New Years Eve

Happy New Years Eve! I just wanted to take some time on this last day of 2013:

Thank you for making this year a good blogging year. Without getting all sappy, thank you. I'd totally give you one of those bro hugs right now.

I hope 2014 is great to you, if not let me know and I'll kick its ass just for you. But, I'm sure it will be great. I soon will be heading out to the New Years Eve celebration with complete optimism.
Enjoy 2014; I’m sure it will be kind to you.

Andrew and His Banner Adds

So, ugg. No Uggs for Christmas. Which solidifies the thought that certain people in my household (along with English speaking humanity) never read my blog.  My witty hints had gone unnoticed. I cannot complain; however, because Santa in all his velvet covered silver bear sexiness did stop at the Apple store and pick me up an iPad. It wont help my collegiate backpack shrouded style as I walk down the pavement on my way to coffee, but once I’m in the gay coffee shop I can read to my hearts content on my sexy and glossy Apple product. 

I have quickly encountered a problem on my new e-reader.  I have some-sort of computer virus that quickly spread to my computer as well. A complex problem that only affects gay users of the Internet. Andrew Christian adds. Upon my first visit the Official Andrew Christian Men’s underwear website these banner adds have now found there way to every site I visit. Just one on-line shopping trip, and now he thinks we’re dating. Stocking me in some creepy banner advertisement kind of way. This morning I was on a website that had four places for adds. All four were filled with eight-packed sporting quasi-ethnic hip-hugger wearing panty clad hotties. 

If you were around in the ‘ol start up days of America On Line (AOL) there was a time they attempted to cram their “start up discs” in to every crevice in the universe. Opening your mail box weekly meant ten of the CDs would fall out onto your feet. If your excavate any landfill in America, there will be a solid layer of blue and yellow AOL mailers in the late 90’s and early 00’s. For the gays, Andrew Christian underwear adds are the new AOL propaganda.  One late night visit just to “shop for underwear” and you’re assaulted via banner adds for the remains of your days with incredibly and impossibly hot, sexy and smoldering, beautiful males. Banner adds that force you to click on them and to spent hours examining the curve of these sexy lads amazing abs. Leering at their abdominal region, and those perfectly plump rectus abdomen muscles and the external obliques that form a line at the edge of massive abdominal muscles that point straight to their lower pelvis.... uh... where was I?

Yeah. I got an iPad for Christmas. And I use it to shop for underwear. 

Crunch-a-tize Me

As I sat down to enjoy my Sunday morning bowl of serial, I started to wonder if the Cap'n real name is spelled with an apostrophe. If on his drivers license it reads "Cap'n or Captain."  Turns out, his full name is Horatio Magellan Crunch.

Either way he spells it, my research discovered that The Wall Street journal reported that the number of stripes on his uniform indicate a rank of Commander and not Cap'n. They reported that the U.S. Navy had no record of Crunch and that NCIS was investigating him for impersonating a naval officer.

The old queen. 

The Omitted Octopus

It’s always fun to come home and find new presents under the Christmas tree. We have a tradition of just slipping newly wrapped presents under the tree, without saying anything to the interested party. As this year I drug out the old Chromium 1950’s tree, new presents springing up like weeds under the tree have  an aluminum sparkle upon them. 

Then, I came home to find this….

Yes. It’s a box labeled “Octopus” What does that mean?? My mind whirled. Is there a real octopus in that box. Am I getting a pet octopus? Maybe more than one. That would be cool if I did, get more than one, because then I could finally use my knowledge that there are three correct plural forms of octopus: octopuses, octopi, and octopodes. I could meet people and say, “Hey, wanna come back to my house? I could show you my octopuses, octopi, or octopodes depending on if you’re English, Greek, or Latin....” Scratch that. I should never say that. To anyone. Ever. 

I stared at the box for a while, dreaming of my pet octopi. I’d be a hit at the gay park, as I would train it to catch frisbees. My dreaming of long walks with Octavious; however, were dashed when the box was gone the next day. Apparently it was a punch bowl for a very strange friend. 

I’m left with a wanting of Octavious. My pet octopus. 

