You're Not One of Those "Wham-Bam-Thank-You-Sam" Type of Fags

...but that's pretty much how you left it with Baby Daddy after the whole "You want to fuck that Muscle Boy, don't you?" incident. Of course you ended up fucking that Muscle Boy, but even though you'd really like to date a funny boy, you kind of assumed that you'd be laughing with him, not at him. You and Baby Daddy texted back and forth a few times afterwards, but nothing ever came of it. In fact, Baby Daddy was the one who ultimately let the ball drop. Although you're not really sure why exactly he disappeared, you're definitely not worrying about it. Hell, it's summer and there are boys in Speedos to oggle!

Speaking of which, it's an absolutely gorgeous day so you and your BFF take the train to Jones Beach to work on your tan lines. And the boys are even more gorgeous than the weather. There's this one Hispanic boy in particular that has definitely caught your eye, and although your taste in men rarely overlaps, you and your BFF are literally about to wrestle over him. Luckily it's a moot point because the Hot Papi is there with his boyfriend and, get this, their two kids! Talk about a dick deflator. The kids, however, are extremely well behaved, and, you have to admit, it's pretty damn hot watching him be a Papi. You and your BFF spend the afternoon concocting an entire back-story for the two Gay Daddies. Since one of the boys is white and the other Latino, you decide that they must have each used the same white surrogate mother so that the boys are technically half-brothers. Your back-stories, of course, quickly morph into fantasies where the Hot Papi leaves his hubby after falling helplessly and hopelessly in love with either of you. Preferably you.

Both of you are still eyeing the Hot Papi when you are packing up your stuff to head back to the city, when suddenly, almost as if your fantasy has willed it to happen, Hot Papi walks over to you and says, "Hey, isn't your name [INSERT YOUR NAME HERE]?" and you are absolutely stunned because Hot Papi is right! You say, "Yeah," but it's obvious that you are confused and can't place him, even though you honestly can't imagine ever forgetting a face as sexy and handsome as his. However, Hot Papi goes on to explain that he met you at G the night you met Baby Daddy. You remember meeting a bunch of Baby Daddy's friends, but you were pretty hyper-focused on Baby Daddy that night so you cut yourself some slack for not remembering Hot Papi. You're also pretty sure that Hot Papi looks better in a skimpy Speedo than he did fully clothed that night at G. Anyway. You and Hot Papi quickly start yapping about Baby Daddy and so you ask how he's doing. Hot Papi informs you that Baby Daddy was actually supposed to be at the beach today, too, but that his daughter refused to go. You want to ask if all the Gay Daddies belong to some secret club but instead you say, "Tell Baby Daddy I said, 'Hi'," and Hot Papi promises you that he will indeed.

On the train back to the city, your BFF can't get over the fact that you had met the Hot Papi before and forgotten him, so he informs you that you have been disqualified, and he has won the the Hot Papi game of Fantasy Boyfriend by default. You reluctantly agree, but then decide to text Baby Daddy about the bizarre beach incident, just to see what will happen. You write, "You missed a beautiful day at the beach today. The weather wasn’t too bad either ;-)" and you get a response almost immediately, "I was supposed to go today but my daughter didn’t want to go. Next time I guess. Hope u had fun." Which is a lame blow-off and you know you should just let it go, but you decide to continue to taunt Baby Daddy with, "Your Hot Papi friend already told me. Too bad. It would’ve been nice to see you in a skimpy Speedo ;-) On my way back to the city now." He returns with a vague response full of zero questions, “LOL. Maybe go in a couple of weeks. Should be fun," so you decide to finally drop it. You really don't know why, but it's obvious that Baby Daddy is as just-not-that-into-you as you are just-not-that-into-him! But then you wind up receiving another post-blow-off text which really surprises you, but when you pull out your phone you realize that it's not actually from Baby Daddy. It's from the Portuguese Brazilian From London, who has, once again, commuted back to New York and is wondering if you'd like to get together tonight. Christ! Your Saturday night is starting to look like it's suddenly about to get redeemed.

Later on, after a few drinks at Duplex with the San Francisco Treat and Rice Queens I through III, you head up to Vlada to meet the Portuguese Brazilian From London. However, he's late, which is annoying since he picked the place and the time, but you kill some time yapping with Vlada's big bull dyke bouncer, aptly named Tonka until the Portuguese Brazilian From London shows up and, although it's been months since you've seen him, you quickly remember why you liked him so much. Hell, he's smart, funny and handsome! What's not to like? Oh yeah, the fact that he lives in London and has a New York boyfriend suddenly come to mind... However, the two of you end up having such a fun time flirting and chatting that you begin to get a bit melancholy. Why does it have to be so fucking hard to meet a great guy? And when you do finally meet one, why does he have to be so fucking unavailable? Your catches always turn out to be more like Catch 22's, and you almost decide to call it a night and head back to your Home-Sweet-Hovel to huddle over some Häagen-Sweet-Daz, but then something magical happens. The Portuguese Brazilian From London makes you laugh. The fact that he can make you giddy during your Pity Party ultimately pulls you out of your funk, and before you know it, the two of you are in a cab headed to your place.

