South Bound
Not that I've been writing much in the past week anyway, but there won't be any new posts here until early next week, when we return from a fabulous whirlwind trip to Orlando and Atlanta!

Everybody stay safe, healthy and happy. 'Kay?

How could it possibly be Sunday?
How is it possible that it's been since Wednesday that I last wrote a Blog entry? Time has flown by. Work got just crazy on Thursday and Friday, due to our impending trip south and me trying to fit a ton of work into what few days remain. Thursday night we went out to eat with Rob and Wendy, Friday night we had after work cocktails with friends (and that, of course, lasted until midnight). Saturday we recouperated, and I felt uninspired to write, and today we have shopped and packed.

One more day of work, and then we're off to Orlando for some quality time with the boyfriends parents, and then Friday we fly up to Atlanta for some craziness with Chris, Stu, Rob and Wendy.

Weeeeee!

Think happy thoughts
At 8:02 tonight, the time and day will read 20:02, 20/02/2002, a phenomenon which hasn't happened since November 11, 1111 and won't happen again for another 110 years. I haven't been this excited since the Harmonic Convergence.

I don't want can-cer, I just want a tan, sir.
I have a boyfriend who enjoys pampering himself, so among his Christmas presents I gave him this year were gift certificates for massages, facials and tanning sessions. Yes kids, my 6'6" man is a big girl at heart.

The tanning sessions have come in especially handy recently, as next week we are off to (hopefully) sunny Florida to spend a few days in a time-share with his parents (more on that later). In case we get to spend any time poolside (or out fishing with his father, or wandering Epcot in the blazing sun) he felt that getting a solid base tan was probably a good idea so that we wouldn't burn. I agreed that it sounded like a logical plan. I certainly don't want to shock my pale skin with three days of sun worship and risk a burn.

Now, I've never actually been to a tanning salon. The thought has never appealed to me. I thought it a very mean thing to do to your skin. I know getting a sunburn is probably worse, but sitting in a booth and getting zapped seems like one of the most un-healthy things I could think of. However, we made plans to go tanning together this past Sunday (he's already been several times in the last few weeks). I pumped myself up for it. I can go tanning at least a few times before our trip, I said to myself. It will be good to have a base so that I don't burn. I visualized myself walking into a little closet size room, music pumping through little speakers, getting undressed, standing for 10 or 15 minutes while soaking up some artificial sun and imagining myself on a beach somewhere. I had it all planned out in my head so that it was actually going to be a pleasant experience.

Sunday morning, as I'm getting dressed, I ask Curt exactly how this is gonna work. "It's great. They'll show you exactly what to do. You go into the booth, get undressed, turn on a timer and then lay down in the tanning bed and close the top."

What??

Tanning bed!?! Close the top?!? I wasn't expecting that. I have a George Forman Grill, I know how they work. The idea of putting myself into a giant microwave and closing the lid over myself to let my skin fry wasn't something I could deal with at all. I said, "No way!" and sent him off to tan by himself.

I'm such a wimp.

The Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence
Friday night was yet another perfect reminder that the idea of blowing stuff up your nose is often better than actually doing it. Having not apparently learned that lesson in the past, it was the wee-hours of Saturday morning before either of us hit the sheets. I woke up only hours later, surprisingly alert and refreshed, with a craving for blueberry pancakes. I jumped in the shower, woke up Curt to confirm his order (just as I suspected, a Mexican omelet), called in for take-out, and opened the front door to a beautiful, unseasonably warm, sunny day. Ahh, to feel so good after being so very, very bad! The trip to the diner was the only time I'd enjoy the warm weather though, because shortly after eating breakfast we both were snuggling and dozing on the sofa. The rest of the day was spent moving in slow motion and cursing our poor judgement the night before (well, cursing one moment and giggling over it the next). Home improvement shows, cooking shows, and snippets of old movies on television. I think maybe Curt found the energy to do some laundry, and at dinner time I threw together a pretty successful attempt at Thai basil fried rice with chicken. We were back in bed early Saturday night, having a nice long rejuvenating sleep that our bodies so desperately needed.

