a rescue ring and she is so adorably sweet and offers to interrupt her move and drive her U-Haul back from Brooklyn just to bring you the keys. But this is when someone who lives in the Co-Op finally walks up the steps. You practically hang up on your sweet Ex-Niece as you accost the man walking into the building. Luckily he believes your gay-ass Saab story and allows you into the building so you can store your defrosting Tilapia and other random stuff in the hallway until you can track down a key. He also tells you that Mrs. President is actually back from her cruise and that they are having a Co-Op board meeting right this very moment on her glamorous roof deck. He says to stay put and that he will try to find her. You call The Ex while you wait, because really, if he doesn't speak to Mrs. President directly, then why on earth would she ever hand over his apartment keys to some homeless stranger who has moved onto her front stoop.

Eventually the whole mess gets worked out, but Mrs. President turns all Mrs. Kravitz on you when you realize that she's only given you a key to The Ex's apartment. So if you ever decide to leave the building, you'll have no way to get back in through the front vestibule door. You ask if perhaps you can borrow a set of front door keys from her so you can make a copy, but for some reason this scenario turns out to be a big fucking deal. Apparently Mrs. Kravitz has no problem with you living inside her glamorous Co-Op, however if you ever want to leave then you'll never be able to get back inside. Perhaps you should place an ad in HX and start turning tricks in there so you won't have to ever go out? Or maybe just leave the gas stove on? Or spray paint her common hallway with gay graffiti? This woman who runs your Ex's life is really not thinking anything through, but eventually you somehow convince her to hand over her keys and you promise that you'll make copies tomorrow morning as all the locksmiths are surely closed now that it's 9:30pm. Although you are initially relieved when you finally get inside of The Ex's apartment, that's when things actually really go from bad to worse.

His apartment is full of your things. Things you bought together. Your couch. Your photos. Your TV. Your rug. The kitchen is full of your Fiestaware. The hand-blown wine glasses you bought together in Venice. The picture frames are full of photos of your lives together. But it gets really upsetting in the bedroom when you have to sleep in your old bed. The bed you shared for over a decade. You lie there, remembering how amazing it felt to be held every night before you went to bed. What it felt like to have The Ex spell "O.J." on your back because he was thirsty and it was too tired to speak. But what really gets you is the afghan sitting at the base of the bed which your Ex-Aunt knit for you boys eons ago. Only now it's covered in cat hair from your Kitty Cunt who suddenly just died a few months ago. This was your life. You shiver, not from the overly powerful central air conditioning, yet from the feeling of being so uncomfortable surrounded by all the homey things that gave you nothing but comfort for years. Will you ever be that comfortable again? Anyway...

You're Not One of Those Homeless Fags...

2008-09-15T19:09:00.002-04:00

...yet. But when you wake up with a Pride hangover that is absolutely nothing to be proud about, you aren't even worried about your impending move nor the fact that you have no place to move. All you can think about is your Lovely Lady Mumps which are the lumps formerly known as Lymph Nodes. When you look in the mirror it's like you're just one giant Jabba the Neck. Even though you know your new beard is the only thing that is visually separating your chest from your chin, you decide to shave off your beard while you're taking a shower. Once the beard is gone you are both appalled and terrified. So you call your doctor for an emergency appointment, only to find out that he has retired and someone else has taken over his practice. Luckily she can fit you in before your movers show up.

Unfortunately, your new doctor seems more like an actor who only plays a doctor on TV. She giggles a lot. And plays with her hair. And she leaves her white coat open so you can see that she's probably spends more time shopping than she does prescribing. But she gives you a blood and urine test and writes you a few precautionary prescriptions since you're about to be homeless on Fire Guyland where the only doctors on the entire island are the ones who are self-medicating at Low Tea. Then you race home to finish packing your Home Sweet Hovel and meet the movers.

When you get back home you are kind of shocked to see that your Hobosexual Roommate has told his new victim (whoops, you meant roommate) that she can move in on the last day of your lease. While you are moving out. On the day before her lease begins. The whole situation is just so irritating and surreal that, when she begins to talk your ear off while you are frantically packing, you decide to actually tell her the truth when she asks you questions about the Hobosexual rather than sugar coating it. "He's filthy," quickly segues into, "He doesn't clean up after he manscapes," and before you know it, the conversation quickly dissolves into, "He doesn't use soap when he bathes." And with that your movers buzz your doorbell and you excuse yourself from the Hobosexual's new victim.