You're a bit terrified that your Hobosexual roommate will be up watching Sex and the City reruns, but luckily the coast is clear and the two of you end up making your own lost episode of Sex in the City. You, of course, are playing Carrie, and, luckily, the Portuguese Brazilian From London, winds up playing a dual role of Mr. Big combined with dirty old Samantha. However, as soon as it's over, before you can even grab a Kleenex from the tissue box, the Portuguese Brazilian From London is literally pulling up his pants and tightening his belt. You feel ridiculous wiping cum off your chest while this man is, most likely, coming up with excuses to tell his New York boyfriend about why he's getting home so late. Even though the whole thing suddenly feels ridiculous, you walk the Portuguese Brazilian From London to the door, lock it, and then hop in the shower because you suddenly feel like that dirty old Kleenex you just used up and threw away. Anyway...

What do you do when you finally meet Mr. Abs and then realize that you're just not that into him?

54% of You said, "I eventually dump Mr. Abs in order to regain my self-respect. But I don't erase his number just in case I need to give him a booty call from time to time."

27% of You said, "I suck it up (so to speak), and humor him when he tells me that Jane Austen was a fabulous interior designer."

17% of You said, "I suffer through his Saturday morning cartoon obsession until I eventually meet Mr. Abs(olutely Fabulous) and dump his ass."

Number of Fags Who Voted: 110

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

...but you don't have a problem stretching the truth to spare somebody else's feelings. You're just a nice guy in that lying sort of way. Although you tend to be a bit naive when it comes to other people lying to you for similar reasons. However, when you're left feeling confused by something a boy told you, you're usually pretty confident that the truth has been stretched to accommodate your volatile emotions. This is what you're thinking about as you make your way over to meet the Massssculine Man for a date. Why on earth did he just disappear after a bathroom break when you were having such a good conversation? You're a bit wary that he'll dole out some bullshit when you ask him this question, but the fact that he invited you out to dinner after his post-bathroom Houdini act at Low Tea leaves you feeling more than a bit confused. However, you decided that drinks would be a bit more casual, so you joked about how you'd somehow break out of Betty Ford to come meet him at Eastern Bloc for a cocktail. And now, surprise-surprise, you're running late and your iPhone is ringing and even though you're 99% positive that it's the Massssculine Man calling, you have a strict policy of not answering numbers that you don't recognize, so instead of picking up the call, you just pick up the pace and ban the foreign number to voicemail.

You, of course, immediately check the message and a massive sense of relief takes over when you realize that the message is, indeed, not from the Massssculine Man, yet from the hairy Chia Pet you met on Fire Island. Although you feel like you've dodged a bullet that was doused in Rogaine, his message is actually extremely sweet and complimentary and exactly the kind of message that you'd love to receive from the right guy. The Chia Pet was definitely the wrong guy. And not because he was too hairy. There are lasers to deal with hairy. However, not feeling any passion at all? Not so much. That particular laser has yet to be invented.

When you finally get to Eastern Bloc the place is completely dead. The Massssculine Man is sitting at the bar chatting it up with the bartender and when you walk inside they both turn toward you and a big toothy smile takes over the Massssculine Man's face. Which is really nice. You walk over and say hello, and since he's already drinking a Jack & Ginger you turn to the bartender to order yourself a cocktail to catch up. Only the bartender is way too busy yapping to the Massssculine Man. Actually the two of them are all wrapped up in some conversation that seems to be so engaging that you begin to wonder if you're intruding? They obviously know each other, really, really well, and you begin to wonder how often the Massssculine Man hangs out at Eastern Bloc? Eventually during a lull in their conversation and you finally get your order in which, thankfully, has the fringe benefit of sending the bartender away to make your drink.

When your conversation eventually segues into Fire Guyland, you immediately begin to tease him about disappearing after he went to the bathroom during Low Tea. You even go as far as to tell him how you waited and waited in the same exact spot for his return. But ultimately you assumed that he wasn't interested. And then you brace yourself for a big fat lie. The Massssculine Man is actually very confused. He informs you that when he did return that you were surrounded by a group of friends and he didn't want to interrupt. You are actually shocked by his excuse. If he is telling the truth (and you're pretty sure that he is), then he must be so insanely timid that he'd rather ditch you than risk a moment of minimal awkwardness? Images of Blonde Beard start shyly dancing through your head (in the shadows of course). You begin to wonder how a man can live on this earth for over thirty years and yet still somehow be so uncomfortable in his own skin that he's scared to interrupt some dumb drunken conversation? And this, my friend, is your first red flag.