The Lineage

Sometimes I’m asked how I got my independent streak. The ability to be an individual and, a little far out into wacky land. To face into the wind. Beat my own drum. Then, I open up Facebook and see pictures like this one....

Yeah, you can guess which person is my sister. This example photo was taken during her works Ugly Sweater Contest. I always answer that it’s a family trait. 

Our strong individualistic characters are due to the fact that we have a strong English family line heading back to 1622 in Somerset, England. Our ancestors were a strong family that united to stand their ground and defied the local government.  Even when the neighboring government was not really asking them anything. 

This is why our families coat of arms has the Latin saying, “factum est, usque non est super” It is not done until it is over done.

Stevie B. NEEDS Muggs

It appears to be nine days away from Christmas. This means that I’m successfully well into my plans of getting Man-Uggs, or Muggs as my present from Santa. 

As you may be aware, last year I launched Operation Muggs. Unsuccessfully. The operation failed, yet I did receive some amazing gifts. 

This year it’s war. 

See! Tom Brady wears Muggs. 

I have recruited an army of minions to begin a texting campaign. Texting things like, “yeah-know, I over heard Stevie talking about wanting new boots... something like Muggs.” Or random photos of Uggs being texted from random strangers. It’s my plan to layer the knowledge. I guess whispering late at night in the dark will help too.  “mmmmmmmmmmaaaaaannnnnn Uuuuuuuuuuuuuugggggggggggggggggggsss, Steeeeeeeeeveeeeee waaaaantssssss Booooooooooottttts!!!!!!!

And, Yes. I am comfortable enough in my masculinity to wear Uggs. Although, a friend pointed out that “all the other girls wear them with skinny jeans.” 

Hotel Room Portraits

As I over-researched the perfect place on vacation in February, I stumbled upon an amazing photographer's collection. I have a thing for photography sites. Years of staying in hotels around the world this gay couple has documented their lives. This series has blown me away. Please check out Richard Renaldi's  Hotel Room Portraits.

Hotel Room Portraits

Learn more about Richard Renaldi




*Photo used without authorization or approval. Claim no rights. 

Stevie's Choice

I am glad to say that I have survived this semester of school. Now it’s time to relax and play, “school boy on winter break.” I’m very excited. 

As I’m on winter break, I have time to finally complete some over-due chores. This morning re-ignited a debate in the house. Where to stay the three days before the cruise in February. Or, what gay B&B shall we flop at for three days over Valentine’s Day. As you no-doubtfully are aware, I’m a gay ghetto gay. Meaning, if given the choice in life, I would love to live in the center of a gay neighborhood. Hence the choosing of vacationing a couple of days early in Fort Lauderdale verses Miami before our cruise on the 15th. To enjoy Fort Lauderdale’s gay village. 

The Cabanas

Leather Inn

 Two Guest houses top the list, one The Cabanas Guesthouse and Spa lives up to its name and has a gay men’s spa. Complete with hot stone massage. The clothing optional pool is also a nice, and necessary benefit. The other B&B has a clothing optional pool as well. It’s a... leather themed guest house called the Inn Leather. Seriously. The glossy brochure highlights a real leather sling in every room. Patrick suggested I inquire if they are Corinthian leather. “Our slings are covered in a fine Corinthian leather.”  Well, it will be over Valentine’s Day... Nothing says “I love you’ like an in-room sling. Whilst the Spa is nifty, the Corinthian (as we’ll now call it) also has free WiFi, and a better spread for breakfast... for me.

With either choice there is only 9 weeks until I get to recline next to a pool. All naked. 

Sexy Men and Their Cat Twins

Click here: 

See These Sexy Men and Their Cat Twins in Hilariously Hot Photo Series

The Annual Christmas Rant

Ahh, December 7th. It’s time to gather around and listen to Uncle Steve’s annual Christmas rant…..

WHAT THE F*#K DO PENGUINS HAVE TO DO WITH CHRISTMAS!?!?

Have you seen the inflatable, glowing Christmas crap that everyone displays on their front lawns? Big billowing snowmen, elves, and insidiously happy penguins. Seriously, What the heck to penguins have to do with Christmas?