When the movers finally arrive in your Home Sweet Hovel, huffing and puffing from the six flights of stairs, they begin to freak out when they see the sorry ass state of your apartment. A vein in the Foreman's forehead actually begins to twitch as he looks around. However, the only thing the Ex-Con says to you, slowly and deliberately as if he's Dirty Harry, is "This was supposed to be a little move." And he says it in such a way that it seems like he might actually be considering murdering you just so he can go back to jail and not have to deal with carrying your shit down six flights of stairs. You quickly explain that, "Most of this crap is not mine," while glaring at the Hobosexual's New Victim who isn't paying any attention because she still seems to be stuck on her new living situation which is equally hopeless and soapless.

Since you and your Lovely Lady Mumps are extremely organized, your move actually goes rather quickly. And, since you're now officially homeless, once the Ex Cons finish loading their truck they just leave because, until your new place is ready for occupancy, all your shit will be kept in storage. Which means you actually have to pay for two moves plus one month of storage as you couch surf around Manhattan. Your first stop happens to be The Ex's apartment. Since he's in Los Angeles he has graciously offered up his apartment for you and your homeless tranny ass for the next three nights.

Between you, your roller bag, two back packs, a giant blue IKEA bag and a several bags full of groceries and frozen meat, your cheap ass decides that it's best to hail a cab. So you stand at the corner of Houston and Allen and you wait. And wait. And wait. During rush hour. With everything you own stuffed into Trader Joe's bags that are beginning to defrost and leak onto the busy summer sidewalk. You briefly consider hiking your baggy cargo shorts up and sticking your leg out into traffic with a sexy pose, but luckily a cab finally stops. After you load what's left of your life into the trunk, you explain to the cabbie (who not only doesn't speak a lick of English, but also is busy yapping away on a phone call which is obviously much more important than any of your directions) that you need to make two stops so you can first pick up The Ex's keys from a mutual friend's doorman.

Luckily everything works out and the keys are waiting for you so you hop back into the cab and head over to The Ex's brownstone apartment on a Sesame Street-esque, gorgeous tree-lined street in Chelsea. You swipe your credit card even though the Cabbie informs you that the machine is broken (funny how suddenly he speaks perfect English when his tip is involved), and you schlep your soggy groceries and various bags up the steps of the gorgeous brownstone. For a moment you feel like breaking into song and singing the theme to The Jeffersons', "Moving on Up!" until you attempt to put the key into the keyhole. Then suddenly it ain't nothin' but Good Times in the Projects, "Temporary lay offs! Good Times! Easy credit rip offs! Good Times!" That's when you look down at the keys and realize that they are for the old apartment that you and The Ex lived in together. The one he sold before he moved here. Two years ago. Anyway...

What Kind of Fag Are You?

2008-09-15T12:25:00.003-04:00

25% of You don't like to define yourselves by gay stereotypes.

22% of You are Twinks.

10% of You are Guppies.

8% of You are Club Kids.

7% of You are Jocks.

6% of You are Bear Cubs.

3% of You are Closeted.

2% of You are Bears.

2% of You are Gym Bunnies.

1% of You are Rice Queens.

1% of You are Fag Hags.

.5% of You are Radical Fairies.

.5% of You are Circuit Boys.

.5% of You are Sticky Rice.

.5% of You are Bi.

.5% of You are Ex-Gays.

Number of Fags, Fag Hags and Ex-Fags Who Voted: 105

Meanwhile, all you boys who chose "OTHER," please let us know what kind of fag you are in the form of a comment! We're all very curious!

Greetings From...

2008-09-10T22:13:00.001-04:00

...Shea Stadium! Although you hate football, you're having fun with the Lit Lot.

xoxo You!

You're Not One of Those Lip Syncing Fags...