Your second red flag is actually a deep Soviet red, complete with a hammer and sickle. It arrives in the form of the Eastern Bloc bartender who plows you with so much free vodka that you get hammered and begin to worry that you might actually feel a little bit sick(le). Ordinarily this would be a good thing, but things are beginning to get a bit messy. And somehow, given all the free drinks, the Massssculine Man still doesn't seem the least bit intoxicated. When you slur about how you haven't had dinner yet, the Massssculine Man actually informs you that he never has dinner! Ever! Which definitely explains his 8-pack abs, yet does nothing but leave you wondering if this boy might have a bit of a drinking problem? And you, my friend, don't want to get mixed up in that kind of a situation. The last thing you want to be is someone else's sober driver!

Suddenly a boy who went to school with the Massssculine Man interrupts your conversation to say hi. They start talking about a recent evening on Fire Guyland where the friend was all "cracked out" and waited an hour and a half in the rain for a Water Taxi to the Grove. Not just a shy alcoholic, you think to yourself. But a crackhead to boot. But you're jumping ahead of yourself. It's not like you have to marry this boy, but it might be nice to get a kiss before he disappears into the bathroom, never to be heard from again. And somehow when you look at your watch it is now 1am so you inform the Massssculine Man that you really must get going. You walk to the corner of First & 1st together, but it ends up being one of those lingering goodbyes where eventually you get so frustrated that you wind up pushing him up against the brick building to make-out with him. The kisses are actually verrrry nice, and you're extremely turned on until your front teeth end up clinking and ruin the mood. For some reason it's the sexual equivalent of fingernails down the chalkboard and you absolutely hate it. So you readjust your boys and say goodnight before heading home.

However, before you go to bed you notice the Chia Pet's business card on your nightstand and, since you know that you don't want to go out with him again, you decide to send him a quick email instead of suffering through a phone call. "glad you survived the pines. i am always so exhausted after spending the weekend out there that i feel like i need a vacation! anyway, although i really enjoyed hanging out with you i'm actually just coming out of a mini-relationship thing (okay, fine, i was dumped...) and am kind of steering clear of the whole dating scene for a while until i get my head clear. i hope you understand. and honestly, that's why i didn't want to spend the night." And although there ain't nothing all that honest about it, it somehow seems nicer than responding to his super sweet phone call with something as blunt as, "Sorry, I'm just not that into you." Anyway...

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

...but you do find yourself green with envy when your Straight Boyfriend starts doing the "we" thing. Sometime during the last few months he progressed from being a sad and lonely "I" to being a happily-ever-after "We." You haven't seen much of your Straight Boyfriend since he moved over to the Darkside and became a "We," but tonight you both left work early in order to catch up over some cheap drinks and free happy hour food at Spain. Although you want to smack him each time he talks about himself plurally, you end up being the one who needs to be smacked out of your state of shock when your Straight Boyfriend informs you, "We're actually moving in together." Although you're happy for your Straight Boyfriend (after all, it's Mrs. Oui who you're jealous of!), you find yourself wondering if you'll ever meet someone who you can have a relationship that actually lasts longer than your monthly Metrocard? Is this really too much to ask for out of life? Time seems to be tick-tick-ticking away and somehow you're still kick-kick-kicking yourself because you seem to be just about as far away from your "We" goal as ever.

Luckily your jealous moment of silence is interrupted by an older gent sitting next to your Straight Boyfriend as he literally falls from his bar stool and does a Long Island Iced-Tea plunge onto the bar floor. Although your chivalrous Straight Boyfriend hops to the gent's rescue, you can't help but break into hysterics because you had been watching the drunk gent talk to an imaginary pink elephant for the past twenty minutes before reaching his tipping point. The Gin & Tonic Gent dusts himself off and goes right back to his G & T, which, somehow, never spilt a drop.

That's when Mrs. Oui shows up with a friend of hers, and you force a grimaced smile as you say, "Congratulations, I just heard the big news." Mrs. Oui thanks you and then begins doing the "We" thing while you begin to wonder how your Boys Night Out suddenly turned into a We Night Out? Had you known you probably would have stayed at home alone and played your Hobosexual Roommate's Nintendo Wii instead. Things get worse when, out of nowhere, Mrs. Oui's annoying friend starts to fondle your chest. She's drunk as a skunk and starts saying things like, "It's such a shame that you have to be gay. What a waste." Even though you know that nothing good will come from any response at all, you can't help but say, "Actually, it's not a shame at all. In fact, I'm pretty fucking ecstatic about it." And then, for some unknown, yet completely irritating reason, Drunk Girl begins to hurl bar peanuts at you. One by one they irritatingly hit your chest and you just stare at Hurl Girl with disgust as she continues to toss free salty bar snacks at you. When you realize that Hurl Girl is never going to stop you decide to go to the one place where you can escape her Chick Fit and you announce, "I'm going to the men's room," even though you don't even have to pee.