At night it’s quite a cute little scene. A winter wonderland all blown up and bopping around to the forced air whooshing up their butts. During the day it’s another story, driving through any upscale neighborhood it's a reenactment of Jim Jones goes to Christmas town. Dead, flat elves and snow people scatter the lawns like a mass suicide cult hit the North Pole. A massacre of merriment. One half-inflated penguin dragging its self off the lawn coughing out,  I only live in Antarctica and parts of South America why am I even here?

Aaaaaaaaaghh!”

Burn Out

Next Monday is my last day of class for the fall semester.  One more paper is due, then I'm done until late January.  There's only one problem. I can't finish my last paper. I just can't do it. 

My sociology class had a three page paper due every-other week all semester long. On the down week, one page "reading notes" were due. That means every week sine September I've done nothing with my free time but write about how horrible white men have screwed up this country. 

I AM. SPENT.  

The last paper is a five pager on basically the same topic. "Why I hate white heterosexuals." Okay, not really, but close. I have three pages done. The same three pages I've been staring at for awhile. Tonight I headed to Starbucks to finish. Done, complete! That way I'll have the weekend to relax. I successfully completed one paragraph. One.  The burnout is epic.  

I spent an hour shopping online for a used Jeep Cherokee Overland edition, chatted with Patrick, and continued to search for a gay B&B in Miami. None of which helped me finish my paper.  The one that's due on Monday. The one I'll be working on over the weekend instead of relaxing. 

Nothing But Net

If you follow my non sequiturs elsewhere on the web, you would have noticed that I have started going to the gym after midnight. This is for several reasons: I’m up anyway, the gym is empty and I don’t have to wait of equipment, but mostly it is due to my worsening Agoraphobia, or Anthropophobia. It is easier to have the entire gym to myself in the middle of the night. 

A couple of weeks back I stepped into the empty basketball court, just to get a drink of water. As I paused to wipe my chin I noticed the basketball court was completely flooded with light. A sense of emptiness was overwhelming as it usually was filled to capacity with guys at various stages of shooting hoops. That night it was deserted. The smell of the hardwood, along with the strange buzz left-over from high school gym class hung in the air.  I get a strange feeling on basketball courts. A feeling of wanting to be in control, wanting the mastery of the wood and colorful lines, the enjoyment and comradeship of competition. Yet, as I stood next to the water fountain, the feeling of eighth grade gym class washed over me. The same feeling I would get from sitting in the CEO chair in a board room, hosting a dinner party, or being in front of a naked woman. A feeling of not understanding what should happen. A feeling that everyone around me knows the natural chain of events (enjoys them in fact) but hasn’t let me into the circle. 

As I turned to leave the uncomfortable environment, I noticed a basket ball over in the corner.... Without thinking I went over and picked it up. I attempted to dribble. I wasn’t that bad. Until I hit my shoe. I walked out in front of the basket. All the technique I had ever learned was from Mr. Johnson’s gym class during the First Bush administration. 

Aimed the ball. Flipped the wrist. Shot. Missed. 
Aimed the ball. Flipped the wrist. Shot. Not even close. 
Aimed the ball. Flipped the wrist. Shot. Missed. 
Aimed the ball. Flipped the wrist. Shot. Hit the rim.

I left the court, and turned in the ball to the front desk as if I had a great game with my boys. The next night I found myself back on the wood. 

Aimed the ball. Flipped the wrist. Shot. Not even close.
Aimed the ball. Flipped the wrist. Shot. Hit the rim.

I had watched a dozen YouTube videos. I took notes on finding my aim...

Aimed the ball. Flipped the wrist. Shot. Hit the rim.
Aimed the ball. Flipped the wrist. Shot. Nothing but net.

I squealed. As I heard the squee bounce off the gym walls the glass court door opened and in walked a couple of guys talking to me in Greek about a “pick up” game. I pretended I was a deaf-mute and ran out of the court like a chunky eight year old girl running home, after the mean girls would not let her play Barbies. I left the ball on the wood.

The next night. I stood with fortitude. I announced to the empty gym, “This is Sparta!” 

Aimed the ball. Flipped the wrist. Shot. Nothing but net.
Aimed the ball. Flipped the wrist. Shot. Nothing but net.
Aimed the ball. Flipped the wrist. Shot. Nothing but net.

