Report From A Trip That Hasn't Happened Yet.
Next week I leave with three co-workers for business in Pittsburgh and then Portland, Oregon. I'll be gone for a full week and I'm not looking forward to it. I hate traveling for business - absolutely hate it. Combined with my recent (this year) phobia with flying, I am absolutely dreading these trips. My co-workers know that, so this morning this shows up in my e-mail, a little preview of what one of them expects the trip report will turn out like:

Wednesday
It was tough getting Cory out of the building. Joe had to really struggle to pry him off the Ray the security guy's legs. It was a scene, everyone was crying, even Ray. Finally got to Logan Airport and we made it all the way to the gate - then Curt showed up. It was intense. Remember to wedding scene in "The Graduate"? There was Curt, banging on the plate glass windows. On a positive note, Cory is really loving the Ativans. He swore they were so mild that it wasn't a problem taking one every 10 minutes. I bought him a Pez dispenser at the newsstand. We re-filled it twice with Ativans before take off.

Flight went okay. Good news: good weather, really smooth ride. Bad news: captain turned off the fasten seatbelt sign. Joe and I were both surprised that Cory knew all the choreography from West Side Story. Almost everyone else in coach seemed to enjoy it. The stewardesses were really nice and they helped us bandage Cory's toe after he high-kicked the overhead storage compartment. 37 Ativans later, we landed.

Sunday
Spent a fun weekend in Portland. Curt flew in for Sunday brunch. God, he's gorgeous.

Monday
Got to the area office. These people are so great. Easy to work with and they really do everything right. The last time they had to buy a bottle of White Out was in 1982.

Tuesday
Cory's doctor fed ex'ed another carton of Ativans. They arrived in time for lunch.

Wednesday
They showed "The Sound of Music" on the plane ride home. Cory knew all the words, but they were a little slurred. He has a beautiful voice, and it carries the entire length of a 737.

Older, Better, Stronger.
This weekend I turned 37 years old, a fact which is simply inconceivable for me. I do not know where the time has gone. Wasn't I just 27? I certainly feel the same way, and other than the fact that I've gained some weight (which I'm trying to remedy 4 to 5 days a week at my new gym), I think I look pretty much the same as I did at 27, too.

My Dad, who is 73 years old, said last year that he didn't understand how he could be that old. He felt 30, and it was often shocking for him to look in the mirror and see an old man staring back at him. That's my fear - that it's just going to all occur so fast, and before I know it I'm going to be staring at an old man in the mirror, too. I'm happy with my life, though - so this growing older thing isn't exactly an unpleasant experience. It's just hard to believe.

So how does a randy 37 year old homo celebrate yet another year on earth? He hops on the ferry to Provincetown with his boyfriend for a day of lunching, shopping and dancing, of course. Those high-speed ferry's to P-town, they're the best thing since man discovered how to masturbate, I tell ya! On the trip down we met up with three MIT alumni who were having a small reunion over the weekend. We befriended them and had a great time - they even showed up at T-dance, and we shared a drunken, laugh filled return trip at 7:30pm.

Yesterday - the actual date of my birth - we spent with Rob, Wendy and Eve at the RCC, soaking up some rays and relaxing. It was packed - the busiest I've seen it yet this summer - and a highlight was that I ran into an old friend that I haven't seen in years. Adrien was always cute, but now he's working out like crazy and maturing in all the right places and so my adorable old friend is now buff, sexy hunk! More motivation for me to get to that gym, let me tell you.

The day was capped off by a big old carnivore meal with several bottles of wine and major dessert action. I was treated by the boyfriend and my three fabulous friends to a rousing chorus of "It's Raining Men" instead lieu of "Happy Birthday" (at my request). The restaurant wasn't that busy, but I do think that raised a few eyebrows among the staff.

So this is it - I'm 37 now. Winding the corner to 40, and still wondering when the hell I'm going to grow up. Never, maybe.

Nice Pecs, Dude
Something I haven't been writing about (maybe because I'm worried I'll jinx it and stop going) is that I've joined a new gym. Well, actually, it's not a gym - it's a fitness center in a downtown hotel near where I work. This might sound strange, but it's extremely convenient for me and has everything I need - a large amount of cardio equipment and a weight room with lots of dumb bells and machines. It even has a hot tub, sauna and a pool (although I'm not much of a swimmer). Since they must keep their guests happy, it's always very clean and has wonderfully plush towels plus all the locker room niceties one might need (disposable razors, deodorant, etc).