Sunday morning we had breakfast, watched parts of Gone With The Wind on TNN, and then at about noon I went and signed the papers which essentially clinch the deal to sell my share of the condo over to my Ex. His refinancing closes next week (while I am away in Florida) and when I return there should be a nice fat check waiting for me. Good news, it would seem, but the truth of the matter was that I felt very melancholy and even slightly sad afterwards. I had two big margarita's at brunch made by a delicious looking bartender named Taylor to console me (the huevos rancheros were pretty good, too). This was followed by many, many (far too many) Absolute screwdrivers at The Eagle, where we sat for the rest of the afternoon and contemplated the meaning of life until we could drink no more and stumbled our way home. Indulgence number two for the weekend. Thank God I had yesterday off for Presidents Day, because there was no way I would have been able to make it into work feeling like I did yesterday morning.

Curt had to work, so once I was up my day began with Regis and Kelly, followed by hours upon hours of straight porn, a break to eat some lunch and watch the news, and then more straight porn. Indulgence number three for the weekend. Finally, knowing Curt was coming home soon, I shut off the DVD player, got my act together, took a shower, and started making chicken and sausage gumbo. The gumbo was delicious, and the comfort food and a final evening of snuggling on the couch with my boyfriend was just what I needed to bring to a close a far too hedonistic long-weekend.

I'm glad I don't have another day off, I don't think I could take it.

Copy Cat
I heard about this cloned kitty on NPR yesterday while we were in the car. With cloning technology moving along at a somewhat alarming pace, I started pondering the pro's and cons of duplicating my boyfriend. I quickly decided it might be fun to have about 10 of him. I'd actually be able to have sex when I wanted it, for instance, since my sex drive is always on turbo mode and his is normal. I'd live in an immaculately clean place (he's a clean freak, so at least two of them would be cleaning at any one time, I'm sure), and the benefits from all those incomes would mean I certainly would not have to work.

On the other hand, think of all that flatulence! Whew-wee! P.U.!!!

Curt, however, just as quickly decided that about 20% less of me would actually be perfect (he can't even handle ONE of me), so cloning this boy is definitely out of the question. That's probably for the best, actually.

Last Night
We had a perfect Valentine's evening (at least, perfect in our eyes). Take-out sushi, two bottles of champagne, the Hedwig and the Angry Inch DVD, a roaring fire, a box of chocolates, and lots of cuddling. I am so lucky.

Of course, that over and done with, tonight I want to go out and be bad. Very bad. But we'll see if that's in the cards tonight or not. For some reason my motor's all revved up. Maybe I'm just excited because it's going to be a 3-day weekend, which means an opportunity to go out on Sunday night, which I haven't done in a very long time.

See, I used to go out pretty regularly on Thursday and/or Sunday nights. Curt isn't into going out on weeknights, but he trusts me and doesn't mind if I do. So Thursday's I'd usually watch Will and Grace with him and then head over to the Paradise in Cambridge for a few beers and to watch a little stripper action. Sunday's I'd go to T-dance at Vapor/Chaps. I was usually always home well before midnight because, no matter what, I'd have to be up at 6:30am for work (and as I get older, it gets harder and harder to function the next day if I don't get at least five or six hours of sleep, whether I've been drinking the night before or not). The exception would be if I happened to run into friends who would convince me to go somewhere else with them, or if during my walk home I'd stop by Fritz or The Eagle and end up having too much fun to leave.

Since September 11th though, I've been a real home-body. I don't think I've been to a club or a bar without Curt even once. We've been completely attached at the hip and perhaps even a little co-dependent. For a while there, I didn't want to go out at night without him for fear that something would happen in Boston and we'd be apart and unable to get to each other. Irrational fear, I know, but right after 9/11 it was a real worry that I had. That's what's kept me from going out for a long, long time. Then the weather got colder, I got my new iBook, and I didn't really want to go out anyway. Lately though, I've started thinking about my Thursday and Sunday nights again. I definitely don't have any irrational terrorist fears anymore, the winter weather hasn't been that bad, and my iBook isn't as new and fascinating anymore.

So maybe it's time to start going out on my own again. Maybe Sunday will be the night. We'll see.

Be my Valentine.

Please baby, please baby, please baby
I don't want fame, I don't want money. The real reason I write this crap everyday is the same reason boys want to be rock stars - I'm hoping it'll get me some hot SEX, baby! I'm looking to get some action! So step up (or shall I say, get on your knees) and show me how much you love me . . .

ps - I may actually take some of you up on your kind donation.
pps - Give until it hurts.
ppps - Thanks to 8letters for the link and inspiration

Black Shadow: The Abduction
I think I may have mentioned before that we own a used black '96 Taurus that we affectionately call the "Black Shadow". We refer to "The Shadow" as if she's a living, breathing being. We say good morning to her, tell her when she's being good, and tell her to behave and wish her a good night when we park her in the evening. Well, last night, something horrible happened to the Shadow.

