Thursday, February 23, 2006

It's Better Than God

My friend Delicious introduced me to what may be the best dessert shop this side of the Mississippi. It's called Pix, it's in SE on Division and eating there is like having cherubs raised in the Candyland Correctional Facility for Wayward Angels gang-rape your tongue while singing a merry medley of Disney classics including (but not limited to): "A Whole New World" and "Bear Necessities". In all honesty if the only form of payment these people accepted were dead kittens there'd be a lot fewer fuzzy balls of love running around right now. I apologize to cat lovers, but once you've eaten there you'll understand why Mittens had to go into the wood-chipper. Really, it was for the best.

-Zeroes, the consumer whore-

ps I don't call him that because I think he's delicious. In all honesty I've never eaten of his flesh, that's just weird, why would you even think that? What, are you sick or something? Ugh.


...he leans in close to, I dunno, kiss me I guess. Just then a huge glob of foam falls on my head and slides right into my eyes. Vigorously shaking my cranium to dislodge the stinging detergent bubbles from my face I feel an impact as my teeth connect with and split the skin covering the bridge of his nose.

"Look, not to be mean or anything, but I'm really not interested and I'm just here to dance. Also, there's blood running down your face. Maybe you should go take care of that."


"I said there's blood running down your face, go to the bathroom and wash up."

Fast forward to:

"...I think you should jerk off with me on the phone."

"I really love it that you only call me when you're drunk and horny."

So I do it, because I still love him no matter what. Also, he's obcenely hot even if he is several states away these days.

Rewind to:

"...can you believe we're getting married?!"

"So I guess I won't be seeing you again this weekend."

I only wish he'd mentioned his boyfriend before I spent three days screwing his brains out. I would've given him more to remember me by when marital boredom inevitably sets in.

Two steps and a shimmy to:

...takes my hand and leads me down the hall to his bathroom, both of us reeking of post-coitus. He tells me we should do it again in the shower.

Then he points to the monstrous dildo he's suctioned onto the shower wall and refers to it as his "boyfriend". I lost his number pretty fast after that.

Left-right tango into:

"...kiss me baby, kiss me!! Waaauughaghaghagahgauaaa....."

What the hell kind of noise was that? Did he just have an orgasm or a stroke? No, wait, he's trying to talk. No stroke after all. Damn, now how am I supposed to get rid of him?

Take a big running jump to right now,

...and you'll understand why I find myself wishing that my creepy love of boobs included an appreciation of below-the-belt lady-parts. It's not that I don't like guys, I do. I really, really do. It's just that they're often insane. Not "fun at parties" insane, more like watching his shell-shocked neighbors on the evening news saying "he always seemed like such a nice guy" insane. Trust me, I'm under no illusions about being just as nuts as every other XY chromosome sack out there. It has me wondering how I've traumatized other men during my time on this big blue-green ball of mud and molten metals.

Friday, February 10, 2006

Open Letter on Bar Etiquette

More often than not I find myself slinging booze at assorted gay bars around the country as a way of paying rent and buying shiny things. It's a good life but it's come to my attention that there are those of you out there that didn't seem to get the memo about why it's wrong and foolish to sleep with the help. So here are three pointers to keep you from pissing off your bartender and making your future drinking experiences awkward:

1) It is both a fun and acceptable part of the business transaction to flirt with your bartender. There's a very good chance he/she will indeed flirt back. However, do notice that the cute bartender is also flirting with a large number of the other patrons. It's part of the job, often a part we all enjoy, but still just part of the job. Unless the bartender flirts with you while he/she is off the clock, don't confuse witty banter with an overwhelming desire to get into your pants.

2) Never, EVER, ask for a bartenders number or offer your own unsolicited number. If you give yours he/she may indeed intend to call at some point in the future, but most likely it won't happen and then you'll find yourself upset that your phone never rang. If the person serving you shots has any strong desire to see you outside of the dimly lit club with it's throbbing bass and vocals they will make an effort to get your number all on their own.

3) As with anyone in the servant caste, getting romantic or physical with someone who's job description involves serving everyone else comes with it's own slew of problems. If the encounter is purely physical you'd better make damn sure you pull out all the stops and knock his/her socks off as some of the less scrupulous bartenders have been known to report on the varied sexual prowess of previous conquests. Do you really want to be known as the guy who gives lousy head and smells like cabbage and old feet? As far as dating goes, this is just about as unwise as dating a coworker. Unless the two of you are psychotically over-mature in regards to issues such as jealousy and insecurity your two to three weeks of pre-marital bliss will most likely end with an in-club screaming match and thrown cocktails. I can tell you right now that security tends to frown on that sort of thing.

Please follow these guidelines to ensure a happy and productive boozing experience. And remember, it's all about having fun, don't let horny ruin everyone's good time.