Back in college, I had the bongrilliant idea to ink the title of the 1940s jazz standard, “I got it bad and that ain’t good,” on my inner thigh.

Then I woke up – amongst a fall out of cheese puff powder – and recognized the slew of incurable STDs that particular strain of lyrics might imply. Thankfully so, because no matter how good a(n un)certain number of Los Angelenos can attest me to be, there ain’t many anywhere who would still want it bad after unveiling such a flagrant forewarner. At least not without proof of recently and officially documented sexual health.

A jungle cat it is, then. An ode to my carnal ferocity AND a nod towards my fascination with magnetic and libidinous, middle aged women. All tat jazz…

None of the eluded secretions.

Filed Under: Drug use? Who said anything about drug use?, failed attempt at sexiness, upper middle aged lady love by JJ
No Comments Yet

I am always up for a costume party. On my calendar, Halloween is just the kick off to another 365 days ripe to be themed. That extolled, it wasn’t the suggested attire, so much as the promise of a designated seven minutes in heaven room, that had me most revved up for the 1980s junior high re-enactment dance at Freak City, in Hollywood, Saturday night.

“I don’t care if there are only three other gay men here to choose from -” I proclaimed upon strutting into the venue around 11 p.m., before I’d even drank my first glass of spiked, fruit punch. “I WILL be taking someone behind that curtain to make out.”

I didn’t.

We danced until almost 2:30 a.m., and throughout that whole time I don’t remember seeing ONE other gay man in attendance.

Not. A single. One.

No definitive homosexuals, at least. I might have been able to coax a celestial minute or two out of the more libidinous and blacked out straight guys. And I’m sure I could have gotten even drunker, myself, and charmed (read: browbeaten) a female friend into giving me a few pity pecs. But we were only pretending to be back in eighth grade.

While it’s unfortunate that I wasn’t mature enough to experiment then, no one with less than equal skills of seduction or pride in their identity – not to mention a vagina – is going to get their hands beneath this authentic, 1984, Christine McVie solo tour T, now.

The mullet wig, though. Anyone’s free to run their fingers through that.

Filed Under: failed attempt at sexiness, gaydar, Hollywood, Oh *hey* adulthood., pursuit of *ME*, upper middle aged lady love, You read it here. by JJ
No Comments Yet

Waking up in a location other than my bed, a 10:30 a.m. hike no longer seemed as desirable a start to my Sunday. I could cancel, I thought, glancing over at the sweet, but regrettable treat I’d indulged in the night before. There’s still 30 minutes till we’re supposed to meet. Maybe he hasn’t left yet.

No, no. Get up JJ. Get going.

Oh, al -

You’ve been so good all weekend, not breaking a single plan.

ALRIGHT! Okay. Eesh.

I ceased bickering with myself, but continued to grumble audibly as I climbed to my feet. Trying this whole honoring my commitments thing was tough. Seemingly less so, however, following a subsequent comparison of my own evening to that of my friend Royal.

The empty box of Junior Mints next to which I awoke after passing out on my chouch further propelled me towards Runyon Canyon. Memory of the accompanying blueberry waffles and heaps of honey-roasted peanuts prompted an increase in the speed of my walk. Yet, after an impromptu overnight at the Hollywood Roosevelt, Royal’s wanting to stay until check out to room service the Latin visitor at his down comforter clad bedside would have been more than understandable.

The only other gay I’d met that weekend looked like the type to want to take me home, tie me up, and murder me after three years of torture and captivity. Meanwhile, Royal had been getting cabeza under the smog-smothered stars, on the roof of a parking structure. And that was just his icing on the other guy’s face. He’d spent the previous night dancing and bumping taste buds with a completely different dude.

“I would have made you proud,” he said.

He did. Impressed and not the least bit jealous. I’m always happy to see a friend succeed, especially when they attribute much of that progress to me. If I’m exceptionally drawn to someone, I make my move. If I’m only mildly intrigued, I let them come to me. Inspired by my mental manhandling methods, Royal put both to use.