Six Years of Stevie B.

Today marks the sixth anniversary for the Nice To See Stevie B. blog.  Six years of teenage girl angst. 

Way back in 2007 Apple Introduced the iPhone, The Final Harry Potter book is published, the movie 300: A Love Story was a hit at the box office, and An Inconvenient Truth won an Oscar for best documentary. On November 11th I posted my very first blog entry. 

My pre-iPhone, 2007 selfie

It is ironic that I started to blog because I so loved, and fatefully followed gay bloggers that are now long gone. Disappeared into the ether of gay bloggerness. So let us mark today as six years of pathologically narcissistic Stevie B rambling on about the common Homo in its natural environment. 

I do have to mark the occasion by saying that these years have been truly amazing. The blog has facilitated in me meet amazing fellow bloggers, to bond and make great friends, and help in me expressing my pent-up energy of warped imagination. 

In honor of that first blog entry I thought I repost it in all its teenage girl diary angst. God, I’m a drama queen.

November11th, 2007 

Road Trip

So, I'm leaving on a road trip tomorrow to take my partner of four years to New York. He's moving to Brooklyn. This is something that he's always wanted; all his friends have ended up in the city. I'm trying to be supportive, trying to keep his spirits up and keep him focused on what a great thing this will be. Yet, he is leaving his job, selling his car and moving to a strange city. He'll finally get to live in the city with all of his friends and close to all the theater and museums that he loves. 

It just hit me about an hour ago that my lover/partner and friend is leaving. He had been my very closest friend through the years since we met in Dallas, and I always knew that he wanted to live in a bigger city, Dallas was too small and Denver was really too small. I know that living in NY will be the very best thing that could possibly happen to him. So when you know that a friend wants something badly you just help out however you can. I don't need this to be a downer but suddenly I'm really pissed and sad. When you sleep next to someone for all these years then suddenly they’re gone. It hurts my head. 

We're driving his moving van through to Brooklyn, NY and I've mapped out all the fast food places I want to stop and eat. Runza, Steak and Shake, and the best; White Castle. Although I'm pissed that there is not a single Jack n the Box on the way but, I do love me some White Castle. Leave it to me to be dumped by a guy, help him move across the country to get away from me, then be excited about fast food joints along the way. 

The Dome

No. Not the television show.  In real life they are building the worlds largest dome....

Extra nerd points if you know why.

*photo credit and answer here.

Mid-night at the Gym

Sometimes people ask me, when finding out that I prefer to workout in the middle of the night, why I do it. Act like a nocturnal gym rat. A plate-pusher of the night. 

Well, to night was a perfect example. The decline bench, when used correctly, has one lying on one's back with the head steeply angled lower than the legs. I use this bench to do crunches. Sit-ups, but with my feet hooked onto a bar high above my head. My goal is to do so many crunches that I am to physically to tired to get off the bench without effort.  

Tonight I achieved my goal. Releasing my feet I rolled onto the floor. Not realizing (at first) that my gym shorts had caught on the bench. As I stood up I was sans pantalones. My iPod dangled from my ear buds. Mr. Floppy just dangled. No underwear, no gym shorts. Just nakedness from my sweaty tee-shirt down.

As I started to untangle my shorts from my gym shoes, I looked around. Know one was around to see my... Furry butted faux pas. 

And that, folks is why I workout in the middle of the night. 

5 Foods That Still Have Trans Fats -- But Won't For Long

http://huff.to/1bdMD1y

Although The U.S. Food and Drug Administration plans to officially ban trans fats, they're still out there. Another reason not to eat French fries. 

Google Auto Complete

Found this on Tumblr...

 Found on My Not So Serious Life...

YOLO

I spent my day yesterday doing homework at the local gay coffee shop. After the coffee had gone through me, I headed to the bathroom. Upon my entrance to the Men’s room I immediately noticed the newest addition to the men’s room decor. Someone had taken time and effort to scratch YOLO into the stainless steel towel holder. 