Curt decided to work from home this morning, and at about 10:30 I get a telephone call from him, "Honey, I've got the strangest story to tell you". Seems he got ready to go into his office and went out to the street to where he parked the car only to find it wasn't there. Thinking that maybe he forgot where he'd parked it, he started walking around the block searching for it. He quickly realized that the Shadow had either been towed or (gasp!) kidnapped, so he came back home and started calling the city towing companies. Dingo got our baby! Seems the car HAD been towed. The reason? The alarm had gone off and they towed the car "for safe keeping". It would cost $95 to get her released from this so-called "safe keeping".

Huh?

Okay, so he goes to the police station to get a claim check for the car, and they told him basically the same story. What we can deduce from the somewhat muddled stories he got from the tow company and police was that the car alarm had been going off for some reason, and somehow the police got involved (whether a neighbor had called, or they just happened by as it was going off, we don't know for sure). Curt asked the police whether they had tried to contact us during the night to tell us that the alarm was going off, and they told him that they were unable to because "the registry was down" so they couldn't find out who owned it.

Uh Huh.

I need to really point out here that car alarms going off in our neighborhood are a fairly common occurrence. It’s not a dangerous neighborhood, there is just a lot of on-street parking and with so many cars, it’s common for an alarm to go off occasionally. It’s very hard for me to believe that anyone living in this neighborhood would bother to call the police about a car alarm going off. When one is going off in front of our place (even in the middle of the night), everyone just deals with it until either the owner comes out and takes care of it or it stops on it’s own. Our car alarm, like most, would just be annoying for a few minutes and then stop on its own. Nobody calls the police about a frickinncar-alarm!

So anyway, back to the story. Curt took a $20 cab ride to the towing lot and once there (as he was forking over the $95 bail) asked the tow lot dude if anyone had checked to see if perhaps the door had been ajar or checked to see if perhaps there was some other easily fixable reason the alarm was going off before they towed it. Of course, they told him that their tow-trucks are way too busy to check things like that.

With the alarm going off and causing that much commotion for (what most have been) so long, Curt figured that the battery might have some problems when he went to start the car. It started right up with no problems.

We suspect we were the victims of some sort of scam and are trying to figure out, at the very least, who to go to to complain. It would be one thing if the police had straight-out said, "A neighbor called in complaining that the alarm would not stop going off", but they never said that. It's just all sounds suspicious. Don't you think?

Unzipped
The March 2002 issue arrived in the mail yesterday, and on page 12 . . . "Music To Fuck By: Aural Sex".

Jonno strikes again in his second article in as many months for the magazine, leading my boyfriend to exlaim, "Jesus, that boy is everywhere!"

Oscar Time
The nominees for the 74th Annual Academy Awards were announced this morning, and I've got a lot of movie viewing to do between now and March 24th! Specifically, I've only seen one of the Best Picture nominees, none of the Best Actor or Supporting Actor performances, and only one best actress or supporting actress performance. Pitiful, I know. Especially for someone who actually has a frickin degree in Film.

Happy Mardi Gras!
As Richard and Jonno host a morning get-together for friends, Keith and his boyfriend prepare their costumes, and as certain other residents of the Crescent City that I read regularly also prepare for the Fat Tuesday, I send my sincere wishes for all to have a very happy and safe time. I'm thinking of you and wish I was with you (and I know there are others who definitely feel the same way).

As a cautionary reminder not to go too overboard, I am providing you with this visual reference of how NOT to end up today . . .

Light?
I don't smoke, but my boyfriend does, and all my close friends do. My mother did (even as she was pregnant with me, I'm quite sure), as did my father (but he quit). My grandfather smoked a pipe, and I remember as a child thinking that the smell was wonderful.

At one point on Saturday night, I looked out of Wendy and Rob's kitchen and their entire living and dining rooms were filled with a fog of smoke. I think I may have been the only person out of twelve people who wasn't a cigarette smoker. So would someone please explain to me how I somehow managed to avoid that ONE vice? I've got all the others.