The essence of this enlightened approach to the romantic aspect of my personal life is that ass is just that, a facet.

“Sex is overrated and constantly hyped far beyond what it can deliver.” 69-year-old screen siren Raquel Welch said when discussing her memoir “Raquel: Beyond The Cleavage” in a recent interview on “Oprah.” “If you’re lucky, it occurs with some regularity, but it’s not the whole enchilada.”

If I like the waiter, it ain’t often I say no to the meat. That said, I’m equally content enjoying an evening with friends before going home and treating myself to dessert. And at least then the quality of service is always guaranteed.

Filed Under: food for sex, Oh *hey* adulthood., perspective, upper middle aged lady love, You read it here. by JJ
No Comments Yet

I am suffering (from a lack of sleep) for you.

Also, I now understand why Liz Lemon wakes up with lettuce in her hair and can’t muster much more than a stroll on her tread mill in the morning.

I like weekday sex, though. And actual exercise helps to keep the words coming. Speaking of – a climax tends to be even more inspirational. Liz should really try stuffing her hoo hah rather than her face. With some Jack Donaghy, perhaps.

I’d watch that.

Filed Under: fitness, like - *totally* popular culture, perspective, upper middle aged lady love, voyeurism by JJ
No Comments Yet

Easter may have been Sunday, but it seems as though Jesus ain’t the only one rising from the dead this month. Today the news blog Twirlit has reported that despite supposedly drowning during a fishing trip near San Pedro, CAlifornia five years ago, Olivia Newton-John’s former boyfriend Patrick McDermott appears to be alive and working in Mexico. No comment from Newton-John, but while they may have been “hopelessly devoted to” each other for nine years, she’ll be celebrating her second wedding anniversary with second husband John Easterling this July.

SO – not like you care or anything, Patrick Kim – as you’ve reverted back to your given surname – but she’s moved on. She will not be begging, “Please Mr. Please.” You are no longer “The One That [She] Want”s. Understand? Do you need me to pun any more song titles?

Stay hidden, bitch. Stay down there and “live [your] life in peace and harmony…in [the] new place[,] both physically and mentally[,] ” that you’ve found for yourself. She gets it. We get it. “Dateline”-employed private investigator Philip Klein gets it.

Now quit listening, because I gotta say – of course this is sure to sting a bit. Danny Zuko may have hurt Sandy Olsson’s frilly feelings when he thought he was as too cool for their “Summer Loving” as he was for Rydell High School, but faking your death instead of facing your girlfriend and breaking up with her like a decent, honest human being is beyond selfish. On that note:

ATTN: future lovers,

If you so much as THINK about taking a page out of his logbook, I’ll kill you my damn self. We don’t even need to go all the way west to the Santa Monica Pier. I have a bathtub.

Back to O N-J, the real zinger is that both Twirlit and Pop Eater cited her popular relevance as “Grease.” That was just the beginning, fools. “Physical” was released three years later and went double platinum. Wikipedia says the title track was the biggest song of the decade. For Gawd’s sake, in 2008 Billboard Hot 100 ranked it No. 6 among all songs charted in their 50 year history.

For a site sporting the tag line “what women really want,” you’d think Twirlit would show a feminine icon some love. In her time of need, at least. Ladies – ladies, ladies. Don’t MAKE me “get physical.” You know I got it in me.

And my costume closet.

Just kidding. I had to leave that wig behind when I moved to Los Angeles. BUT – my allegiance is forever “Big and Strong.” That ain’t no “Rumour.” Nuh-uh. And if you don’t believe me, well, you can “Get Out.” Just, just GET OUT!

Filed Under: auralgasm, love, pursuit of *ME*, rejection, Sometimes I remember I have a degree in journalism., upper middle aged lady love, You read it here. by JJ
3 Comments So Far