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

...but the idea of making Change of Address cards is way too daunting, so you decide to just blow it off. You don't even bother to send an email because there's just too much other crap to do! Your move is actually rather uneventful and happens much quicker than the estimate, yet somehow it costs more. That night, you meet up with the Boy Luck Club for a celebratory dinner in Chelsea, and although you are exhausted, the Boys are in a playful mood and the next thing you know Fat Albert is burning plastic straws with a candle and Half Share is dousing it with water. This, of course, turns into a full-fledged water fight and the four of you are soaked beyond recognition when you ask for the check. Rice Queen generously pays for everybody, which is a blessing because you couldn't afford it. Hell you can't afford anything since you bought furniture. For years you've depended on the kindness of roommates to furnish you, but now you have to go out and buy your own. And unfortunately for you, your taste is much fancier than it deserves to be.

Afterwards you head over to Therapy to meet your BFF for a very therapeutic beer bong which you take on your knees, mostly just to show off amongst all the gay boys who can't seem to funnel a beer without spewing Bud Lite. The applause helps you rise from your now wobbly knees, but even though you're light-headed you certainly notice the cute boy with the amazing body, leaning against the wall and smiling at you. Of course you start chatting him up, but unfortunately his body is more interesting than any of the conversation it produces. But that doesn't stop you from going home with him. Even though you just moved and should be dying to sleep in your own bed which has been in storage for a month, you're definitely in one of those moods where you'd rather wake up in someone else's.

One thing leads to another and the next thing you know, even though you're far from sleeping, you are definitely in his bed. Although you don't have a problem with your slutty self as you grab at the sexy boy's wiener through his jeans, his wiener dog certainly does. Although your trick locked his demented dachshund outside of the bedroom, the jealous dog is having a tantrum, barking, scratching, ramming his little body against the door with the hope of getting inside and ripping you to shreds as if you were an old Blondie song. Although Wiener Boy tells you to ignore his pup, you're having trouble following his orders. You're also kind of turned off by the way Wiener Boy can't seem to look at you. It almost seems as if he's not just ignoring his diabolical dachshund, but he's trying to tune you out as well! Wiener Boy's eyes are closed as if he's trying to imagine himself somewhere else, which has the immediate effect of making you imagine yourself somewhere else, too. Specifically in your own bed without some insanely jealous yappy dog whose mission in life is to cock-block you! So you get up and tell him you have to go.

The next day you begin another lost weekend on Fire Guyland with the Kinsey 8. Your first evening consists of cocktails at Low Tea, cocktails at High Tea, followed by cocks and tails at Daniel Nardicio's Panty Revolution in Cherry Grove. You wear a cute pair of green Diesel's and end up hitting it off with DJ Aaron Elvis who calls you his muse and plays Rihanna's "Don't Stop the Music" before stopping the music and clearing the stage for Lady Gaga and The Dazzle Dancers. You "Just Dance" until the Dazzle Dancers eventually ejaculate glitter which instantly attaches to your sweaty body as if you are made of Velcro.

After the Glitter grenade detonates, you run into the Endohottie who you had an odd coffee date with months ago. Although it never blossomed into anything, you kind of thought it might, and tonight seems like the perfect time to find out for sure. You're having a super nice chat, but eventually your bladder gets the best of you and you excuse yourself for the little boys room. But when you return, surprise-surprise, Endohottie is nowhere to be found. And trust yourself, you're drunk enough to conduct a thorough, yet pathetic search even though the little sobering voice inside of you says you should call it a night because the Endohottie is long gone. When you don't recognize anybody, you decide it's time to walk home. You walk along the beach because it would take another keg or two before you were drunk enough to brave the Meat Rack at 2:30am wearing nothing but a cute pair of Diesel undies.

You wake up surprisingly un-hung, and since it's a lovely day you decide to take an outdoor shower. Unfortunately the boys next door (who are all a far cry from being The Boy Next Door), race up to their roof and start giggling while gawking at your birthday suit while you desperately try to not drop the soap. After an afternoon split perfectly between the beach and the pool, you end up running into the Endohottie at Low Tea who gives you a big fake, "Hello!" You cut to the chase and say, "You disappeared last night," to which he responds with an even bigger and faker, "Oh, I'm sorry." But you're over it so you ask him with a snarky tone, "Are you really?" and then you walk over to the bar because you're much better at drinking games than mind games.