The only time I will smoke is when I'm very drunk, at a club or a bar, and I'll take a cigarette out of Curt's hand and take a few puffs. I don't really inhale, though. It's just the taste I'm interested in. One or two drags and then I'm done. Somehow it's sexy and seedy and a real turn on when I'm inebriated. If I'm stealing puffs from Curt at a bar, it usually means I want to have really kinky, no-holds-barred sex. I'll also have an occasional cigar on a special occasion, but again, I'm not inhaling - it's just the taste that I enjoy.

Obviously, having people smoking around me does not bother me in the least. I will never object to someone smoking near me, as long as they are not blowing the smoke directly into my face. In fact, I have been known to leave home or bars to go on cigarette-runs for my friends. A Marlboro Light, a Parliament and an American Spirit, please. Can I have matches?

You would think, since my mother died of lung cancer and my grandfather died of emphysema, that I'd be some sort of anti-smoking advocate, but I'm not.

I've never had the slightest interest in smoking. I'm extremely happy that I don't have the need, because I've seen first hand how all-consuming it can be, but I do have to wonder how I ended up so lucky.

Drinking, on the other hand . . .

The soundtrack of my life lately . . .

1. "Catch" by Kosheen
2. "Where's Your Head At?" by Basement Jaxx
3. "Star Guitar" by Chemical Brothers
4. "It's Love (Trippin') by Goldtrix Presents Andrea Brown
5. "Rapture" by Iio
6. "Everyday" by Kim English (Hex Hector Mix)
7. "Can't Get You Outta My Head" by Kylie Minogue
8. "Just 1 Kiss" by Basement Jaxx
9. "Murder on the Dancefloor" by Sophie Ellis-Bextor
10. "Planets of the Universe (Illicit Vocal Dub) by Stevie Nicks

The Winter Olympics in a perfect world . . .

The closest to Mardi Gras I'll get this year
It might seem a bit odd throwing a Mardi Gras themed going away party for two Irish people who've never even been to New Orleans, but it worked. Twelve of us got together at Wendy and Rob's last night to give Denise and Alan the first of several farewell bashes they're having thrown for them in the coming weeks. After four years of living and working here in the States, they are leaving at the end of the month to return to Dublin and, quite possibly maybe, get engaged and be married.

Alan suspiciously eyed my big pot simmering on the stove, filled with red beans with andouille and ham, but later he went back for second helpings of that and my shrimp etouffee (Wendy said it best, "Cajun food looks like a big mess on your plate but it's amazing once it's in your mouth"). No one truly appreciated the apropos nature of the cocktails Rob was carefully mixing together from scratch instead of a mix, buy everyone was loving them. Much to Wendy's horror the King Cake arrived with the baby laying face-down outside on the icing rather than hidden within, but no one except the four of us knew there was anything wrong with that. Curt tried his best to evoke the feeling and spirit of New Orleans to all by reminiscing with anyone who'd listen about the food, the humidity, the soul, and the hot spots, but realized it's hard to convey his feelings for New Orleans in words.

Stuffed with food, buzzed with alcohol, exhausted from a day filled with prepping and cooking and, of course, a little high (inevitable with that group) - we shared a taxi back into the city with Eve and went straight to bed.

Laissez les bons temps rouler, Denise and Alan!

May the road rise up to meet you,
May the wind be always at your back,
May the sun shine down upon your face,
And the rain fall soft upon your fields,
Until we meet again,
May God hold you in the hollow of his hand.

Oh oh.
As they approach their 100,000 hit, Philo and Choire are cooking up something to commemorate the occassion which may or may not be a Blogging race of some sort (simply speculation on my part based on the evidence so far).

Last time I got involved with one of their schemes (Choire's birthday), I ended up confessing about sex for pay with a married guy (see my November 19, 2001 post). Whatever they have in mind this time leaves me scared - very, very scared.

In the meantime, as I watch the East/West site statistics ominously click upward, today I must prepare for a farewell dinner we're attending tonight by cooking shrimp etouffee and red beans and rice. Wendy is throwing a Mardi Gras themed bash for Irish friends Denise and Alan, who will soon be leaving Boston to return to Ireland to be married.

I'm bracing myself for many shots of Jamesons.

Boo!

Consumption
I don't usually link to things of this sort, but I quite like this

But . . . but . . . Butt.

Zero interest
I would like to announce that I have little to no interest in any of the Winter Olympics. Unlike the Summer Olympics, which at least provide some entertainment value in the form of bulging-bicep and huge-shouldered male gymnists, and sexy-as-hell swimmers and divers, each and every Winter event covers up almost all of an athelete's skin, leaving waaaay too much to the imagination for my taste.

