Tuesday, February 21, 2006

Everybody Get Dirrrty

Wow - some of you actually want to know what happened next. Well...

A couple days after the wild night of go-go dancing, I got a phone call from Cowboy Todd. The message went something like this: "Hey sexy lady, sexy Mo... It's Todd, the cowboy you met at Rimjob the other night. I was just on my way to the gym to work on my thighs, calves and ass and I thought I'd give you a call and tell you how sexy you are, sexy lady! Hope you're having a great day, and give me a call back."

Really. That's what he said. I played the message for my roommate and she would say "Hey, sexy lady!" everytime I walked down the hallway for the rest of the weekend.

The next day he called again. "Hey, sexy Mo! It's Todd calling. I was just off to crack out my abs so I thought I'd call and say hi. I'm working at a place called Fubar's tonight, so try to come by if you can."

Yes, he said the phrase, "Crack out my abs."

I told a friend of mine about this. "Fubar's?" she said. "That's a total scenester gay place. I feel invisible when I go there." So I called Cowboy Todd back. "Hey, what's up?" "Oh, hi! What's goin' on?" Me: "You're working at Fubar's tonight? I'll try to grab some friends and cruise out. It's cool if girls come, right?" "Oh, totally. It's my last night for a while - I wrecked my car and I'm going to New York for a couple days and then to Florida to visit my family for my birthday because I didn't see them at Christmas." Me: " When's your birthday?" Todd: "February11th." Me: "Hey, that's the same as my baby brother!" Todd: "Wow, I've never known anyone born on my birthday!" Me: "Well, you still don't, you don't know my brother. But you can say you do if you want. Hey, I'm at work - I'll try to swing by tonight." "Cool - I'll get you all a free drink!" My friend & I tried to wrangle up a boy posse, but everyone had plans.

I haven't spoken to him since, but that doesn't mean I haven't heard from ole Cowboy Todd.

That Sunday, before he left town, he gave me a call detailing his visit to his doctor's office to collect his medicine for his hyperactivity, and to let me know he was bartending (shirtless!) at Skin Sundays, a gay day at Highland Grounds - a bar/cafe I thought was a singer/songwriter type place. Turns out it usually is, except for Skin Sundays.

The night of the Grammys as I drove to the BFF's house, I was treated to something special. A picture. On my cell phone. Of Cowboy Todd, shirtless, flexing with his arms behind his head, in front of a fridge covered in colorful alphabet magnets. This almost made me crash my car (DON'T CHECK YOUR TEXTS WHILE DRIVING - DUH!). I showed it to BFF, who started laughing immediately, but said, "Come on, he's hot! I can't believe you don't want to hook up with him." "What? Ick! He's all flexy and stuff!" "Well," BFF retorted, "I think you've been staring at (insert name of slightly overweight-chainsmoking-brilliant musician that I've been involved with for months here) flabby ass for too long and could use a little something different." "Oh," I said in my defense, "You know that if this guy had been calling me up and telling me jokes instead of his gym schedule that I'd be all over it. Really." "Okay, okay..." BFF gave up.

"So what do I do? Should I write back?" "Didn't he say he was in Florida with his parents?" "Yea." "Well, write back: Wow, your mom is a great photographer!" So that's what I did. My BFF is so clever, isn't he?

A few hours later (midnightish my time, so 3amish in Florida), I get a text back. "Can you send me a picture? It gets lonely in Florida..." Then another: "A dirty picture." (Of course.) Then another: "I'll send you one of me." So I turned off my phone. The next morning once I turned it back on, he had texted: "Give me a call or text when you have a chance." So I responded: "Hey, I don't just send out pictures to people I don't know. Have a good vacation." And he texted back: "Sorry, seemed like a good idea at the time."

Was this the end of it? NO!

Although nothing has been as entertaining as the initial messages, I have received a picture of him in bed gazing longingly at the camera, looking cutesy holding a bunch of flowers in front of his face (Valentine's Day), and one of him just looking into the camera on the place. Occasional messages about where he's working, will I meet him & his friends for dinner, bring lots of gay friends, etc... If I ever do meet up with this guy, it's purely because I want to ask him:

1. Are you gay?
2. Okay then, you must be bi...
3. Do you keep pictures of yourself on your phone to just send out to all the phone numbers you've collected at your various gigs?
4. Who takes these pictures of you?
5. What do you want to be: model or actor?
6. Why do you go-go dance at all these gay places if you aren't totally gay?
7. Are you a total gigolo or what?
8. How many drugs do you take?

I think that's the bulk of it. A friend of mine once wisely said never date a guy who waxes more places than you do. I tend to go for the ones that make me laugh - and if they happen to have six pack abs, then that's just lucky.

Sunday, February 12, 2006

Beauty & the Beat

A couple Tuesdays ago, I met a guy at a place called Rimjob.

Yuck! Ew! What?

Come on, it was a gay bar. The gay bars always are allowed to have the best names, you know. And the best names for drinks, too.

I met 4 of my best gay friends there. They had told me about the place, "It's dirty, DIRRRRTY!" Loads of go-go dancers, all greased up and undressed, a functioning shower stall for a little exhibition, the occasional dirty mattress for dancers to romp on. Porn being played on the TVs with "Boys Gone Wild" videos on the pull down screens. The crowd was great: very friendly, regular guys - not overly pumped up and beautiful like in West Hollywood where they all look like Abercrombie & Bitch models. Just normal cute and not so cute, buff and not so buff, nice folks.