After that, it's all a blur. You may or may not make out with an Indian guy whose name you can't seem to remember, although you do have distinct memories of touching his delicious body and dancing a bit too close for comfort. The next day someone confirms this by saying, "Who was that Indian guy you were making out with?" only you have no idea so you just shrug. Later on you receive a text message from some unrecognizable number which says, "Was a pleasure. Even if you stormed off." Your first thought is that it was from Indian Guy, but now you're wondering if it might be from the Endohottie? Regardless, you don't respond.

The next day you are definitely Hung, but somehow make it to the beach with Rice Queen. Nothing much interesting happens beside some rubbernecking when a really hot guy in a beard walks by and the two of you keep making googlie eyes at one another. Beard Boy stops and turns around twice, yet ultimately keeps on walking. And when the clouds blow in, you quickly vote yourself off the island.

That night, you decide to place a Missed Connections posting on Craigslist to see if you can find Beard Boy. And the next morning you actually get a response! You ask the guy to send a photo so you can make sure it's the same person, but when he ignores your request you are convinced you are being taken for a ride by a crazy person. But since you have his email address, you quickly look him up on Facebook and unfortunately the Crazy Craigslist Boy is neither Beard Boy, nor your type. So, in lieu of sending a photo, when he asks you if the guy you saw was wearing Silver Converse, although you have absolutely no idea, you simply reply, "No," and disappear without a trace. However, the next time you check your inbox there's an email from the Daytripping Freeloader asking, "What happened to you? Why did you disappear? Did I do something to offend you?"

Oy. You're a bit surprised because it's not like you've heard from him since your impromptu trip to Boston, but you also haven't been sweating it either. So you respond, assuring the Daytripping Freeloader that he did absolutely nothing wrong, but you just decided that the long distance thing coupled with his recent break-up (you're nice enough not to use the word "rebound") have made you take two steps back. When he replies and says, "That's fine. I just wish you had been more upfront," you initially wonder how much more upfront you could have been? But ultimately you decide to let it go and just disappear into the endless task of unpacking moving boxes. Anyway...

FAG FORWARD! You're Not One of Those Fags Who Plays the Lottery...

...but you figure that the odds will eventually be in your favor with all the silly boys you date. Eventually you'll meet some worthy Mister... Right? Although it becomes obvious that the Daytripping Freeloader is not The One, yet just One Among the Many, you are happy that you followed through and schlepped up to Boston if only to figure out that he was definitely not The One that Got Away. Anyway.

You take the train to Providence, Rhode Island and find yourself staying in the most beautiful historic home that you've ever stepped foot into. And get this, your High School friend owns it! This summer's Bolter Reunion is a smash success, mostly because you all seem to pick right up where you left off. Hell, you've known each other since you were in the 8th Grade at Eastern Junior High School.

It's a beautiful day so you and the girls decide to do your cocktailing at the club. There's only one problem. You forgot your bathing suit. Unfortunately your friend's husband is more Straight Fat than Gay Fat, so borrowing from him is not an option. Your friend even suggests lending you her seven year old son's bathing suit, but you're not that Gay Thin either. Luckily you remember that your Speedo is packed away in your gym bag for those non-hungover days when you decide to swim laps. Let's just say that you make quite a splash amongst the Country Club Kids. Anyway.

After a lame Irish brunch in downtown Providence, the Bolters drop you off at the Greyhound bus station which ends up being a huge ordeal since you canceled the first leg of your Providence trip in order to get some nookie in Boston. After yelling through a thick piece of glass at a man who is so unqualified at his job that he doesn't even know how to use his push-to-talk microphone, you eventually get your ticket and board. This bus, however, is no Bolt Bus. You sit in traffic for hours and at 5:30pm the driver pulls over in New Haven (which is when you are supposed to arrive at Port Authority) and informs you that he has worked too much overtime this month and has called to find us another driver to complete the trip. Then he actually says that he has no idea when this new driver will arrive, nor has he received confirmation that a new driver is even coming! Luckily he has parked in the New Haven train station so you just hop off and race to catch the next MetroNorth train, vowing never to take the bus again. Anyway.