In the bathroom you, of course, send out an email blast to all your Blackberry Boys in search of a rescue ring! Then you kill some more time by checking your email. Luckily there's actually a Connexion message so you log on to see if perhaps your future "We" has just contacted you. You are in absolute shock when you realize that the boy who has just written you is the same boy who dissed you last weekend on Fire Guyland! The Massssculine Man says, "how's it going? nice meeting you over the weekend, hope you had a good one. i'm back to civilization and i think my liver is happy about it. hit me up sometime if you feel like grabbing a bite to eat in the neighborhood (before you move). in the meantime, i'm prepping a list of hard-hitting questions. hope all is well and that you enjoyed the rest of you weekend." You're in shock because you were sure that the Massssculine Man had absolutely no interest in you! It's definitely another big gay conundrum, but you and your A.D.D. are quickly sidetracked when you receive a text from Rice Queen telling you to meet him and the San Francisco Treat at Beige. When you return to the bar, you tell the "We's" that you've got to go but not before you tell Hurl Girl, "You know, I've been thinking and I don't think it's at all a shame that you're straight." And then you throw a few peanuts that quickly disappear into her heaving cleavage before you race out the door and hail a cab.

Beige is packed with boys who don't think it's a shame that you're gay, and you grab a cocktail and start chatting with your Gay Posse and their friends. Everything is going swimmingly (mostly because nobody is throwing anything) until one of the Rice Queen's friends suddenly flings a completely shocking, "I love your blog" at you. You stammer before finally saying a simple, "Thanks," and then you sneak Rice Queen a dirty look but he just shrugs in a confused manner which makes you wonder who told this boy about your Blah-Blah-Blog?

Your paranoia takes you on a Fruit Loop of the busy boy bar and you wind up chatting with some awesome-looking Aussies. It quickly becomes apparent that they are much younger than you, but you stumble through the conversation with a few key phrases that you've learned in order to make you presentable to the Flip-Flop generation. For a while it actually seems like the Awesome Aussie is interested in you. You're completely flabbergasted and flattered, until he asks the dreaded question, "How old are you?" You can't help but notice his shock at the number you dole out, and his surprise is quickly replaced with disinterest. Suddenly you're insanely jealous of the Awesome Aussie and his youth. Obviously he has no interest in being your "We." So you cut your losses and end up running into a Ski Fag from your Chamonix trip and his long, beautiful blonde hair. Sampson gives you a big hug and the two of you start yapping about the ski trip last February. You're actually a bit surprised when Sampson tells you that it was the best trip that he had ever taken. You prompt him to qualify his statement by asking, "You mean because of the amazing skiing?" To which he responds, "What skiing? I was having too much fun getting to know everybody!" Now you're not usually someone who holds his cards close to his chest, but you find yourself feeling a bit cautious as you admit, "I dunno. I kind of thought some boys were a bit cold or something." And Sampson informs you, "That's because you won the trip and isolated yourselves." Isolated yourself? Is Sampson kidding? It's kind of hard to isolate yourself when everybody's busy doing it for you! But you continue to probe, "What does winning the trip have to do with anything?" And everything clicks when Sampson says, "Everybody who paid thought that they were subsidizing your free trip." Although you know that the trip was paid for by corporate sponsors, suddenly you realize why everybody was so cold. They were just jealous!

You say your goodbyes and continue along your Fruit Loop until you finally complete a full lap and return to your Gay Posse. Rice Queen quickly pulls you over to him and informs you that your blog fan actually had no idea who you were because he mistook you for Andy Towle, who, of course, you are insanely jealous of both him and his wildly successful blog. Anyway...

FAG POLE: Are you the kind of fag who meets his boyfriends...

35% of You said, "What boys? My life consists of Fag Hags and Straight Boyfriends!"

22% of You said, "Online. I give good email!"

20% of You said, "At a bar. I need a little social lubrication before I pull out the lube!"

20% of You said, "At work or school. I'm much too busy for a social life!"

1% of You said, "At the gym. I like to check out the merchandise in the locker room before taking it home!"

Number of Fags Who Voted: 105

You're Not One of Those Muscle Boy Fags...

...but you definitely work out. Sometimes you wonder what would happen if you didn't. Would your gay card suddenly be revoked, forcing you to hang out in, gasp, straight bars? You shudder at the thought of fighting your way past those big leather girl purses (what do they keep in them anyway? Small children?) as you attempted to make you way to the bar for an overpriced, under-liquored straight cocktail. You take your drinks strong. Just like your men. Anyway.

You're on the way to the gym to get in a quick workout before you meet your Baby Daddy for a date. He told you to meet him at his apartment, which makes the whole thing seem a bit more like a hook-up than a date, but whatever. After your recent anti-climatic date with Bald Boy you definitely won't be turning down any before-dinner sex. In fact, it actually sounds like a lovely appetizer. But several blocks from the gym you wind up getting an urgent text from the Rice Queens who are having Happy Hour drinks at G. Well, perhaps it isn't really urgent, but it's definitely more urgent (not to mention more fun) than the gym, so you make a detour down 19th Street.

