New appetite suppressant:
Toggling through People You May Know on Facebook and taking note of the ever-increasing quantity of obscenely ripped gay boiiiz between whom my degrees of separation continue to shrink.
Trust me. It totally werrrqs.
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Rapid results.
“What are you doing tonight?” My friend Liana asked as we left work, yesterday.
“Oh – nothing, really. Going to the gym. Writing. Washing the dishes, probably…not.”
“You should go out and do something. Your hair looks great.”
“Uh! Thank you.” I tittered in delight. “I am stopping at the clinic for a free STD screening on my way home. That’s not too bad of a place to meet men.”
In fact, now thanks to rapid testing, it’s actually pretty smart. No need for prospective partners to worry whether not you’re actually negative when there’s an office full of health care professionals who can vouch for you. Alas, while I’m still clean, there was no one else there with whom I would want to get dirty.
The nurse did say I have, “great veins,” though. “But I bet you get that every time anyone draws blood.”
“True,” I affirmed, “But I’ll always take a compliment!”
And while a phone number would have been nice, after two instances of unsolicited flattery in just as many hours – I was content to go home, read a magazine, and think about cleaning my kitchen.
You know how everyone else knows I’m gay, now? 1:2
I’m still at the gym 30 minutes before I need to leave for a party on a Saturday night. Damn us gays and our high expectations for one another’s fitness. It might amp up our sex lives, but it really cuts into our public debauchery.
At least we’re more likely to live longer, healthier lives. I guess we can be thankful for that. And maybe our people will become less judgmental the closer we get to being able to retire to a life of leisure in Palm Springs.
Although, for many – that maybe is likely to be as thin as the head to toe linen in which we are all sure to bedizen ourselves.
Understandably so WHAT.
We all have some baggage. Over time, a small carry on and even a side satchel of slight emotional scarring are to be expected. But we only have one life. One ride. And there’s no telling how long the trip is going to be.
In terms of relationships, that is reason enough to pack lightly.
So go on. Let go. Drop those extra canvas cases of drama and WALK AWAY!
No one is going to tackle you for making this choice. Unless it’s a chance at love with me that you’re headed towards. In that case, I’ll don a Homoland Security uniform and cuff you like they would at LA – triple X.
It’s easy when I’m not.
When meeting and mingling with new people, few are bound to snub an extended hand and a smiling, “Hi! I’m JJ.” But tack on a “Wanna fuck?” – or even a more tasteful, but equally intentional request – and you’d be surprised how many balk at the offer.
Thus, I have decided to reign in that (s)excessively aggressive aspect of my social approach as we begin the second season of the West Hollywood Dodgeball league. For several, nay, a few, alright, a couple, okay, OKAY – the first official week.
Maybe.