2008-09-09T20:05:00.000-04:00

...no matter how inappropriate the song is, you're the type of boy who'll sing your little heart out in the shower as if you were trying out for American Idol. When you're done, you and your boombox prance across the living room wrapped up in a towel as your Hobosexual roommate looks up from his Sex and the City rerun to scowl at you. He is definitely Simon to your Kelly Clarkson. But you're not letting him bother you today. Hell, you're not even letting your Lovely Lady Mumps rain on your parade today. Especially since it's the Gay Pride and you're running late for the parade! The party you wind up at ends up being at a fabulous Fifth Avenue apartment, with a balcony! While catching up with a Medical Student friend of yours, you decide to ask him about the lumps in your neck that feel as if a mother Robin has laid a couple of eggs and decided to hatch them in your throat. He feels them and is visibly shocked. But not as shocked as you when the Mockter Doctor asks, "Have you had a lot of sexual partners lately?" You gulp as you say, "Not really," even though of course you have. Whore. The whole thing just freaks you into having another cocktail or three and you and your ice clink your way out to the sheltered balcony and watch it pour on the poor gays because of some freak thunderstorm.

After the Parade Party, you and the Boy Luck Club head over to the West Village for a Pre-Pier Party on Greenwich that one of your Kinsey 8 Fire Guyland roommates is throwing. This place is also gorgeous, and although his first floor loft has no balcony to the outside, his ceilings are so high that it actually has a balcony on the inside! Unlike the last few parties you've attended, everybody is super chatty and friendly and you wonder if perhaps that has something to do with the fact that you're at a daytime party? You follow Fat Albert's footsteps as he seems to be a magnet for the cute boys, and since he's already got a boyfriend, you don't mind chumming for his sloppy seconds. However there is nothing at all sloppy about the Emergency Room doctor that Fat Albert introduces you to. And unlike Fat Albert, you actually have an emergency! You apologize profusely in the same breath that you begin to describe the symptoms of your Lovely Lady Mumps. And then something wonderful happens. Your temperature rises as Dr. McSteamy reaches out to examine your neck. Softly. Thoroughly. Even though you're so swollen you can't help but swallow a bit of anxious excitement as Dr. McSteamy lifts your shirt to feel what appears to be your kidney as he asks you if it hurts. You reply with a simple, "No," as right now it is impossible to feel pain. Dr. McSteamy instantly informs you with authority that you have nothing to worry about. He's sure that your Lovely Lady Mumps are stress related due to your impending move. The two of you continue your chat and everything in the background seems to fade away. Without all the static it suddenly seems easy to spot the one simple truth that you've known all along: This is how it's supposed to feel when you meet someone special. Although you've been hung up on Blonde Beard for months now, he never made you feel this comfortable. Conversation was never this easy. Dr. McSteamy is exactly the type of guy you could fall for. That is, if you haven't fallen already. He's laughing at your jokes. But more importantly, you're laughing at his.

You begin to fantasize about how you'll finish each other's sentences whenever someone asks the two of you, "How did you guys meet?" You'll both say, "Gay Pride," in unison as you beam with pride and continue your Happily Ever After story with lots and lots of wonderful "We's." Things are about as splendid as they could possibly be when Dr. McSteamy starts chatting with Fat Albert about what a catch you are! So cute, so funny, etc. Yes, you actually hear him say this! And then it's suddenly like someone scratches a record player needle across your fantasy with one horrible screeching word that comes out of Dr. McSteamy's mouth: "We." And, unlike your daydreams, this "we" isn't referring to you. You immediately interrupt their conversation and say with extreme disappointment, "Who's 'we'?" That's exactly when you have your Alanis Morris Ironic moment as Dr. McSteamy introduces you to his beautiful wife. Or busted husband. Whatever.

The Busted Husband immediately takes his cue and swoops into the conversation. Your conversation. You want to say, "Shut up, I will wreck your happy home!" but instead you just smile as you swallow a bit of throw up as the Busted Husband tells you his nauseating "Love at first sight" story. Of course your mind wanders as you try to find the silver lining of this extremely disappointing experience. Ultimately, however, you realize that there are boys out there that you can have a magical moment with. And hopefully one of these days one of them will be single.