G is, as usual, packed and you tell yourself that you'll only have one drink before your date because you don't want to show up to your date all sloppy. Unfortunately you slurp the first cocktail down so fast that you deem it necessary to take a poll. You ask your friends what they would think of a boy they were interested in showed up on a date a little liquored up? But that's when the Rice Queens ask you in unison, "It depends more on how interested you are in him?" And before you can answer, "Well, he's not very funny," you find yourself ordering another Stoli O' and Soda from the Red Bearded Bartender who you secretly have a crush on.

Eventually you stumble uptown to Hell's Kitchen and buzz Baby Daddy's doorbell. He instantly grants you access and you have a déjà vu moment as you make your way up the stairwell. The building looks vaguely familiar, but in a very hazy "I-don't-really-remember-hooking-up-here" kind of way. But you are relieved when Baby Daddy opens his door because there's nothing at all hazy about him or all his muscle-y glory.

Unfortunately there is no appetizer sex, and the two of you head over to etcetera etcetera on 44th for actual appetizers. You've actually been to this restaurant once before for a New Year's Party, but let's face it, it was open bar and you have absolutely no memory of how the food was. But Baby Daddy knows the owner and informs you that he gets a discount. And you, my friend, love yourself a discount! When you walk in the door Baby Daddy seems to know everybody at the front bar and they all ask him random things about his kids. You immediately think about your recent grumpy run-in with a Children International sidewalk solicitor when you told him to, "Fuck the children!" and you begin to wonder what kind of evil stepmother you would make to Baby Daddy's kids? They would definitely need some character building chores that kept them out of the house. Like scraping the gum spots off of a Times Square sidewalk or something time-consuming like that. But you digress.

Dinner turns out to be delicious and Baby Daddy orders a big ol' Martini in order to catch up to you blood alcohol level. But even with the liquor the conversation is just okay. He's a very interesting person, but in the kind of way that you're sure he'd probably be much more interesting to anybody other than you. But he's sweet. Not to mention hot. Just not so funny. At all. You even go so far as to set yourself up to be the brunt of a joke. Several times. But Baby Daddy never takes the bad sitcom bait. However, nervous laughter begins to pour out of you when a pair of random hands cover up your eyes from behind and a heavily-accented man whispers into your ear, "How about after dinner I put you in my sling and have my way with you." You are in absolute shock! Your heart pounds as you wonder how exactly you're going to explain the obviously embarrassing situation to Baby Daddy when the Date Terrorist removes his hands. The threat level immediately rises to Red when the Date Terrorist finally reveals himself and you don't even recognize him! Oy vey, this ain't gonna be good! However, when Baby Daddy finally introduces the Date Terrorist to you as his friend who owns the restaurant you instantly breathe a sigh of relief because you realize you've never met him before.

When you finally recover from your near heart-attack, you're actually a bit sad because this is exactly the type of crazy silly thing that you wish Baby Daddy would do to make you laugh. Or anybody you were dating for that matter. Unfortunately this embarrassing moment is the highlight of your date until, of course, you split the discounted check and head back to Baby Daddy's for some much deserved dessert. Things progress pretty quickly and before you know it the two of you are rolling around Baby Daddy's bed in a naked frenzy. And although his arms are the size of your thighs, Baby Daddy jumps up on top of your crotch and starts to grind back and forth. That's when Baby Daddy looks deep into your eyes and says with all seriousness, "You want to fuck that Muscle Boy, don't you?" And right then and there you realize that Baby Daddy is actually very funny. Anyway...

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

...you're just a poor starving writer (who's hungry, yet needs to diet). Well, maybe you are a little cheap. Okay, okay already! A lot cheap. So when you're walking along 23rd Street on your way to meet Bald Boy to go see Iron Man, you quickly hold your phone up to your ear when you notice one of those irritating do-gooder suburban kids who is canvassing for "INSERT GOOD CAUSE HERE." Usually the mock-phone call is enough to deter these Post-Giuliani Sidewalk Solicitors (who are even more common than Pre-Giuliani Homeless People), but this Connecticut Kid ain't having it. He actually has the gall to interrupt your fake phone call! You feign annoyance as you ask your fake friend to hold on, and when the Connecticut Kid asks if you have a moment for "INSERT GOOD CAUSE HERE" you say, "Sorry, I'm my own favorite charity." But Connecticut Kid is persistent and when he starts yapping about how Children International could really use your financial support you actually find yourself saying, "Oh, fuck the children!" And although you are kidding (sort of), the Connecticut Kid is not at all amused. But you are late for your date so you just smile and say, "J/K" because you don't actually have the time nor the patience to say the words "Just Kidding."

You're only five minutes late but Bald Boy is standing outside the Chelsea Clearview and he looks kind of amazing. Even with his, ahem, shortcomings, he's really a fantastically attractive man and you were willing to give it another chance when he asked you out. Who knows? Maybe this time he'll make you laugh. You kiss hello and are kind of surprised when Bald Boy directs you to the ticket line because if you were the early one even your cheap ass would have picked up two tickets while you were waiting. And when Bald Boy finally gets up to the ticket window you quickly fumble through your wallet to hand him some money, but you're taken aback when Bald Boy says, "One please." It's just a bit weird. You begin to wonder if you're on a date or if you are now officially just friends? But you go ahead and buy yourself a ticket and head into the theater. Anyway.