So, you believe in the mantra of “You Only Live Once.” The concept that we have a choice of living life to its absolute fullest, seize the day, and do what makes you happy. Maybe you are picking up Henry Fonda’s vibe from the1937 crime drama that shares the same name, You Only Live Once. Henry Fonda busts out of jail in this classic after gunning down a prison chaplain. All for the love of Sylvia Sidney. Maybe this film noir, along with the hipster, Jersey Shore urban, modern take of controlling your own destiny drove you to use, no doubt, your laundry room key to scrape this well versed acronym into a gay coffee shop’s towel dispenser?

May I offer a bit of advice? There are a million stellar sights and experiences to behold in this amazing world. Biking trails in the Rocky Mountains, so amazingly beautiful they bring tears to one’s eyes. Discovering and unavailing unconditional love from another person. The pride and inner-strength of standing up for your integrity and morals in this corrupt society. I can not begin to see the edge of possibility in life. No one can. That is why it is so amazing. And some modern philosophers believe you only have one chance at it.  

No one has ever, nor shall anyone be able, to unravel the mysteries of life. So, yes you only live once, or YOLO. As individuals begin to explore the advancements and developments in their place in this finite life, great adventures take place. Go! Take it, Seize it!  You do only live once. And, in my opinion, that life should not be about defacing a f%$#king Dazbog paper towel dispenser. Ya’ nit-wit. 

Terminal Term paper

So the term paper craziness has started again.

Last night, instead of joining my circle of friends for our weekly Friday night dinner out at a new restaurant, I ate Chinese take-out like Cliff Barns. I sat in bed with the dog and the MacBook, attempting to write a summary for "White Male Privilege" and their admirers. 

I'm finding that my seething hatred for old white straight men is clouding my writing ability. If I read one more fact about this demographic not aware they have a advantage, one more account of a Caucasian male not understanding why minorities are "all angry" about equality, I'm going to lose it. 

I really need to unplug for this one. This is why I hate Sociology, give me a ten page paper on Ancient Greek funeral rites and I'm good. Make me think about how the modern world sucks, and I'll want to jab a hot Chinese potsticker in my eye. 

Panda Face

How To Tell Someone They Sound Racist

Alice isn't a Cougar

When you're in a relationship long enough, you find yourself in the strangest arguments. Coming home from a Pyrex themed pot-luck, the other half and I began to disagree on a matter of the utmost importance. 

What car did Alice drive in the opening credits of the television show Alice? I stood my ground in my belief that Alice drove a Mercury Cougar wagon. My childhood memory was clear and unwavering.  Turns out, I was wrong. If I was wrong about this... what else have I been wrong about? My whole life is a lie. 

Turns out it was a Ford County Squire. Damn it. 

No Selfie Control

I’ll admit it. I have no selfie control. This year the term selfie was added to the Oxford Dictionaries* online site where it is defined as "a photograph that one has taken of oneself, typically one taken with a smartphone or webcam and uploaded to a social media website."* Something that gay men, and fifteen year old girls, have been doing since cameras were invented. 

If there is an empty room, with a mirror of relative cleanliness, I’m gonna start pumping my biceps to snap a picture. Patrick, of http://pacspad.blogspot.com fame and I have a text history that is a jumble of self-archetyped, self clicked modern kodachromes. followed, typically by “yeah, wear that shirt...” 

Typical "I just ate nachos,
look at my belly"
gas station selfie.

Yet even with my endless bathroom self-aggrandizing turned vaingloriousness, I have one rule... check out what is around me in the room. One slip-up and a snapshot in someones bathroom will lead to years of the image having a huge red circle pointing out the rubber fist that blended so well with the decorative soaps above the commode. 

That is why I was puzzled by a post on OMG Blog. Former One Life to Live actor, and openly gay, Scott Evans has the same fondness for selfies.  The photos do reveal all, so don't follow the link if you are at work. OMG Blog.  Yes, he’s hot, but my first impressions was on how filthy his bathroom was. He couldn’t kick the gym shorts behind the door? really?

I always take windex to the shiny surfaces before I snap. 

The Histories... of Dynasty

The Histories has probably never been compared to the TV Series, Dynasty. Until now.  Herodotus was the Aaron Spelling of classical Greece. He, Herodotus, wrote the now considered founding work of history in Western literature.  This page turner recorded the ancient tradition, politics, geography, and wars happening around the Mediterranean around the 450s BCE. Just as Dynasty recorded the 1980’s America for generations to come. To put it simply, Herodotus invented history. Well, the recording of it. 