A few days later, the biggest day of your homeless life is finally here: Closing Day! Unfortunately, as with everything in life, they don't make it easy for you. You have to schlep out to Long Island on the train and walk two miles through the ominous Pineview Cemetery. You traipse along a highway with no sidewalks until you get to the lawyers office which is in the middle of absolutely nowhere. You have absolutely no idea why people refer to these god-forsaken places as Buttfuck, because one thing's for sure. There ain't no butt fucking going on out here. Ugh. You hate leaving the city. However, even given all these suburban obstacles, for the first time in your life you are somehow actually on time. But since no good deed goes unpunished, nobody else has arrived. So you take your time freshening up in the air conditioned bathroom, and then you wait. And wait. And wait. Your lawyer shows up fifteen minutes later. Annette Weining, your Real Estate Agent, shows up a half hour after that. But you all end up waiting for the Sponsor's Agent who shows up, get this, an hour and a half late! You, of course, give her the fish eye and refuse to speak or accept her apology when she offers you one. The only kind of offerings you'd consider at this point are financial. Or perhaps you'd consider discussing mortgage points.

Anyway. The amount of mistakes on the bank documents is mind boggling, but after signing your life away at least four thousand and nineteen times, after signing so many checks that you want to vomit from the Carpal Tunnel, you are now the proud owner of a room. In Queens. And although your friends have done nothing but teased you about your new less-desirable borough of Queens, you, my friend, feel like a Queen who just won fucking Lotto! Anyway...

You're Not One of Those Fags Who's Allowed to Vote No on Prop 8...

...but you would if you lived in California! Since you spend most of your free time day dreaming about your own imaginary wedding some day, the least you can do is tell your Blah-Blah-Blog posse to get out and VOTE NO ON PROP 8!

Even if you don't live in the Golden State, you can donate some of those hard earned gay dollars for a great cause that affects all Americans. Anyway...

FAG FORWARD! You're Not One of Those Fags Who Glosses Over Everything...

...but you are ridiculously behind in your Blah-Blah-Blog and it's just completely unacceptable. So buckle your seat belt boys, 'cause the next few entries are gonna be a little bit bumpy. Anyway...

You had a few therapeutic beers at Therapy with Rice Queen before schlepping over to the Yaz reunion concert! It was packed but you were not about to watch Ms. Moyet from the back of the boat. So you dragged Rice Queen through the crowd saying lies like, "I don't see them. Where did they say they'd be standing?" And you work your way to the front center of the stage. The show is phenomenal although the people around you (who you'll never see again) are annoyed.

Afterwards you and Rice Queen head to G and run into a few of the Daytripping Freeloader's housemates who are actually very nice even though you previously felt like they were born in a barn. You tell them that you've been chatting with the DF almost every day and that you're planning a visit to Boston soon. You also run into the San Francisco Treat who offers your homeless ass free range of his Greenwich Village apartment as he's leaving for California in the morning. You are ecstatic! But you are also drunk, because when you finally get back to Fat Albert's apartment (your current homo home) you spend over five minutes trying to unlock his door. Anyway...

A few days later you're about to fall asleep in front of your laptop late in the afternoon when suddenly you get a text that Wakes You Up Before You Go Go! Your new blog buddy, the Non-Party-Boy Party-Boy actually invites you last minute to the George Michael concert! You race home to shower and change and then meet NPBPB at his gorgeous Chelsea apartment where you all drink copious amounts of vodka before walking over to Madison Square Garden. Since NPBPB is verrrrry connected, you actually get to watch the show from a VIP Booth (courtesy of Rupert Murdoch) which is stocked with free liquor and delicious food! Afterwards your little group returns to the riff-raff reality and as you are exiting NPBPB's boyfriend spots a chubby George Michael look-a-like and NPBPB is so enamored that he actually races over and asks George Munch-All if he can touch his touched-up hair! Anyway...

You've had plans for months for a mini-High School Reunion with The Bolters in Providence, RI, but you amend your plan and take the internet-enabled Bolt Bus up to Boston the night before so you can see the Daytripping Freeloader. When you get there it's pouring rain and the Daytripping Freeloader greets you with a pop of his trunk which doesn't seem like the most chivalrous of acts.