Although, I confess, I do like the event name "giant slalom".

This question comes in from handsome Scott M. of Seattle, Washington:
How come Curt's head is so much bigger in the pics than yours is? Is he a camera ham or is it really just that huge?

Thanks for the question, Scott. Fact is, Curt's head is huge. Bigger than mine, anyway. He's just kinda big everywhere (take that as you will, you dirty-minded whore). You've also got to take into account hair, which adds the appearance of size even though it's just . . . well, hair.

On the otherhand, he does seem to always get his mug closer to the camera than I do, making him appear to be some sort of gargantuan in lots of photographs that we're in together. He's commented about this himself in fact, and has sometimes encouraged me to move closer to the camera so that he doesn't look so "freakish". Do not be alarmed. Repeat, do not be alarmed. He is still the same handsome Curt you knew in New York.

Speaking of abnormally big things reminded me of this moment with you, Scott . . .

Dishing The Dish, and salt and pepper
Last night we ate out at a South End restaurant near the condo my Ex and I own. It's a place called The Dish, and it's a destination spot kind of off the beaten path. You have to live in the neighborhood or be taken there to know about it. We've been there with friends before and it was fine, but we didn't have such a great experience this time. We had bad service (a waiter who I think felt too cool to be waiting on us) was the first problem. He was busy off in a corner table talking with another server most of the time. Curt was drinking beer and I was having red wine and we'd go long periods without being asked if we wanted another (I should mention we were one of only 3 tables at the time). We ordered a mussels appetizer that was AMAZING, however we both got individual pizza's which were okay but didn't have much seasoning. They were good, but kind of bland.

We weren't offered any ground pepper (of course), so we had to make due with the salt and pepper in the shakers on the table. Now, maybe I'm just getting snobbish because at home we only use kosher salt and fresh-ground pepper, but isn't it kind of weird for a nice restaurant to have diner-style salt and pepper shakers? They give you olive oil for your bread instead of butter, but they give you Morton's salt and McCormack's black pepper?

I guess maybe I have salt and pepper issues, because I wasn't happy at Todd English's Rustic Kitchen either, when the tables didn't have ANY salt or pepper.

Anyway, we probably won't be in any hurry to get back to The Dish.

CNC Tour 2002
Plans for a few upcoming trips are starting to come together. The Boyfriend's parents are going to have a time-share in Orlando at the end of this month, and we've purchased tickets to fly down and spend a few days with them. With a little luck we'll be able to spend a day at Epcot, or have a night or two exploring the gay scene in Orlando. Worst case scenario, we'll be fishing constantly with Curt's dad and cooking huge dinners with his Mom (which isn't so bad either, really). Then, instead of coming directly back to Boston, we're flying to Atlanta to rendezvous with friends for a weekend of fun and frolicking (and hopefully a Blogmeet with you and you).

Southern Decadence 2002 plans are already in the works, too. A friend has blocked rooms in a very nice French Quarter hotel at a good rate (actually, compared to what we've paid in the past, a great rate) and so I think we're going to put our reservations in. Having slipped in and out of NOLA pretty anonymously in the past (all by my own choice, last year I actually saw one handsome fellow in the Rawhide and decided against running up and saying hi), I feel it's high time to have a few long-overdue face-to-face introductions.

I'm snapping out of it
I apologize to all of you who got sick of all my Superbowl, New England Patriot, and cute football player ramblings in the last week. It's totally unlike me to be so caught up in a sport of any type, but the excuse I have is that it would be really hard for anyone living in Boston not to get caught up in it all this week. It was everywhere you looked, and it's what everyone was talking about. Try living in my shoes! It ain't easy, baby.

I was a bit weirded out my the number of people who were visiting my site from various football-oriented web searches. Frankly, I was a little hesitant to write any new posts about any other topics until things died down. Adam Vinatieri and Tom Brady really should come out with shirtless posters - the demand is certainly there (I've got the Site Tracker statistics to prove it). The hits are starting to die down a little now, but I must confess that for the past two days I've been obsessing about all the people who were reading my Blog who, for one reason or another, probably weren't going to approve of my fuckin' fabulous homosexual lifestyle. I was worried about all the grannies, kids and nuns who were finding their way here only to find the confessions of a slutty, alcoholic, recreational drug using, pop-culture obsessed gay guy. It made me think that maybe I should put a warning on this page or something, but then I got over my internalized homophobia and put up a banner featuring shirtless asian guys instead.