Bald Boy orders popcorn and a soda, and since you're not having dinner until after the movie you realize that you should probably eat something, too. So when the Concession Stand Hoodlum holds up the next size popcorn and asks, "Would you like the larger size for fifty cents more?" you ask Bald Boy if he'd like to Supersize the popcorn and share it (even though there are other things about him that you'd rather Supersize). Bald Boy says sure, and then pulls out exactly half of the cash register's total (apparently you are subsidizing the cost of his soda, too?) and that's when you begin to count up all the properties that Bald Boy owns (1. Studio in the West Village, 2. Beach House in Ocean Grove, 3. Rental Property in Ocean Grove...) and suddenly it becomes very clear how he can afford all those mortgages.

The movie turns out to be fantastic and the popcorn hits the spot! You begin to wonder if maybe you were just a bit grouchy because you were so hungry? So you decide to give Bald Boy the benefit of the doubt and suddenly you think it might be nice to hold his hand. You put your arm up onto the shared armrest and not-so-accidentally brush your arm against his. Bald Boy obviously notices because he turns his head and looks right at you in the middle of the scene. You smile because you feel a bit silly, but you'd still like to get in some hand-holding before the movie ends. But Bald Boy literally just moves his arm away and digs back into the popcorn that you got stuck holding. You are left remembering how nice it was to go to the movies with Blonde Beard and how you would sink down into your seats and hold hands and rub shoulders from the previews to the closing credits. Sigh.

After the movie the temperature outside has dropped considerably and you're kind of happy because this has obviously prompted the Children's International Solicitor to go home to Greenwich where he can worry about the suburban children who are in dire need of a new Nanny to drive them from Piano to Karate. Since you're both starving, you decide to walk down Eighth Avenue to grab a quick bite at Vynl. You chat while waiting for your dinner and quickly become highly aware that you're the one doing all the talking. But Bald Boy is the one busy asking all the questions. Although you know you should be asking questions in return, you don't really have any great desire to do much probing. And that's exactly when you realize that you're really just not that into Bald Boy. It's not like you like to hear yourself talk, but it just seems easier to fill the void with your chatter than to come up with reasons to listen to his chatter.

When the check comes you, surprise-surprise, split the bill exactly down the middle. Then, since it's chilly, you head to the 14th Street Subway entrance and as you're about to descend into the A-C-E station, a confused Bald Boy asks you, "Aren't you going to take the F home?" You actually say, "Huh?" because as far as you were concerned this dud of a date was, at the very least, going to end with you getting laid. But you quickly cover yourself and say, "I can take the E and switch at West 4th," but then you go on to add in a frisky manner, "but I assumed I would come over to your place?" Bald Boy tells you that it's late and that he's really tired. This is ultimately extremely annoying because he's the one who picked the movie time as well as chose to eat afterwards. Hell, he's the one who asked you out in the first place! So when the train arrives at West 4th you say your goodbyes and, once again, you find yourself standing on the platform at the end of yet another relationship (if you can even call it that). Luckily this time you aren't crying uncontrollably while you wait for the F train to take you back to your Home Sweet Hovel so your cheap ass can jerk off to some free porn on Xtube. Anyway...

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

...anymore. You definitely have more than your share of hair, but luckily this includes your head, and the rest of your body can be easily manscaped away down the drain. Actually, that's not true. You definitely need to vacuum the tub after clipping, unless, of course, you want to gamble on the slim chance of having a hot Roto-Rooter serviceman come to your damsel-in-distress rescue. But luckily for you, you're on Fire Guyland with O.P.P. (Other People's Plumbing) so you just wash that shit down the drain and head off to Tea.

You chat it up with anybody who will listen to your mumbling stubble, but nothing memorable happens as the evening progresses from Low to High Tea (and FYI that's not because you blacked it out. You just chose not to remember.) Anyway. Suddenly one of your Kinsey 8 housemates taps you on the back and informs you that you are verrrry late for dinner. So you and the San Francisco Treat start walking along the boardwalk when all of a sudden the lightning illuminates your aging frown lines. Micro-seconds later, it's raining Cats and Dogs, and, since you have a paralyzing fear of pussy, you and the San Francisco Treat race home as fast as you can. Unfortunately your drunk little legs aren't quick enough to spare you from the Cat Spray and you are absolutely soaked by the time you arrive home.

You, of course, instantly change into a cute new t-shirt that's even more form-fitting than the wet one, and then you enjoy a lovely pork dinner that one of the Kinsey 8 cooked while you were out not remembering High Tea. After dinner the boys are obviously feeling frisky and your living room turns into an impromptu wrestling match. You, of course, avoid the potential for bruises and unsightly black eyes, and grab your digital camera so you can document them as they begin to unravel.

