You know how everyone else knows I’m gay, now? 1:6
When I say, “YeeeAH! I wanna do THAT,” in reference to the act onstage at Jumbo’s Clown Room in Hollywood -
I’m talking about the actual stripping, not the stripper.
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Extra inches.
In this town, they matter more than ever.
I’m talking about street parking, of course.
And cock size.
TGI – LA.
“This feels so strange, just going to chill at a friend’s house instead of out to the bar,” I told my mom, on the phone last night. “I don’t even know who I am right now!”
“It is Sunday,” she replied.
“Woman, this is LA,“ I reminded her. “Every night is Friday night.”
“Uh -” I could hear her open and close her mouth as she searched – in vain – for a response, once again rendered speechless by the knowledge of her baby boi regularly running rampant 2,000 miles away.
You know how everyone else knows I’m gay, now? 1:3
“I think I made out with that guy in your photo,” I wrote in a Facebook message to my friend, a couple weeks ago. “Does his name start with a ‘D’? HA! ‘Does his name start with a ‘D’?'”
Eesh, I tugged at my collar, grimacing exaggeratedly to myself.
“You know you’re gay when…”
“Haha! Yes,” he confirmed, quickly. “That’s my friend Doug. And you did indeed make out with him a few months back. 
”
Douuug - I nodded at my computer screen. Okay. That’s right. Oops!
What can I say? This is Los Angeles. I meet a lot of people. I can’t be expected to remember everyone.
Even if we did taste the inside of each other’s mouths.
Fellatiosophy.
If you go down on someone in their car and a homeless man is asleep in the abandoned armchair you parked next to, does that count as exhibitionism or a complete disregard for Los Angeles’ displaced population?
Seeing as he had woken up and wandered off by the time we put our seats back in their upright and locked positions – Imma gonna say both. And, uh, maybe a smidge of indecent exposure, too; because he surely got a glimpse. Although, lemme tell yah:
It is more than decent, what was exposed to me.