Early on, it was announced that I was going to provide some of the evening's entertainment. "One of the dancers is straight," announced K. "And he's hot. And when a girl gives him a dollar, he makes out with her." K then handed me a dollar. "He's gonna love making out with you!"

"Oh God!" I said. "I'm not going to make out with a stripper!"

"Oh, but he's hot!" replied K. "You must. You will."

The dancers slowly started gathering around the club. The hot, straight one emerged shirtless, in camouflage pants which were sort of draped around his ass. It was my first experience with gay male dancers (that I can remember, anyway) and there was a lot of that sort of ass hanging out business, which makes sense. Guys in their underwear, pushing it halfway down their ass.

Anyway, my friend S gives my arm a tug and goes, "Oh, check out that guy. He's definitely the hottest one in the place!" He was pointing out a guy in a cowboy hat, boots, and black underwear. The guy was pretty cute, and he was chewing gum like there was no tomorrow, so we figured he was probably pretty coked out too. But S was just fascinated, "He is soooo hot. Maybe he's straight? Maybe we could get a threesome going?" "Ugh! I couldn't! Jeez!" I gagged. "He knows we're checking him out, he keeps looking at us," S said. I wasn't noticing this, but I was kinda overloading on the whole scene.

But K still had his eyes on the original prize. "Here's another dollar, Mo, go talk to the straight one. Go!" Instead, we got another drink. On the way over, we passed the running shower, up on a table, where two guys were almost having sex. Then we went outside to get away from the crowd which had swelled up inside the place.

My BFF and I were sitting on a couple of stools and our friends were circled in front of us, and we were all chatting. We realized we had a pretty primo spot, as behind us was the entryway to the dancers' dressing area, so they were constantly passing behind us. We could get as great a look as we wanted. S and I were talking, when he spotted Brokeback: "He's right over there and he's looking at us."

Turned out, he was looking at me.

The Cowboy went right through the crowd, cut through my friends, and right up to me. "Hi, I'm Todd. What's your name?" "Mo. Todd, huh? I had a stalker named Todd once. You're not a stalker, are you Todd?" "Not unless you're into that." "Well, I wasn't. So, are you making any money tonight?" (I don't know... what do you talk to strippers about?) "Oh yea," he gushed. "It's a blast. I'm having a great time. I noticed you in the crowd and wanted to talk to you because you're so sexy." "Oh?" I responded. "Are you straight then?" "Oh, well," he stammered. "Ok, but you have to get back to work." We rambled aimlessly a few more moments, and then he went back into the dressing room.

In the meantime, BFF had attracted a go-go dancer of his own. Once that guy left, K said, "Hello, stripper magnets! What's up?" S turned to me and said, "You HAVE to hook up with that guy! For me! For our sakes!" Then the Cowboy re-emerged in his (lack of) costume and goosed me from behind. I turned around and poked his chest. It was oiled up. "Ew!" I yelped. "You're all greasy! Don't get that on my jacket!" "Oh, I wasn't going to lean into you... Are you going to stick around for a while? Watch me dance?" "Yes, we'll be here."

The next round of conversation went a little like this. Cowboy Todd: "So, are you single? Are you dating someone?" Me: "No, I'm waaay single. And waaaaay older than you, too." Todd: "That's hot. I like older women. How old are you?" Me: "How old are you?" Todd: "Almost 31." Me: "Yea, I'm way older than you." (I was also taking into account that he was totally lying, and most likely 23 or 24.)

He went back to his post to earn more crotch cash, and my friends and I debated what I was supposed to do next. S said, "Well, if you don't give him your number, I will!" BFF said, "You have to go out with him. You dating a bimbo is like me dating a smart guy!" true, that. But I was confused, if he was working in a gay bar, and totally workin' it too, then why was he hitting on the fag hag? "Well," BFF replied, "If he seems like he's straight, that makes him more of a challenge. It's kinda hot." Oohhh...

So what did I do? I gave him my cell number. And that is a story for another day...

Monday, February 06, 2006

Colin Callin'...

Okay, so I saw the Colin Farrell sex tape.

Well, not all of it, just a condensed version. And I took away two things from it: all those rumors about Colin's package may have some merit after all (but he's a little guy, so it may also be all about the angling), and EVERYBODY looks hilarious when they are having sex.

And from what I saw, he was very, very chatty. There were moments where his Irish brogue made it a bit tough to decipher, but moments where it was crystal clear.

"Holy fuck, man. Breakfast, lunch, and fucking dinner, right here. I'm not even fucking joking." One guess as to what he was...ummm...eating. But he has to interrupt to throw that one out there? Hot. If somebody was working on me and started yammering like that, I'd have to tell him to shut up, cuz it ain't gonna lick itself, you know?

"Holy shit, I didn't know they made bastards as sexy as you, man." No, this was not a quote from his memorable performance as Alexander the Great in a heated exchange with boy toy Jared Leto. In case you forgot, Colin was hooked up with Nicole Narain, a Playboy playmate. Gender slang means nothing to Mr. Farrell - hell, I call girls "Dude" all the time!

"You're just like...it's like you're going fishing for fucking pubes, man. You're just catching every fucking pube I have." Okay, everybody turned on yet?

"Whatever princess wants, princess fucking gets, let me tell you." Aw, it's not like ole Colin doesn't care.

(Special thanks to Shrimpjaw for making the painstaking effort to transcribe the whole damn thing...)

Sunday, February 05, 2006

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