Tuesday, October 30, 2012

Hot Buttered Broadcast

Last night I was glued to Hurricane Sandy coverage when JB announced he had to get up early for work. With a kiss goodnight and a mild warning not to stay up too late, JB retired to the bedroom as I flipped between news channels on TV and news apps on my iPad.

Around midnight I decided to give my brain a break from the increasingly repetitive superstorm updates. I turned the channel to "Family Guy" to see what hilarious mischief Stewie had gotten himself into this time. (Is it bad my role model is a cartoon baby?) Yet most of my attention was focussed on my iPad.

I was thinking about a conversation I had with a friend earlier in the day about Halloween costumes. We were bemoaning the fact that slutty cop costumes seem to be all the rage lately for women but, sadly, not for men. The conversation ended with my offering to help him find the uniform clothing and accessories required to complete his "bachlorette party stripper cop" ensemble.

Google was as helpful as ever when entering search terms like "police uniforms" and "hot cops" and "sexy police stripper". As the links I clicked devolved from law enforcement wholesale suppliers to eBay uniform fetish retailers to, finally, a series of increasingly prurient Tumblr streams, I gave up any pretense of trying to help my friend with his costume. I decided to end the day by treating myself to a scene or two from a video I stumbled upon titled "Hot Buttered Cop Porn". It was a long day and I'm a sucker for a clever spoonerism.

As the obligatory, thirty second backstory gave way to steamy cop-on-cop foreplay, I couldn't help but feel something was missing. Yes, the butter. But also the sound. I started with the iPad volume on mute because I didn't want to bother JB while he was trying to sleep. Or maybe I just didn't want him to know what I was up to in the living room. Not that he'd have any problem with it. Unless his mood was swinging toward the estrogen side of his cycle, when he'd be feeling unattractive and under-appreciated. I felt it wise not to risk it, and turned on the sound to the lowest possible setting.

I don't know what horny people did in the olden days, but silent porn has to be almost as bad as no porn at all. In my teenage years I was able to get off just imagining the word, "porn". Maybe it's because I'm getting older, or maybe I've gotten trapped in a porn de-sensitivity loop, but these days I find it helps to get as many of my senses teaming up as possible to get the job done. And my ears seem to pull as much weight as my eyes in this regard. I bumped up the volume of the video one more notch.

I could tell from the cops' facial expressions and lip movements that I was missing crucial dialog required for a full appreciation of this movie's finer plot points. I kicked the volume up some more, keeping in mind typical porno dynamic range. I've been startled by screamers before. The last thing I needed was an unexpectedly boisterous moan to wake JB on the other side of the bedroom door. But I knew I had some overhead, as the sound was still barely audible. I turned it up two more notches.

Sometimes I think it would be fun to work in gay porn. But then I imagine having the tedious job of holding up a big dry-erase board and checking off each position as the actors execute them in the order prescribed. Then erasing my checkmarks to do it again for the next scene. But what a porno lacks in creativity and spontaneity (and sound quality) can often be redeemed by the enthusiasm of its actors. And these guys sure looked enthusiastic. Too bad their growls, howls, shouts, slaps, grunts and moans were decidedly muffled.

I had my sound volume pumped up to at least 85% by the time my penile volume hit 105%. Just as my nasty cops and I simultaneously reached the point of no return, the bedroom door swung wide open.

"Jesus Christ, what the hell is going on??" JB demanded.

If the question wasn't intended to be rhetorical, the ongoing state of affairs rendered it so. It was only after my senses returned that I noticed the sound of heavy sighs emanating loudly from the bedroom behind my grumpy hubby. And music... the unmistakable beat of porn music...

Whocka-whocka-wow, chicka-BOW-wow-wow.

Confusion gave way to realization. A memory. Earlier in the day while listening to hurricane updates, I used the "AirPlay" feature to wirelessly stream my iPad's audio to the bedroom stereo.

And I forgot to set it back.

Always remember to turn "AirPlay"
OFF before watching porn. Unless
you need the full, rich sound of
5.1 Dolby through JBL speakers.

