Currently I have no prospects of marriage, and it’s a good thing since gay marriage is legal in all of North America except for the the land of the privileged few and the home of of the hesitant heteros, the USA, where I live. You see, in the USA only straight couples receive 1,138 tax, family and other perks because they went to the court house and got hitched.  Also only in the USA do fundamentalists of every denomination and religion (Christian, Muslim and probably some Jews) join together to decide the fate of their gay and lesbian bretheren.  

Since I am gay and ultimately want the same things as straight people—a house, a spouse, an African baby whom I would name Merlot after my favorite drink, a career, final death rights for my spouse to honor—I get a little pissy when the best excuse that anyone can come up with to negate gay marriage is that “It’s wrong because the bible says so.” It is the lamest excuse in the book. Literally.

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In last night's episode of working at the restaurant I encountered a wild child.  I went to walk into the kitchen and I saw the kid blowing out candles in the wine cage right behind where my boss was sitting.  Before I knew what was happening I was standing beside this kid with my finger poised and mouth open to speak.  It's like my inner hillbilly guidance counselor jumped right out like a beacon of shining light into this child's unclear notions.  

Me:  Hey!  Don't you blow them candles out.  I'm gonna beat you child!

Without so much as batting an eye, this kid looked at me and said...

Him:  Do you like having a job?

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I've been called every name in the book at one time or another.  I can't say that it doesn't ever bother me because occasionally it does.  It especially pisses me off when an idiot of this caliber who self-purportedly likes his butt licked and who doesn't have the common decency to proof read his comments calls me a FAG.  Yes, it's true that he is serving in Afghanistan currently, but that doesn't give him a free pass in the hate department.  I wish him no harm while serving.  Instead I only wish him to know how much of a douchebag that he is. Check out the screen print from our facebook conversation below.

(PLEASE LIKE AND SHARE IF YOU THINK HE'S A DOUCHEBAG TOO!)

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Do you hate when someone asks you out and then they give you the run-around on a time and place?  Me too, and this crap happens way too often.  Seriously.  Here's the best advice that I have learned from hands-on experience.  DO NOT BE A DOORMAT! Take charge of the situation. (This is applicable for men, women, gays, straights, swingers, hookers etc.)  Read on.

Him/Her: So we should go out for coffee.

(You are agreeable.)

You: Yes, I'm cool with that.

(He requests availability.)

Him:  When is good for you?

(Give your availability, as requested.)

You: Well, as it so happens I’m available today.

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Working in the food industry, I get to see all kinds of relationships that people have with what they put in their mouths. One of the biggest disappointments to me is the shock and disgust that some people have when finding a bone or a piece of gristle in their meat. How dare something as menial as a piece of gristle be used as an excuse for anyone to throw food in the garbage.

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Bullies come in all shapes and sizes or, in this case, ages. A few years ago I had an experience with the older bully that lurks about the West Los Angeles YMCA locker room. On this particular day I did not go to the gym to exercise but instead slipped on some swimming trunks and headed towards the sauna to soothe my aching back.

“You can’t go in there.” Said a voice.

I looked to the direction of the voice and saw a man sitting on a bench naked. He was about 6’2”, white, with salt and pepper hair and beard, no smile, big belly overhang with skinny legs and no butt, and a little button ding-a-ling of a penis. I had seen this man before. He was always policing everyone about the rules and regulations of the locker room as if he were some naked Gestapo. But he was not a part of the Gestapo. Hell, he didn’t even work there! I lovingly refer to him as big, mean motherfucker.

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I live in one of the most beautiful places on the planet. Great weather. Decent people. Lots of interesting things. But fuck me to hell—I can’t escape the allergies!

I used to have allergies as a child: Runny, stuffy sinus, uncontrollably itchy eyes, itchy throat and coughing every Autumn like clockwork. I always said that there was a price to pay for having a full head of curly hair and being adorable. My price: allergies from the depths of hell’s anal glands.

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Hello Ladies!  Last time I told you about the secret revenges of marriage and the fact that I have a husband, Bob, who has to have the last word.  Now it seems that we are having yet another domestic conflict, which I’m sure that all of you will understand…

The other day Bob and I were having a light-hearted banter about the shared responsibility of the household duties. We bickered about laundry, dishes, vacuuming and even about changing the toilet paper roll. We go back and forth with jokes about nagging. Bob feels he is not compensated to do such menial household tasks.