He drives you back to his house which is huge and new and on the outskirts of the city. It feels like one of those model homes that nobody lives in and everything you say is echoed throughout his overly air-conditioned abode. You talk about getting dinner but the Daytripping Freeloader practically rapes you, which is fine, but when the poppers make their inevitable appearance, this time you pass on them as well as the inevitable migraine that will quickly follow. But after a few sniffs, the DF wants to have sex in the mirror, and honestly, you're feeling a bit Gay Fat. You agree, and end up making a big boy mess all over the bathroom floor (the DF never makes a mess. Actually, to this day he has never made a mess even though he claims that he loves to have sex. Apparently he just doesn't like to finish.) When you go to clean up after yourself he just throws a wash cloth over the dirty DNA as if it's a dead body and then pulls you into the shower. With his glasses on.

You get sushi take-out but he never takes it out of the Styrofoam containers, and then he starts telling you about how he has slept with 35 guys in the past six months in an attempt to fuck his way to happiness. He also tells you that he hasn't checked his ex's Manhunt emails in 53 days. What he doesn't tell you (but is glaringly "where-did-I-leave-my-sunglasses" obvious) is that he is rebounding like a super ball dipped in Flubber.

Eventually you go to bed and you're surprised when Mr. Twice-A-Day doesn't want to have sex, especially since he never got off. However, after hours of trying to fall asleep in the strange bed with your strange bedfellow, the Daytripping Freeloader wakes you up in the middle of the night with a serious of irritating gropes which you ignore for at least a half-hour before you finally have to whine, "I'm sooooooo tired." Luckily he gets up early to go to work and you get to bounce without having to have some drawn out, glossy goodbye with the rebounder. Anyway...

You’re Not One of Those Fags Who’s Into P.D.A....

...but you are always amazed and sometimes quite impressed by the gay boys who have the balls to share their dirty gay stuff with the world. Like the boys you stumble upon while taking a leisurely Saturday morning walk on the beach. Although you and your skin cancer just got back to civilization from Fire Guyland less than twenty-four hours ago, your BFF called to see if you wanted to take a day trip to Jones Beach and of course you said yes. However your shoulders seem to be protesting your life of leisure as they have recently raised their Terror Alert from Orange to Red.

Speaking of Terrorists, the P.D.A. boys on the nude beach are the gay equivalent of Suicide Bombers. They are literally fucking in broad daylight. Although the Top definitely has visible signs of advanced HIV, there are absolutely no visible signs of a condom. Anywhere. This becomes quite evident when the Top Terrorist pulls out, spits into his palm, and then lubes up for some more un-gloved love. And yes, you can see all of this because you are actually that close. The whole scene is just so upsetting that you cut your walk short and head back to your friends who you were trying to escape for a brief respite, mostly because they were rather drunk by the time you arrived. You, however, surprisingly Just Say No to an afternoon Corona, mostly because you know you have a long night ahead of you.

The plan is to head back to the Karaoke Nazi’s house to shower, then head over to Warm Up at PS1 in Long Island City for some hot dancing amongst the Hunky Hipster set, then it’s off to Brooklyn to celebrate COILIN’s graduation from the Columbia Doctorate program. It’s a banner three Borough day that will probably end with some bed spinning in Rice Queen #2’s lovely accommodation for your homeless ass. However, after escaping the Top Terrorist and finally making it back to your Bombed BFF and company, you seem to get the distinct feeling that you are not going to be included in the showering part of the plan. And after what your virginal eyes just saw, you’re feeling very, very dirty. So you figure it’s best to be clear with the Karaoke Nazi and you say in the form of a question, “Oh, I thought I was coming with you guys?” And she kind of gives you this lingering, surprisingly annoyed look as she says, “I have no idea about that. Do you want to come back to my place?” as if you are back in Middle School and she is one of those Mean Girls who takes semantics to a new and extremely irritating level. You really have no idea why your relationship has devolved into these annoying games, but you play along because you really do want to take a shower. So you say, “That would be great because I’d really like to wash up before PS1.” And she acquiesces with a simple, “Alright then.” And even though you are tempted to ask why she seems to hate you so much, you ultimately decide that you’re just really not all that interested so you just let it go.