Monday, October 29, 2012

Horny Halloween

Can't I have a horn on my head
and be happy to see you?
I've always enjoyed Halloween. From the first time I put on a cheap plastic mask (the kind held on with elastic string) and scored free candy, I was hooked.

I realize I'm now far too old to go trick-or-treating for free stuff. Mature adults spend big bucks on costumes and go pub-crawling.

On Friday night, JB and I went to a costume party. It was an OTP* shindig put on by one of JB's flight-attendant girlfriends. JB went as an Alpine Ricola Yodeler in an attempt to gain some meager return on his Oktoberfest lederhosen investment. As I had just got home from work and didn't feel like putting in any actual effort, I simply put on my new unicorn mask. If anyone asked I was a "business casual unicorn".

Not a costume. Just
how people dress OTP.
(*OTP = Outside The Perimeter, the Perimeter being the 285 Interstate which circles Atlanta. For us in-towners, the Perimeter serves as a demarcation between "urban" and "suburban" verging on "Deliverance".)

I knew I was OTP when striking up a conversation with a guy dressed up as a burglar. After a bit of smalltalk ("hehe, business casual unicorn") he judged the party "awesome" based solely on the fact that there wasn't one "babe" in the entire condo clubhouse he wouldn't fuck. This prompted me to make an objective scan of the party guests and conclude Mr. Burglar's bar probably wasn't set too high to begin with. A real burglar would have avoided a room filled with female cops, no matter how sluttily they were dressed.

Another man who was dressed as a prison convict (or an inebriated zebra with precision stripes) asked me if I was dressed as "a Democrat". I don't know if he was serious or trying to be funny. "See this horn?? Donkey's don't have horns, wise guy. What are you anyway? Let me guess... a republican caught evading taxes?"

JB pretending not to know the
culturally insensitive unicorn.
My mask offered a very limited field of vision, so if I wasn't carefully avoiding furniture and Oompa-Loompas, I tended to remain stationary and take in the activity around me. At one point I realized I was surrounded by slutty cops on their hands and knees with a roll of paper towels. Evidently the cooler I was standing near had sprung a leak and I was unaware I was standing in a widening puddle. This prompted jokes about the unicorn not being housebroken. I advised them to save those soggy paper towels since unicorn piss fetches almost as much as ground unicorn horn on the Chinese black market.

This is when I remembered the host and half the guests were Chinese. Through my left nostril I could see JB roll his eyes. I knew what the topic of discussion was going to be in the car all the way back into the Perimeter. Business Casual Unicorn can never catch a break.

Checking the latest going rate for Unicorn urine on the black market.
There's an app for that.




Thursday, October 18, 2012

Post-Pride

Atlanta celebrated it's annual Pride festival this past weekend. This is the third year since Pride was moved from late June to early October, a decision I celebrate every year. Not only is the weather so much more accommodating, but it better distributes the fun throughout the year. If there ever comes a year I really want to get my pride on, I can hit some other city's Pride in June while still looking forward to ours in the Fall.

An added benefit is that my post-Pride depression is mitigated by the ramp-up into Halloween. And as some anti-gay windbag recently pointed out, we gays do love our Halloween.

Peer shame prevented me from getting my funnel cake this year. :(

The weather was perfect for Pride. Autumn is my favorite season in the South anyway. Even though we don't get quite the brilliant foliage before the leaves fall, the period of classically mild Fall weather seems to extend much longer than it does up north. In Upper Michigan I remember Autumn more as an urgent wake-up call to get your affairs in order for Winter.

Down here the oppressively humid heat and haze give way to week after week of comfortable days in the low-to-mid 70s with crystal-clear blue skies. And the nights turn cool and crisp, a feeling I miss from my days up north. As much as I say I'm acclimated to the weather down here, I still can't get used to the warm, humid Summer nights.

Saturday... In the park... My boyfriend caught me checking out guys.