And unravel they do! Your anorexic friend, Fat Albert, who more-or-less runs a Fortune 500 company from 9-5, somehow winds up smack in the middle of a gay old time. Rice Queen #2 grabs himself some Spanish Rice and Fat Albert's pants instantly fall off, probably because his body is too rickety to defy the effects of gravity. You, of course, run downstairs to gossip with the Kinsey 8 about how 1/4 of your Quarter Cher are about to break the unwritten Fire Island rule of hooking up with a housemate! Your BFF races upstairs with you to witness the tragedy unfold, but by the time you return, the bedroom door is not only closed, but locked! Although you wait quietly in the hall for a photo-op, you are quickly shamed by the undeniable fucking noises that emanate from Behind the Green Door. You and your BFF giggle like a gaggle of girls and then head to your room to get gussied up for Sip N' Twirl.

You are brushing your pearly whites when the other door to the shared bathroom bursts open and Rice Queen #2 races in, naked, and he's as shocked as you are by the evolutionary Eden-like situation where you are unabashedly introduced to his unwelcome serpent. Luckily, Rice Queen #2 quickly grabs the roll of Charmin before disappearing behind the shelter of a fig leaf while you quietly click your heels together and say, "I wish I was at Sip N' Twirl!"

Afterwards the remaining Kinsey 8 heads out to Sip N' Twirl and fortunately it's not too crowded. You quickly gravitate toward the pool table and it's not long before the two Hotties playing Stripes and Solids suddenly make you want to sink your 8 Ball into a game of Pocket Pool. Stripes is Armenian and Solid is, well, solid. Although you are definitely more into Stripes, it quickly becomes apparent that Solid is more into you. However, having just manscaped, you find yourself a bit disconcerted by the tufts of hair that prominently form an undeniable Ring Around His Collar. But you decide to take the road less traveled and convince yourself that this is just some natural, hairy Ruff collar from the Elizabethan period.

Unfortunately when you go home with Solid you realize that his Ring Around The Collar is actually a floor length, head-to-toe, Chia Pet cape. Especially on his back. Chia Pet is the hairiest boy you've ever seen. His chest is so covered in fur that you can't even find a nipple. Although he has a great body, the kissing leaves something to be desired and nothing seems to make up the fact that your fingers seem to get tangled as you attempt to touch the Chia Pet. You may or may not fall asleep, but when you eventually come to your senses you realize that it is definitely time to go home. Chia Pet tries to convince you to stay but you are afraid to camp out and wake up in the bush. So he walks you to the outside gate with his raging hard on, which, surprisingly, is less hairy than the top of his shoulders. Then you race home and devour a delicious left-over pork chop. Unfortunately you lose your appetite when you actually have to yank one of Chia Pet's gray back hairs that's stuck between two of your teeth. Anyway...

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

...but you never forget a face. Well, perhaps you should qualify that statement. You never forget a face that you meet when you're sober. Unfortunately, when you do meet new people, nine times out of ten you've got a cocktail in your hand. But don't judge! You're a very social boy! For some miraculous reason you feel great when you wake up Saturday morning on Fire Island. Even though you had a terrible night of rejection, today you can't seem to even remember the Massssculine Man's first name. Anyway. The rest of your Kinsey 8 housemates are already awake (surprise, surprise), and you immediately head to the barren fridge to scrounge around, unsuccessfully, for something non-cocktail related. That's when your friend Half-Share saunters in with his housemates (whose names you can never seem to remember), and before you know it, one of the mixed-up Marys in your house is busy mixing up Bloody Marys, because really, wouldn't it be impolite not to offer your unexpected 11:00am guests a cocktail? Of course, the Gentlemen Callers are parched and the mid-morning vodka flows freely as you give them a quick tour of the Kinsey 8's lovely abode.

It's a beautiful day so everybody ends up out by the pool as all the other surrounding homes begin to groggily come back to life. You're a bit surprised when Fergie's "Glamorous" begins to blare from a neighbor's ailing stereo, almost as if your neighbors are alerting The Pines about some Gay Disco Air Raid. You are in shock, however, when you notice a (and you use this term lightly) boy across the way prancing across his deck while he plays Runway. He's wearing nothing but a pair of white stiletto pumps coupled with a itsy-bitsy white Brazilian-cut Speedo. The whole look is accessorized with a giant pair of white Jackie O' plastic sunglasses. You immediately point this rare Fire Island specimen out to your friends, "What is that?" And without missing a beat, Half-Share says, "You mean the Sleestack?" And then he begins to hiss as if he's one of the Lizard-like creatures chasing Will and Holly from Land of the Lost.