Between your Lovely Lady Mumps and your imaginary break up with Dr. McSteamy, the Pier Dance ends up being mildly annoying yet extremely sweaty. Surprisingly, you don't recognize anybody. And honey, you know a lot of New York boys. Hell, you've dated most of them. But the pier seems like it must be full of Circuit Queens who have flown in for the "Event," which everybody seems to think will be either Madonna or Jennifer Hudson. But as the evening wears on, the DJ seems to be having a Madonnathon with all the songs from her new album. And since Madge needs to promote it, and since she's living in New York since she filed for divorce, and since she has never ever done the pier dance before, it seems perfectly viable to you that tonight will be the night! So you squeeze past the Tweekers and push your way as close to the stage as you can physically muster! You are sooooooo excited, not to mention convinced that Madonna is about to pop onto the stage when the MC comes out to introduce this year's surprise guest! Your heart palpitates and your Lovely Lady Mumps throb to the drum-roll as he finally introduces..........Jennifer (I just swallowed the) Hudson. And if this isn't enough of a buzz-kill, the American Idol bitch actually has the gall to lip-sync. Needless to say, you are less than impressed. Anyway...

You're Not One of Those Fags Who's Into Water Sports...

2008-09-08T22:52:00.003-04:00

...but somehow during your quest for packing tape you wind up in the water sports section of K-mart. You immediately get sucked into all the fabulous kids toys which now seem so gay that you begin to wonder if they sell them at The Blue Store in Chelsea. Of course there's a trusty old Slip 'N Slide, but it's a very slippery slope after that. You're especially drawn to both the Disco and Rainbow Fountains. But think of the wonderful 8-some that you could have on Fire Guyland if you purchased the Octopus Fun Float for your pool? Anyway. Eventually some disgruntled employee directs you to the correct aisle where you finally find some packing tape and head over to Express check out which takes forever and seems to be making all local stops.

When you finally get back to your Home Sweet Hovel, you begin the daunting task of packing up your shit for your impending move. It's more than a bit distressing, however, because, although the movers are coming on Monday, not only is your new place not ready for you to move in, but nobody has any idea of when it will ever be ready. And the best part is that no one but you seems to care about your impending homelessness. Anyway. You choose an invigorating packing playlist on your iPhone and you sing along as you place everything you own into little Fresh Direct boxes that you've been hoarding like a hibernating Hampster ever since you decided to move. You are a packing fiend of the fudge packing variety (which means everything is packed extremely well).

Only, as you pack, you begin to wonder if you might be getting sick because your throat begins to feel swollen. Although it doesn't hurt, you can feel the glands around your neck as if you are not only a gay variety fruit, but a very ripe one at that. And when you go to the bathroom and get a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, you are absolutely shocked. Even through your newly grown beard, you kind of look like a no-neck Barney Rubble. When he had the mumps. Of course your first thought is that you're dying. Of course. You always seem to be dying on a summer Saturday when all doctors are busy spending their hard earned co-pays on the golf course. All your recent whoring around has finally caught up to you and you are seroconverting from the neck down. You and your Lovely Lady Mumps will surely die homeless on the streets of New York (or perhaps a friend's uncomfortable, yet stylish couch), and you'll never get to enjoy the truly finer things in life, like decorating your new apartment. Nor will you ever know what it feels like to rule Eighth Avenue with a six-pack of washboard abs that you've always planned to locate some day beneath all of that Gay Fat that you've always intended to lose.

You do as much packing as you can handle, given your latest, dire prognosis, even though you know that tomorrow will be a lost day since it is Gay Pride and you and your Lovely Lady Mumps intend to be very proud. So you hop in the shower, neck first as your lymph nodes seem to be making all your Gland Entrances today, and you get ready to meet the BLC for some Pretoxication before a Pre-Pride Party. And honey, if you can somehow bring yourself to swallow, you definitely need a drink.

The Ritz is buzzing with lots of healthy-necked people, and your worst fears are realized when Half-Share asks, "What's wrong with you? You look awful." You explain about your mysteriously swollen jugular and after everybody touches your Lovely Lady Mumps they all have different diagnoses. Especially Fat Albert who assures you tenderly, "Of course you aren't seroconverting. You simply have some kind of aggressive throat cancer..."