Unfortunately, when it finally arrives, the Jones Beach beach bus is ridiculously overcrowded. Luckily you push your way to the front and get up enough steps to ding your metrocard. Your friends, however, miss this opportunity and tell you they will grab the next bus. However, by the time the train arrives they are nowhere to be found. You call your BFF for their 411, and wonder if, just in case the train arrives before they do, if you should just head over to the Karaoke Nazi’s house and shower before them. His hesitation speaks volumes, until he finally suggests that you just wait on the train platform for them even though they have also missed the next two buses because of overcrowding issues. So when the train does come you make the executive decision to get on the train and just head back to Manhattan to wash up and drop off your beach chair so you won’t have to lug it around all night. And honestly, you’re thrilled to miss any further patronizing drama with the Karaoke Nazi that might ensue over using too much shampoo or hanging your towel incorrectly.

On the train back you receive another call from the Daytripping Freeloader, which is sweet and you are happy to have the opportunity to complain about your ridiculous beach day, but that’s mostly because you are running out of things to say to the boy who has been calling you at least once, every single day since he left Fire Guyland. Being a bit phone phobic, you never really know what to say during such frequent conversations with a veritable stranger. So your chats tend to be a lot of daily recaps that lack much of a spark. You do, however, appreciate his obvious intention to not lose momentum, which is usually the kiss of death in any long term non-relationship.

Your BFF and Company are at least an hour late to PS1 but luckily you time your arrival to meet them perfectly. Unfortunately the place is an absolute zoo, and this year’s Public Farm theme makes you feel more like a sheep than a patron of the arts as you wait in a beer line that snakes it’s way throughout the entire outdoor installation. It takes more than a half hour to get one beer. And after just a few beers you find yourself extremely late to the Brooklyn Bash.

Everybody but your BFF bails on the party, which is fine because you had been feeling like a fifth wheel all day. The two of you hop on the G train and schlep over to Fort Greene and the graduation party is raging by the time you arrive. It’s really sweet to greet your thirtysomething friend as Dr. Doc and you toast him over and over again until eventually you find yourself sprawled out in his backyard hammock making out with some Brooklyn Bald Boy. Although you have no intention of making a public spectacle of yourself (you never do...), you can’t say you’re that surprised when the other guests actually throw a glass of water on you from the second floor balcony in order to cool you down. Anyway...

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

...but you thoroughly enjoy reading about them, so when you finally get to the last page of The Fountainhead, you feel like bragging about this major accomplishment of having A.D.D. and actually finishing a 700 page book! Only nobody's around because you are sitting on the beach alone and all your friends have long since gone back to the city because they have real jobs and actual homes. You actually started reading this book long before you decided to buy the apartment in Jackson Heights, and who would know that it would take longer to renovate 500 square feet than it would to read 700 pages? Of dense literature. With a very small font. You certainly didn't. Anyway.

Luckily your homeless life on Fire Guyland is coming to an end tomorrow, and then you and your pre-cancerous tan can head back to that other gay island that puts the "man" in Manhattan. Your friend Rice Queen #2 is headed to (surprise, surprise) Asia for a week and he has graciously and generously offered you to house-sit. But today you have nothing to do but pat yourself on the back for reaching the end of an endless book and wait for Low Tea.

Luckily Thursdays are the day when A-Share Boys swap their houses with the B-Share Boys so you are thrilled to finally see some cute new faces, however, Low Tea ends up being somewhat of an empty morgue, only, instead of formaldehyde, these boys veins are flowing with Finlandia. High Tea is even less busy, but you end up meeting a guy who, although not your type, is certainly very nice and entertaining. Hell, let's face it, he's talking to you and you are starving for some oral stimulation. Between your shitty cell service and your shoddy plans, you probably haven't spoken a word to another homo-sapien since the Kinsey 8 abandoned ship on Tuesday. Somehow it doesn't seem like this boy is bragging when he tells you that he writes pop songs that you've danced to and owns bars that you've drank at. A successful writer with unlimited access to booze! What's not to like? But when Pop Slinger buys you a drink, he orders himself a bottle of water. Perhaps his success came after his sobriety set in? Hmmmmm. You ponder this puzzling problem for a millisecond before taking a sip of your Planters Punch.