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For the past 8 years I have consistently seen Arthure “Art” Moore on the Venice Boardwalk selling his paintings.  His materials have changed through the years from cardboard and spare boards to canvas ranging from 5x7 – 20x30, but his message and style have remained constant:  FUNKY.  

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So I was in this huge play with Academy Award Winner, Nicole Kidman.  She had never shown up for rehearsals and it was opening night.  I had my doubts that she was even going to show up at all.  Then I died.  So, since I was just a wondering spirit, I figured no one could see me.  If no one could see me then I couldn't be in the play.  In my despair I floated around the courtyard as a bodiless entity for a while. 

Finally I became so curious to see if Nicole Kidman was actually going to show up that I devised a plan to get back onto the inside of the theatre. (Dead people are curious too! It's Nicole Kidman for heaven's sake!)  I found a local crazy woman in a wheel chair struggling up the street outside.  I grabbed a hold of the chair and wheeled her inside the theatre.  For a ghost I was strong as an Ox.

Thinking that I was an invisible spirit I walked backstage to see if I could catch a glimpse of Nicole.  Instead I saw Sarah our stage manager.  She looked at me and said:  "Hey, why aren't you in costume?  Aren't you going on?" 

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When I heard that John Dies @ The End was being made into a movie I almost shit myself with joy!  I picked up the book a few weeks ago and poured through it in a matter of two days.  And last night with titillating enthusiam I went to the late 955pm showing at the Nuart Theater in West Los Angeles.  (Yeah, it's in select theaters only.)

The movie started out right on cue.  It was verbatim with the book right down to the last word.  And then something sad and not-so-shocking happened.  The movie completely veered off course.  Vital points were missed.  Characters were omitted.  Monsters were absent. 

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Since it was Sunday I went to church (aka the gym) earlier in the day. Haven't gone in a while and I've got the man titties to prove it. I walked into the Westside YMCA and a blond lady, Goldilocks, was standing behind the counter. Goldilocks is in her 40’s, fit, maternal and houses in her 5’4” frame a lot of sparkle and sass. She’s always at the front counter when I'm stoned, and I’m always afraid she’ll know I’m stoned. I tried to scoot by unnoticed but she looked up at me and started a conversation that would change my life.

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So here is a late night rant because I can’t sleep.

Parenting is like Indian-Giving.

As a parent I get my child gifts. This makes my daughter happy. What she doesn't know is that the gift comes with secret stipulations. She gets to keep it as long as she is a good girl. If she is naughty, I take it away. Some will say that is discipline.....let's just call it what it is, Indian-giving!

Marriage is about secret revenge.

It most definatly is and if you deny you have never done anything to your spouse behind their back.....well, you’re a liar. My husband is one of those people that has to have the last word. It makes me so mad that he will continue on and on till he wears me down. WELL this is when I get my revenge!!!! If he can’t let something go then neither can I.

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New Year's celebrations are always notorious in my life.  On New Year's of 2012 I was kicked out of a club for fighting a guy who attacked me.  On New Years of 2011 I cleared the dance floor because I threw up in the middle of it.  (I'm still sorry about that Upasana.)  And 2010, well that New Year's celebration was just too crazy to even write about.  So it will come as no surprise that this year I had my hestitations about going out. 

The lack of motivation didn't help the situation either.  My friends Upasana and James were having a romantic time on Catalina Island.  Jennifer was sick.  Jeanne was on the east coast.  And Felipe and Oren (living testaments of the 2010 New Year) were God knows where.  So at the last moment I decided to have a drink by myself and watch the new year come in at a random bar in Hollywood. 

The t.v. was blaring some kind of special that showed the cities of the world ringing in the New Year. It was not quite midnight on the west coast yet, and I was having a wonderful time sipping over-priced Pinot Noir and contemplating all the wonderful and horrible highlights of 2012 until some man, who was sitting beside me, started chatting about the appeal of Asia.  I kept trying to ignore him then, completely out of the blue, he said:

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