Eventually you wind up at a friend-of-a-friend's Pre-Pride Party and you are Absolut(ly) thrilled to be self-medicating with some delicious Mandarin-flavored eliquzor. In fact you're feeling no pain as you're heading back to the bar until you find yourself literally bumping into a boy you dated last summer, but broke up with before Labor Day: White Pants. Although you have no hard feelings (actually you have no feelings at all) this boy is always so irritating and dramatic when you have the misfortune of running into him. At this point you'd much rather run over him, but you give him a big, dimpled smile and say, "Hey, how are you?" But White Pants is a TV reporter and he just stares at you so melodramatically that you feel like it's 9/11 and that your symmetrical neck lumps are the Twin Towers. There's this loooooooong, ridiculous pause which is so pregnant that you suddenly feel like you're at a Straight Pride party, and that's when White Pants eventually says, "I'm goooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooood," with about seven different syllables and five different irritating nuances. Then White Pants doesn't say another word. You briefly consider giving him a big infectious kiss on the lips, but ultimately decide that after all his weirdness, you have nothing more to say. So you just roll your eyes and head over to the bar where you, surprise-surprise, find a bunch of your closest friends. You quickly pour yourself a potent drink as you say a quick little prayer, "Are you there, Vodka? It's me, You!" Luckily Judy Blitz hears your plea and the Cranberry Sea parts so White Pants can model his summer wardrobe far away from you.

Unfortunately this is yet another party where everybody is just way too cute to commit to anything more than a schmoozy, yet vapid conversation, so you end up yapping with your friends all night. The highlight is when one of Half-Share's Fire Island housemates starts to bombard you with compliments like, "I used to hate you because you didn't have to have a real job, but now I'm very impressed with your blog. You're actually a very good writer." Even though it's been swollen shut for hours, somehow your jaw slackens and you are at a loss for words as the backhanded compliments start to pour in. "I actually liked you when we first met even though my boyfriend didn't at all. He thought you were shallow." Although you know that Backhand means well, it's perhaps the first time in your life that you are completely at a loss for words, so you actually just seek comfort in your Gay Cocktail as Backhand continues his barrage of friendly fire.

Eventually, when you can't take being on the Frontline anymore, Rice Queen rallies the troops and the Boy Luck Club hops into a cab and head downtown to the Meatpacking District for some dirty, Daniel Nardicio D-List Pride Party. Although the previously gay neighborhood has been overrun by Bridge & Tunnel Breeders, you are escorted from the street directly into a time-travelling elevator which quickly whisks you back to Village as it was during the sexual revolution of the '70s. Avec Meat, sans underwear. It becomes quickly obvious that you and your Lovely Lady Humps are no longer in Kansas. You actually see things that you've never seen before; even some things that you never wished to see. There's more Grade A meat in this building than back when they used to pack it here. Half of it is hanging out. Some of it's being sampled. Most of it is constantly being inspected. But all of it is completely shocking. In a good way. It makes the Fire Guyland Underwear Party seem more like a cute little Panty Party starring Doris Day. This party, however, features an entire cast of Whorish Gays. And you, of course, begin to make a Fruit Loop under the guise of looking for the bathroom. Only you never find the bathroom. Instead you wind up in some line which you assume is for the bathroom, only when you finally get a turn it's actually a pitch dark Janitor's Closet with no light and no window. As you pee in the dark you really, really hope that you're peeing in the sink and not on some dirty boy who has been rumored to be hiding amongst all the janitorial filth. Anyway...

2nd Person: Tales from the Gay YOUniverse

You're Not One of Those Fags Who Disappears Without a Trace...

You're Not One of Those Fags Who's Good With Numbers...

What do you do when you get into an altercation and some random breeder calls you a faggot?

You're Not One of Those Romantic Fags...

Have you ever fallen in love with an online boy before meeting in person?

You're Not One of Those Dignified Fags...

You're Not One of Those Indecisive Fags...

What do you do when you get a Facebook Friend Request from, *gasp*, your Parents?

Greetings From...

You're Not One of Those Fags on the Rebound...

Greetings from...

You're Not One of Those Hypochondriac Fags...

You're Not One of Those Homeless Fags...

What Kind of Fag Are You?

Greetings From...

You're Not One of Those Lip Syncing Fags...

You're Not One of Those Fags Who's Into Water Sports...

What do you do when you get a Facebook Friend Request from, gasp, your Parents?