Based in Denver, Colorado Dynasty painted a realistic picture of how Denverites lived and played. Herodotus traveled around the known ancient world, and collected stories from these travels. He portrayed the conflict between the Persians, and the confederacy of Greek city-states. This text is this the only account on how Egyptians lived. 

Why, you ask am I comparing the Father of History to Dynasty?

Well, Herodotus wrote dramatic accounts of pitched battles, about Xerxes, the Persian “King of Kings", once absolute ruler of the greatest empire on Earth.  See? Just like the powerful oil tycoon Blake Carrington. 

I have decided to read Herodotus’ The Histories, all 700 million pages of it. I’m attempting to make it “fun” by comparing it to the Carrington’s epic battle against government oil regulation and other independent oil companies.  Yes, there is a nerd crush I have on Tom Holland, the new translator of Herodotus’s accounts of Greek and Persian battles. That’s just a small adorable part of it. 

I will keep you informed to my progress as I dive into this endeavor. We will learn together about the cradle of western culture. And the Carringtons. 

Plumbing

“It is time to buy a new house.” Was declared to me several weeks back. Apparently the sink in the master bath had finally clogged from the beard trimming and "Just For Menning.  This was followed by weeks of playing the “who’s going to fix it” game. That tedious dance where one of us needed to take the initiative and fix the sink. Also several weeks of using the hall bathroom to brush teeth. I found it easy to begin my teeth cleaning process by loading my toothbrush, then making a dash for the hall bathroom to complete my chore. That, or brush my teeth in the shower. Which reminds me....

Do you find it weird to brush your teeth in the shower? I only ask because upon mentioning my sink repair procrastination and shower brushing to a fellow blogger, they felt it was equal to licking cats. 

How Clean is Your Lube?

Today was the day. The sink would yield to my manly, magnificent power. I had to start by digging out all the items that found their home under the bath cabinet. I made a note, when we do buy a house, only pedestal sinks. As I discovered a third container of J-Lube from antiquity, I thought of a new British television show. “What’s all this, then...” Two nicely dressed grandmotherly Brits will come to your house and sort out all your lubes and... bedroom aids. They will be overly sweet as they reorganize your porn DVDs and recycling some, inventory all your lubes and check for quality and safety, and ensure all your “devices” are sanitary. 

In ten minutes the sink clog was cleared. I then spent an hour organizing the endless amount of supplies I have collected over the years. Guess I used elbow grease to finally find my tub of Elbow Grease. 

Barilla is Al Donte

It's funny, the whole Barilla pasta CEO stating the he believes in "traditional families" and that homosexuals should eat another brand. It's not the ignorance of a corporation shoving customers away, it's the barking conservatives stating that the  GLBT "activists" are attempting to hijack Barilla for the furthering of some sort of minority cause. 

I choose where I spend my money. I do my research on corporations, and decide what brands I will support. I'm not alone. Most people I know, make informed choices. The  credit card I've chosen gives money to the HRC, the place I buy my groceries extends domestic partner benefits.  It is very easy to find out if the company you're giving money too is onboard and in line with your morals and standards.

Shark Boy http://sharkboy.ca 
fingers pasta

Barilla just did our work for us. The CEO invited anyone who believes in equality to give money to another brand. So, I find it hysterical that conservatives are trying their best to turn hate and prejudice around and blame the supporters of equality. As if standing up and declaring that we say "no" to hate is an agenda. We are simply taking Barilla pasta empires CEO, Guido Barilla's invitation. I will buy another brand of pasta.  

Do You Feel Old?

14 Music Facts That Will Make You Feel Old

Coffee Talk

As I finish my homework at the dinning room table today, I am experiencing two separate things. The strange sensation that only comes from seven shots of anesthesia on the right side of my face, and the complete excitement that only comes from waiting for a UPS delivery. 