Maybe it's the weather and the fact that Pride no longer competes with a clump of other Summer festivals, or maybe it's just a sign of greater acceptance, but I noticed especially this year that Pride seems more mainstream. The park was filled with the usual diverse LGBT crowd, but mixed in were plenty of straight people. Straight friends and neighbors, families pushing strollers and/or carrying toddlers on their shoulders, and couples holding hands. (Ladies, if you ever want your man to display his affection more in public, take him someplace gay.)

I love that.

The celebration at Blake's spilled out into the parking lot.

Wednesday, October 17, 2012

Fire And Rims Blown

Church Bus Mayhem #2: "Think About The Children!"

At the end of August I wrote about a pervasive danger facing individuals who are actively involved in the Christian lifestyle. I’m afraid September wasn’t a better month for these folks.

The U.S. Constitution guarantees religious freedom, and I’m a huge fan of the First Amendment. I’m also a big fan of our interstate highway system. I’m not advocating new limitations or regulations on either one. If a bunch of consenting adults want to pack themselves into a van designed for hauling cargo like a gaggle of circus clowns, that’s their business.

However, these stories make it clear that a disproportionate number of the victims of this tragic phenomenon are children who are under the age of consent. These are innocent children whose only fault is surrendering 100% of their care and well-being to their religious indoctrinators. This is specially troubling when the precepts of that religion favor the well-being of its followers in a hypothetical “afterlife” over their well-being in reality.



Man killed in Highway 54 Crash

Sept. 10, 2012
One person was killed when the car he was driving struck a church bus early Sunday afternoon. His wife was injured. EMS was called to Highway 54 West near Herbert Willis Road.

Fund created for teen seriously hurt in church van crash on I-4

Sept. 13, 2012
Her fight began on Saturday, as she and fellow members of the church traveled to the Rock the Universe concert in Orlando. Around mile marker 55 on I–4, a tire blew out on the van they were traveling in. It flipped into the median, and she landed on her head.

Teen dies after being seriously injured in crash on I–4

Sept. 14, 2012
Lakeland, Florida – Sierra Johnson, the 17-year-old who was injured last weekend in a church van crash on I–4, has passed away.

Two die when church van collides with SUV in Sevier County

Sept. 16, 2012
SEYMOUR (WATE) - Two people were killed and several injured Sunday morning in a fiery wreck when their church van collided with an SUV in Sevier County.

Two teens hurt in church-van crash

Sept. 16, 2012
Tire failure is the cause behind a single-vehicle Polk County crash that has left one of seven passengers in serious condition, according to the county sheriff’s office.

Deceased victims identified in church van crash

Sept. 17, 2012
Deceased victims identified in church van crash …. According to Knox County Sheriff’s Office spokeswoman Martha Dooley, Schaeffer was convicted of one felony county of robbery in January 2011. … Settle said he had never seen such a serious accident.

‘Sunshine of the school’: Teenage church bus wreck victim

Sept. 19, 2012
Courteney, one of two victims of Sunday’s fiery and horrific head-on collision on Chapman Highway between an SUV and the church bus in which the girl was riding, will be buried on Thursday. Friends, family, school officials and even … Izzy, who said …

Church Van Driver Convicted of Child Sex Abuse

Sept. 21, 2012
A Spring Valley man who was the church bus driver for a South Nyack congregation has been convicted by a Rockland County jury in New City of sexually abusing a young boy in 2011.

Update: Crash on Park Avenue Injures 7

Sept. 30, 2012
Seven people were injured when a church van collided with an SUV at Fifth Street and Park Avenue Saturday about 10:30 p.m. The Huntington Manor Fire Department responded to the crash that brought about 60 emergency personnel to the scene.

Tuesday, October 16, 2012

Smile By Jesus

Up early for a dental cleaning and check up. I always schedule myself to be the first patient they see at 7:30am. Mostly because my dentist is way up OTP and morning rush hour traffic on I-85 can be very unpredictable. I've learned I never want to show up late for an appointment. My dentist is like Bruce Banner, for the most part he's nice but I never want to see him angry.