Since the hotel also happens to be where most of the performers who come into town shack-up, there is also the added perk of occasional celebrity sightings (or so claimed the manager when I joined). Imagine my pleasant surprise on Friday when I found myself sharing the weight room with a certain handsome, attractive and unpretentious fellow. I actually wasn't absolutely sure it was him, until I later checked and confirmed that he was indeed playing the FleetBoston Pavilion Friday night.

Me and Chris Isaak - we're tight now, baby.

Wherever you go, there you are.
Only four more days to enter! And do you want to know the weirdest part? Keith had no idea that the 14th was my birthday.

Bon Jour!
As certain lucky boys come off the high of a fabulous week in Provincetown, I’ve still got a glow going of my own from a wonderful time last weekend in Montreal.

An early birthday present from my ever-wonderful boyfriend, we left last Thursday on the 4th (a whole week ago already, how can that be?) at 9:30am and were drinking and carrying on in strip clubs by 4pm (we do not waste time). By 7pm we’d befriended a cute stripper named Nathan (or Nathanial, we weren’t really paying attention), who’d helped us score some party supplies (umm, you know, papercups, napkins, plastic forks, etc) and had turned us onto a new body lotion ("God you smell good, what is that you’re wearing!?!"). He was also well versed in the Courtney-Love-killed-Curt-Cobain conspiracy theory (who knew?), and had a nice dick to boot - which is all that really counted.

Saturday and Sunday where a blur of café au lait’s, shopping, Festival des Arts du Village, taking a lovely walk through Old Montreal, early evening cocktails at Sky Pub, and then wild/fun/wicked nights hitting all the hot spots (links here to only two of many).

My Ex pointed out to me on the phone tonight that my first home-away-from-home is Provincetown, my second is New Orleans, but right up there on the list of favorite places is definitely Montreal (New York is up there somewhere also, but I find it too painful to really rate my favorites against each other).

Plans are already in the works for the next trip.

The Prowler
Tonight, as we were sitting on our couch, watching the news, munching on a particularly gross dinner I’d put together from odds and ends I could find in our cupboards, we noticed someone pass by our back door. "Who the hell was that?" Curt asked, slightly alarmed. It is highly unusual to see someone we didn’t recognize back there. You see - our back "yard" is sealed off from the outside world by a pretty sizable fence. Other than us, the only people who have direct access to the back area are the older gentleman who takes care of the goldfish pond he’s got back there (and I might add, plants artificial flowers around it), and the employees of the next-door pet shop (who have a nasty habit of taking smoke breaks below our bathroom window and sometimes letting little dogs pee near the fish pond).

Continuing to eat in the air conditioned comfort of our little love nest, we were startled when suddenly a man walked up onto the little deck that Curt built 2 years ago and peered through our door. Seeing us staring back at him, he high-tailed it the other way. Naturally, we dropped our forks and went after the son-o-bitch. Well, more accurately, my brave boyfriend confronted him and asked what the hell he was doing. He got no answers, of course, and the guy just sort of mumbled a few excuses and retreated out the (somehow) open gate.

So now we’re paranoid. We’ve spoken to both the older gentleman neighbor and the pet store owners about making sure the back gate is always closed and locked (it somehow got opened, which can only happen from the inside so someone must have stupidly left it that way), we’ve posted a sign in the common foyer of our building explaining what happened and encouraging people to be vigilant, and I’m going to make sure that we lock our screen door, our back door, and push the dining room table against it when we’re asleep or not at home from now on.

Mothafucka ain’t getting my shit.

AkaFrankGreen Is Alive And Well And Slutting In Provincetown
When last seen, our very own Mr. Brown was shakin his booty at T-dance with his friends, slugging down Beefeater and Tonics, and flirting unabashedly with a hot Boatslip waiter. Yes boys and girls, your intrepid reporter and his boyfriend scooted our little sunburned asses (thanks to spending a beautiful Saturday at the RCC) down to P-town and back yesterday via the high-speed Ferry in hopes of spending a little time with everyone's favorite Atlanta boy. Little did we know we'd actually be getting two in the process.

Shed no tears for him, believe me - he's having more fun than you probably are. Oh, and he says, "Hi y'all."