Instead of feasting upon green olives, limes and tomato juice, you all decide to head into town to grab breakfast. Everybody promises to wait for you and your Bloody Mary to freshen up with a quick shower in the outdoor stall next to your pool. However, sometime after you put the shampoo in your hair, and sometime before you get a chance to wash it out and open your eyes, you start to hear your next door neighbors yelling frantically about how, "It's showtime!" Your curiosity is certainly piqued by the ensuing giggling, and you begin to feel like you're missing out on something rather exciting. That's when you open your eyes and realize the laughter is emanating from your neighbor's roof deck. You look up and count at least five neighbor boys peering down at you lasciviously from their porch perch, cackling at your, um, nakedness. You, of course, are mortified, but really, what can you possibly do? You attempt to ignore them, yet you end up taking the quickest shower possible while trying to convince yourself that it would probably be much worse if the neighbor boys weren't the least bit interested in seeing your "Shower Show."

Afterwards you quickly wrap yourself up in a towel and head back into the house. Only when you walk through the kitchen door you are shocked to find the Sleestack sashaying around your kitchen. He clacks his way over to you in his high heels and introduces himself with an apology for missing your "Show." Unfortunately he was too busy cooking breakfast for you and your housemates. You are actually at a loss for words, but that mostly has to do with the fact that you cannot look away from the Sleestack's eyebrows which have been plucked beyond recognition. You excuse yourself and sneak into the living room to ask Fat Albert and the rest of the Cosby Kids why exactly the Sleestack is cooking breakfast? But nobody seems to know. Apparently this is something that the Sleestack just does. And no one is more shocked than you by the delicious frittata that your new houseboy has whipped together from a kitchen that you assumed was barren. It's kind of like the Sleestack does the Jesus trick where he feeds an entire town of hungry disciples with just one fish and a cup of wine. Only you know this is just a silly theory because the Sleestack would probably have a Y chromosome if he were actually Jesus.

After a busy day of cocktailing by the pool, you all decide to go to some house party that ends up being so far away that you feel like you've actually hiked to Montauk. However you are rewarded for your long journey because every inch of the expansive house, indoors and out, is packed with boys, boys and more boys. When an impromptu wrestling match begins, you and your BFF quickly escape to an upstairs balcony and watch boy after boy get thrown into the pool. Each wet boy eventually emerges with a wet T-shirt and one or more battery operated iPaper Weights that used to be functioning iPods and iPhones. You love the dry deck of your protected patio, not to mention the birds-eye view of all the pretty Pines party boys. But that's when two entitled boys saunter out from the house and, like Christopher Columbus, seem to re-discover your new-found real estate. One of these boys is holding a camera and yapping to his friend about taking a photo. It's obvious that he wants you to move, mostly because he asks his fancy friend, "How are we going to get them to move?" as if you weren't actually there. The ridiculous boy is actually trying to wish you away, without ever asking you to move. This whole preposterous scenario continues for a moment or two more, before Entitled Boy waves you away with his camera and asks you and your BFF, "Could you move?" only its more of a direct order than a question. Your BFF just kind of stares at them in disbelief until Entitled Boy informs you, "We live here. And we need to take a photo." You and your BFF kind of simultaneously roll your eyes at their rude request, but you both eventually move out of the way as the Entitled Boys quickly barrel through. You, of course, decide that it's time to head over to Low Tea.

Low Tea is packed and everybody is complaining about how the cups have gotten ridiculously small, yet somehow the steep cocktail prices have remained the same. You and your BFF order a couple of Britneys and begin to wander through the thick crowd in order to size up the possibilities with a simple Fruit Loop. Somewhere along your Mary way, you end up running into the Entitled Boys and you can't seem to stop yourself from racing over to them and interrupting their deeply shallow conversation. You wave your hands in their faces, and say (with a big grin on your face), "Could you boys move? I need to take a photo."

Although a quick, playful flash of your dimples usually lets you get away with snarky comments like this, these Entitled Boys ain't buying it. In fact, they're actually pissed. You're kind of surprised, yet ultimately amused, as Entitled Boy starts reading you the riot act. But you're in shock when this virtual stranger looks directly at you and says venomously, "I've met you a bunch of times and you never remember..." and then Entitled Boy actually goes on to address you by your name! You just stare at his foreign face, looking for something vaguely familiar. Anything. Yet if he were in a police line-up, you'd swear on a court bible that you've never seen him before. But that's when something wonderful happens. Entitled Boy notices the confused look on your face and begins to second-guess his idiot-savant ability to recall your name. And that's when he starts to rattle off a bunch of names in an attempt to guess Yours, "Jason... Preston... Shane... Jesse... Mark..." This is when you move on to complete your Fruit Loop as the unmemorable Entitled Boy continues listing names. Anyway...

Greetings From...

...Fire Island!

FAG POLE: Are You One of Those Fags Who Prances Around the Locker Room Butt Naked?

49% of You said, "Not really. I'll change in the locker room, but it's not like I'm gonna put on a burlesque show!"

23% of You said, "No! I'm one of those guys who will covertly slide his underwear on while wrapped up in a towel."

21% of You said, "What? I never set foot in the locker room. I do all my disrobing at home!"


6% of You said, "Yes! I'm a big fan of truth in advertising and my demographic seems to respond favorably!"

Number of Fags Who Voted: 147