Hard to believe it's been ten years since JB referred me to Doctor D. JB kept raving about his wonderful dentist. Meanwhile I had the uneasy suspicion my convenient, in-town dentist saw me as little more than a walking dollar sign with teeth yet to cap. I envisioned him calculating what work I needed based solely on whatever new car he was eyeing and a surreptitious x-ray of my wallet.

I was a bit nervous the first time I saw the amount of Christian paraphernalia in Doctor D's waiting room. It may have been he marble replica of the Ten Commandments. Or the illustrated bible story books aimed at children. Or the box of actual bibles. (Free! Take one!) I made a mental note not to mention my sexual orientation, and to suppress any flamboyant mannerisms I may have subconsciously picked up from my previous dentist.

Turns out there was little need to worry. The husband and wife team assumed I was JB's partner and if they have any problems with that, they hide it very well. It's as if they have all the best qualities of being Christian, which is a rare and wonderful thing.

I better get going. I get ten Hail Marys and extra gum scraping time in purgatory if I'm late.


Thursday, October 4, 2012

Hail the Fluid Master

Shortly before leaving on vacation I received an urgent call at work. JB was in a panic because the toilet wouldn't flush. I have a hard enough time helping people troubleshoot technical problems over the phone when I do know what I'm talking about. Not being a plumber I advised him to use the bathroom in our condo building's pool house until I got home from work. (Our version of "dropping the kids at the pool.")

Never the patient type, JB hung up and immediately called the condo association manager to complain. She correctly laughed at him.

When I got home I discovered that by turning off the water supply into the tank then turning it back on, the tank would fill. It just wouldn't refill automatically again after the next flush. While I didn't fix the problem, turning the water valve off and on after each flush provided a work-around until I could replace the fill-valve in the tank. This would have to wait until after vacation.

Yeah, I probably should have given the cat sitter a heads-up about that. But at least the litter box was immaculate.

Anyway, it was off to Homo Depot last Saturday to fulfill my manly duty. The strategy changed when I saw that the hot guy in the kilt was working. Turning down two other friendly offers of assistance, I made my way to Handy McFreeball and pretended I never saw the inside a toilet tank before.

Sadly for me, all the necessary parts were shelved above knee level. After my third stupid question he assured me installation couldn't be simpler. There's even a step-by-step picture guide right there on the side of the box, see? But what if I get home and find I need help? "There should be an 800 number in there," Handy offered as he turned on his heel (not fast enough) and abandoned me in the plumbing aisle.

It was only after Handy disappeared from sight that the Fluidmaster Duo Flush™ caught my eye.

A common feature on toilets in Europe is the ability to choose between a full flush and a "half flush". Because the fact of the matter is all flush requirements are not the same. Why waste a full tank of water when four out of five times (random estimate, less if you drink beer, more if you're Jamie Lee Curtis) just a fraction of a tank will get the job done?

It's one of those simple things we don't think about in the Land of Plenty. Until a drought hits, like the one that panicked Atlanta four years back. Nothing says you're in deep shit like hearing a respected local TV news anchor say the words, "If it's yellow, let it mellow..."

My project Saturday afternoon was to install the Fluidmaster ™. Mr. McFreeball was right, it only takes fifteen minutes. An hour and a half if cocktails are served. After final adjustments, I set the heavy porcelain lid back on the tank and called over JB to proudly show off my accomplishment.

After a brief instructional lecture ("Down for full flush, up for half flush") he asked, "How do I do a full flush?"

"You push the handle down."

"And a normal flush?"

"Push the handle down."

"No... a normal flush."

"What's normal? Number one or number two?"

"I don't know, you installed it!"

It was around here that I began to feel like I was doing a bit in an Abbott and Costello routine. I hope I have an easier time explaining it to the cat sitter.


It's really quite simple. All you need to remember is:
"Blue is for poo."

Wednesday, October 3, 2012

Understanding


Wow. I can't stop watching this Expedia commercial. Stunningly beautiful and so emotionally heartfelt, there's no way these could be actors. If they are, they deserve some sort of acting award.

It really brings home for me what the fight for marriage equality is all about. This is how the world changes. One personal relationship at a time.