You start chatting with Pop Slinger about how happy you are to be voting yourself off the island tomorrow! Back to civilization! You've never been so excited to see straight people before! But when Pop Slinger says that he's also leaving tomorrow on the noon Fairy Ferry, you inform him that he should take either the 10am or 2pm, as the noon boat has over an hour wait for the train connection. This is when Pop Slinger explains that he actually has a limo coming for his friends and him, and then asks if you'd like to hitch a ride with them. You thank him for the incredible offer, but explain that you'd like to get in some beach time before schlepping home. Pop Slinger is nice enough to hand you his card, just in case you change you mind, and then he invites you to dinner. Although you've thoroughly enjoyed chatting with him, you don't want to give him the wrong impression by accepting his offer, so you tell him a little white lie that you already have dinner plans.

As you stumble home, you wind up running into your next-door neighbor who, unlike your quarter-Cher renting ass, actually owns his beautiful beach house with his boyfriend. And when he invites you to dinner, you figure it's the neighborly thing to happily and hungrily accept his invitation. However sometime during a delicious dinner of gourmet burgers, you realize that ground round is not the only meat being grilled tonight. You find yourself in the hot seat when a few questions reveal that your friendly neighbor's boyfriend went back to the city today and, when his knee starts rubbing up against yours, you realize that Neighbor Boy must be feeling a bit neglected. Although wedging yourself into another couple's messy marriage is not your cup of tea, you find yourself between a rock and a hard place. A really hard, very attractive place.

It quickly becomes uncomfortably obvious that Neighbor Boy wants to borrow more than a cup of your sugar. Although he obviously wants to Love Thy Neighbor, his ulterior motives are as veiled by nothing more than the flimsy piece of Saran Wrap which he uses to wrap up the left-overs. Neighbor Boy isn't really all that into you, he's just really into having sex with you. This becomes ridiculously obvious when Neighbor Boy starts taking off his clothes and literally yanking you toward his hot tub. But you start to think about your romantic evening with the Daytripping Freeloader. With him there was potential. With him there still is potential. With Neighbor Boy there is nothing more than a one night stand followed by a summer of awkward "Hellos" on the beach. At Low Tea. On the boardwalk. On the ferry. Probably only awkward for you, yet awkward nonetheless.

Unfortunately by the time you have this realization you are somehow giving Neighbor Boy a blow-job. What can you say? He took his clothes off to get in the hot tub, you resisted, yadda-yadda-yadda, and now his dick somehow ended up in your mouth. Hey, it happens. No big whoop. But you kind of push him away and stand up, and, without going into your whole psychology, you simply tell Neighbor Boy that you really have to go home. This is when he calls you a tease. Although he's right on some level, you definitely feel like you were slightly seduced into becoming the tease, however you're really not interested in having a whole ridiculous conversation about it. You just feel the way you feel and there's no point in trying to defend yourself because you know you're never going to change Neighbor Boy's mind and honestly you could really care less what he thinks of you. In fact, you're 99.9% sure that he's just calling you a tease in order to guilt you into finishing off what he made you start. Funnily enough, before you leave the awkward situation, Neighbor Boy hands you his card which either means he's not that upset or perhaps that he actually likes being teased. Regardless, you say goodnight.

The next morning you wake up to a frantic text from Rice Queen #2 who has just realized that his flight to India leaves two hours earlier than he thought. So in order to meet up with him so he can give you the keys to his apartment, you need to leave on the 10am ferry. Unfortunately when you receive his text it's 9:55am. And since the noon boat has a terrible train connection, you find yourself with no other opportunity to get home so you end up giving Pop Slinger a frantic call and ask if you can take him up on his offer to tag along in his Limo back to the city. Luckily, Pop Slinger says yes and before you know it your homeless ass is cruising down the Long Island Expressway in a stretch limo while sipping champagne and singing along to that old Pet Shop Boys song, "Opportunities (Let's Make Lots of Money)". Anyway...

Greetings From...

...Madison Square Garden!  "Somtimes what I think I need is a YOU intervention!"  Madge sends her sticky & sweet love to all the boys.

xoxo You!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Number of Fags Who Voted: 103

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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