This morning I had a periodontal therapy known as root planing. This is a process of removing etiologic agents, dental plaque, via the use of a massive, rusty, dagger-sharp hook known as a scaler. The pointy dagger is jammed into your gumline until the Dentist hears the ping of metal hitting the jaw bone, then it is dragged it up the tooth to collect barnacles. The oral biofouling is slowly chipped away. To deaden the urge to scream, the Dentist shoots your mouth full of anesthesia using a long needle. My face is now sliding down into a Droopy the Dog pose.

 That is not why I’m excited today. 

I finally got around to buying the one cup phenomenon known as the Keurig coffee maker.  I have been checking these coffee makers out for quite a while now. The way they brew coffee, one cup at a time, being able to switch  to different styles of coffee, and darkness of roasts seemed to match me. It’s just like my past dating life. The only thing that stopped me was the tiny cups it brewed. I’m sorry, I’m a

growing boy, I need more than 8oz. of coffee in the morning. Well..... I guess the Massachusetts boys over at Keurig finally got the idea, or maybe the name “Keurig” meaning excellence in Dutch prompted them, either way, they made a maker that brews more, hotter, and stronger. 

So, here I sit. Waiting for the UPS delivery driver to ring the bell and hand me my new happiness machine. He shall be greeted by a drooling, under-caffeinated idiot.  

Booked

I did it. I finally did it. 

I guess I wouldn't make a very good world traveller. Me, jet-setting off to all the global gay hot spots. Like haut and cold running circuit parties. Other than not being twenty five and having a cocaine habit, I am the worst procrastinator when it comes to booking air travel. I like to finalize a vacation, hop on-line to check out the travel sites, then wait a month, or two until the prices go up sixty to seventy bucks.* Why pay the cheapest fair when I can wait and pay more money? 

I finally did it. I booked my ticket to fly to Florida for the Big Gay Cruise in February. It’s a nice feeling to have it done, and that I didn’t pay too little for it. 

Since we’re flying out several days early, now I have to find a fun Bed & Breakfast in Miami or Fort Lauderdale. One that has a pool and is clothing optional. Please write in if you have any suggestions. I’ll wait until January to book the room. I have plenty of time. 

If you would like to join Patrick, me, and 4,000 of our closest friends on the boat, check out RSVP's site. Here. 

*Yes, I am aware of the “return site visitor price hike” I do clear my cookies. 

Death By Tupperware's 9x13 Cake Taker

“We have have rats in the cellar.” I announced.
“Uh... we don’t have a basement” was the response I received, as the other half calmly explained the construction of the house, not looking up to see my best Betty Davis face. 
“Okay, we have mice in the kitchen.... and I want acknowledgment for my campness..."

That was over two months ago. After a long contract with an exterminator, and me bleaching every surface time and time again, we still have rats in the cellar. Well, they’re actually cute tiny mices. They only come around when I’m doing homework at the dinning room table. After an hour of sitting quietly, they start to scamper around the kitchen. They don’t really DO anything, just scamper and leave droppings for me to bleach. Leave it to me to have the most boring mice, yet I’m not sure what mice are legally obligated to do. Their job pretty much is to just scamper around in your peripheral vision. Like twinks at a dance bar. 

This morning I sat down to write a paper for Sociology class when I distinctly saw a bit of brown fluff fly into the pantry. “Ah-Ha, you think you can out smart me!?” I said in my best Inspector Jacques Clouseau voice. As I opened the pantry door, there was my little friend, trying his best to look like a piece of fluff. Like twinks at a dance bar. I reached for the first thing I thought of when one wants to catch a mouse. My Tupperware 9x13 cake taker. In yellow. I slowly undid the cover and held the lid of my fabulous Tupperware product as I peered into the darkness that is the lower shelves of my pantry. A loud shake to the turkey roaster and the game was afoot. The tiny mouse ran out of the pantry and I slammed down the lid of of the cake taker. The furry beasty was trapped under the translucent lid. Trapped as my prisoner. 

“What the hell do I do now?” I asked the dog, who had just peeked his head around the corner to see what the hell what the noise was all about. The dog looked at me, then the cute fur ball in my Tupperware prison. “Beats me, they scare the hell out of me” was the look I got from the fierce Chinese fighting dog. Do I just kill it? In my Tupperware?  Well, they are air tight... No. By the time I concocted a plan I glanced down to find my plastic prison was empty. 