Just have a kleenex handy. Watching this had me in tears in my cubicle to the point my boss asked if I was okay. Since I had a cold anyway, I played it off as a sniffles attack. He sent me home early.



Update: Not professional actors, but not exactly amateur lesbians either. JB immediately recognized Jill and Nikki from a previous season of "The Real L Word".

Yes, it's one of JB's favorite shows. Which just supports my theory that my furry little bear has so much testosterone, it wraps around the other side to become estrogen. He's still fuming at Romi for marrying her ex-boyfriend.


Tuesday, October 2, 2012

Fancy Pants 2 - Rise of The Flap

This morning I find myself asking, what kind of blogger would I be if I were to ignore the requests of my faithful readers? (Both of them.)

Sorry about the pixillation. If I had to add a click-through for the
"mature content" warning, I'm afraid I'd lose my Pakistani audience.


Going to the pisser is like
landing an airplane: flaps
down on approach.
First, I need to clarify something. (No, not that photo.) When I wrote earlier about the "easy-access" flap, I was basing that on my previous experience with my old lederhosen shorts. What I've discovered since is that my shorts weren't "traditional" lederhosen but a modernized variation. The "flap" was formed by two zippers which took exactly 0.2 seconds to open. (Assuming I used both hands.)

Traditional lederhosen don't have zippers, they have buttons. And all the flap really does is add a second layer of buttons to the fly. Wearing my new lederhosen I quickly learned to begin unfastening my flap en route to the Herren's room. I noticed most guys wearing lederhosen did the same.

In fact, any short amount of time waiting in line to piss was spent fumbling with my flap. And you can believe that after five liters of beer, I had to piss. A lot. Nowhere is the stereotypical German passion for efficiency more obviously on display than in the men's restrooms at Oktoberfest. Inside you'll find miles of piss troughs. Any gap between men relieving themselves wider than ten inches is fair territory, as long as you wedge yourself in politely and carefully. (Don't say I didn't warn you about this point.)

And German efficiency isn't all that's on display in there. I've never been much of a urinal gawker, I'm more the take-care-of-business-and-get-out kind of guy. But often in these Oktoberfest restrooms, one doesn't have the option of staring straight forward since many of the piss troughs are efficiently arranged to face each other. It's okay to look, he's checking out your cock too. I noticed absolutely no difference between the straight tents and the gay tents in this regard. This only supports my general Oktoberfest theory that all distinctions between the straight guys and gay guys essentially disappears by the second maß.

I know what you're thinking: "But what if I'm pee shy?" Don't worry, there's hope...
Simply drink one of these. Repeat as necessary while symptoms persist.

Another clarification to my original "Fancy Pants" post is necessary. When I said that going to a Munich lederhosen shop – or "Tracht" shop – on the Friday before the opening day of Oktoberfest would be like going to Walmart on Christmas Eve, I was wrong. At least I think I was wrong... Does the Walmart greeter pour you a glass of champagne when you enter the store?

"Let me measure your inseam for that hat."
What an experience! After arriving in Munich Friday morning and spending the afternoon at a popular beer garden (the Viktualienmarkt Biergarten in Marienplatz) we all decided we needed more accoutrements for our fancy pants. These could be obtained at a nearby popular Tracht shop where my friends Joe and Larry purchased their lederhosen in years previous. On the walk over they warned me about the proprietor of the shop. He's a pervert.

We got to the shop 30 minutes before closing time and as I expected, it was a riot. Taking in the commotion, I was surprised by a short little man who snuck up behind me and pushed a flute of champagne into my hand. He looked like a troll. Not an ugly, under-the-bridge troll, but a cute, look-at-me-on-the-end-of-your-pencil troll.

"That's him," Joe whispered.

Sure enough, when picking out a pair of socks, the cute little troll man insisted on measuring my inseam. Carefully and methodically. I just shrugged and let the cute little troll man do his thing. I've done a lot more for free champagne.


Thank goodness I didn't go with the yellow shirt.
I'd look like Timer, hankering for a hunk of cheese.