“Run little guy--run free, but tell your friends of what you saw here today. Tell them the story of your capture. Your torment. This kitchen is defended!”

The exterminators are scheduled for Friday. 

Not-So Muscle Bear

There is something horrible wrong with Google. For some idiotic reason, when you Google "Gay Muscle Bear" you get the following results....

A nice sampling of smoking hot muscle. Until you get to a photo of some idiot holding a toilet seat cover up to his head. What the hell is that doing on a page of muscled up fur beasts?? I believed it was some how linked to my 2009 post, read here. Most likely is comes from that smokin' hot Aussie, Kez's blog. 

Either way, it's an embarrassment to all gay muscle bears. And I apologize. 

Labor Day

The Labor Day weekend was just the kick off to my "Late Summer Staycation." For me this is a quiet time to enjoy the ending of the crazy summer and welcome the fall season. This breather seemed to be the only time I could crank up the tunes and strip down to running shorts to give a well-deserved hand wax to the car in the local gay park. Truly a great way to meet people.

Labor Day found me relaxing with friends having a barbecue; it was just a  cat dangling afternoon....

After the symbolism of Labor Day betokening the end of summer, my mind too thought of fall. Well, new athletic shoes for fall. Mostly because everything makes be think of new athletic shoes. This prompted me to finally organize my obsession. So I went to the Homo Depot and bought a cart of this...

I then, turned it into this..

It's been a pretty great week off. As my home projects are done; today I'm off to the mall. The reorganizing of my running shoes gave me room to buy a couple more pair.

Nuts for Nuts

When I like something, I sometimes go over-board. Lately it has been sweet and salty nut bars. Can't frickin' get enough. 

Hiking With Lincoln

I have the next six days off. I'm thinking it's time for an old fashioned American Labor Day road trip. Nothing to far away, as I also have grown up responsibilities to finally tackle. Like, having the Homo Depot come to the house for a estimate on new carpet, and re-doing my sadly overwhelmed shoe shelves on my side of the closet. In between all items on the "honey do" turned "do it or die"  list, I'll still have time to strap the ol' bike to the car and head up into the mountains. 

The one hike I did years ago, and  have been wanting to go back every year is up to Marble, Colorado.  A picture-perfect historic mining town with a massive marble quarry burrowed deep into the Rocky Mountains. The marble of the quarry is considered to be of exceptional quality and has been used for the Tomb of the Unknowns, as well as for parts of the Lincoln Memorial. As you hike to the mouth of the quarry you begin to notice that you are hiking past replacement parts for the Lincoln Memorial. Huge slabs of stone carved into the columns surrounding Lincoln.  It's mind blowing if you can catch your breath and think about it. 

What a perfect way to avoid adult responsibilities. I think I'll stop blogging now and go for a hike.

    

Denver Modernism Show

This last weekend I was on assignment for the Mile High Gay Guy blog. It was an easy mission, explore the Denver Modernism ShowThis last weekend I was on assignment for the Mile High Gay Guy blog. It was an easy mission, explore the Denver Modernism Show held every August at the odoriferous National Western Stock Show and fairgrounds, and file a report. My attendance was really a given because my homo-sex-companion-partner had entered his classic car into the “Motorama Car Show, and I personally look forward to this annual "mid-century" trade show. 

This year again did not disappoint. Booths filled with mod kitchen appliances, vintage clothes, and 50's inspired hip artists filled the convention center. Our large group quickly splintered as dresses were tried on, mixing bowls tracked down, and me... well... I went straight for the food booths. 

After sixteen bucks of pizza, I began my mission. Find something, totally cool to blog about, and the mid-century hipsters didn't disappoint. I stumbled upon classic radios modified to play your iPod. 

Any one of these radios would be a great addition to any retro loving nerds Christmas list.  These amazingly works of kinetic art were a show stopper for me. The link to buy one of these from PALETTE Contemporary Art & Craft is below. Please Check out their complete listing of modified radios. 

Oh, and our car didn’t win a prize in the car show. Even after Mondo Guerra rubbed his boney ass against the paint job. There is always next year.  

PALETTE Contemporary