Now that all the hullabaloo is over, I think I can finally get back to my regularly scheduled garble of topics. For instance, I think that my Ex and I have finally come to agreement on terms for him to buy out my interest in the condo we own together. With a little luck (and the cooperation of our lawyers) the condo will be 100% his and I will walk away with a nice fat check at the end of the month. Cross your fingers for us.

Had to go over there tonight and get my mail so I could get all my tax documents organized. It was strange knowing that it may not be mine soon. When we moved in, I felt like it would be mine forever. I remembered thinking that I hoped I'd be able to maneuver the stairs okay when I got old because there were so many of them (3 levels). All the plans for future improvements I had, memories of times spent there. It was my home, and even though I haven't been living there in the last two years it has still felt like it was mine. Soon it won't be, and that's going to take some getting used to.

Anywhoo . . .

Oh, and my other big news is that my boyfriend and I are going to be a Nielson TV ratings family! Well, for a week anyway. We received a postcard in the mail letting us know that they'd be contacting us and they finally did this past weekend. They're not hooking us up with a box that monitors what we're watching or anything, but we'll need to keep a diary of what we're watching.

How cool is that?!

Just back from the Parade.
Must be the coldest day we've had yet this winter, and yet Tremont street was packed with people. After an almost hour wait, I had a great view of Patriot's owner Robert Kraft and the very handsome Tom Brady (who, by the way, is much more striking in real life).

Sadly, I had no sighting of Adam Vinatieri. I found out from others that he was on the opposite side from me. Dang!

Eating soup right now to warm back up.

Good for you, Barney!

Fashion advice for today's Patriots parade, from my friend Ginny:

The Patriots Parade is at noon, and now you’re wondering what to wear? “How can I impress Adam in a sea of random faces?”, you ask. Thank goodness for me, right?

Most Sundays, Adam likes to wear silver spandex pants. So I’d definitely start with this. He pads his thighs, hips and bum, but those are areas few of us need to purchase padding for - just pass the fries and we’ll fill ‘em out nicely I always say.

For a top - I’d choose blue. Not navy, but not powder either. Medium.

Accessories - take a cue from current events - red, white and blue is all the rage right now - it always attracts attention and gives everyone the impression you can be trusted (hah!).

A sporty cap with more red, white and blue emblazoned on it - and you’re good to go. “Hi Adam, it’s me!!” Have fun.

Beefcake
Since midnight last night, I've had over 260 hits from people doing searches for pictures of Adam Vinatieri and/or Tom Brady shirtless or nude. If you're here because of a similar search, welcome! If you are jonesing for a shirtless Adam shot, go to my friend Ron's site here (he was nice enough to post one for me last week). You might also try this comment board at Outsports.com.

And if you find any others, send them to me!

The New England Patriots won Super Bowl XXXVI!!!
There's not much to say (because I'm a little tipsy and very tired), except that Boston is exploding with joy. On the way home, much shouting, cheering, and car horns filling the city with sound. I've never seen Boston quite like this. People in the streets, jumping up and down. It's infectious.

Tuesday there is a parade for the Patriots. It goes from Copley Square to City Hall. Yeah, I'll be there. I have to be . . . my other boyfriend will be one of the heroes.

Dear Adam,
Today is the day we've both hoped for and dreamed of. I can't believe that finally, after all your hard work and struggle, after all the ups and downs, you're actually playing in a Superbowl game. I'm so proud of you honey! I know we've only been together for a week (well, actually, you don't know me, but that doesn't matter - our love knows no boundaries), but in that week I feel like we've really become soul mates. Do you feel it too? Yes, I thought so. It's true that the sex leaves a little to be desired - I'm eager and willing, but you seem so . . . absent. We'll work on that. I know you've had a lot on your mind lately , and after this is all over you'll come back to Boston and we'll be together. I've warned Curt that I won't be home to make him dinner a few nights this week, and he's fine with that and understands (it doesn't bother you that I'm already in a committed relationship, does it sweetheart? No? I thought not).

I will be watching today, my darling. Just remember to enjoy the moment, do your best, and give Tom Brady a big squeeze on the ass as often as possible. No matter what, I will be proud of you and love you. I'll be looking for that special "I love you, Cory" signal that I know you're going to give me. I realize you may not be aware you're even doing a secret signal to me (that's how secret it is!), but I know I'll be seeing it because you're sweet like that and head-over-heels for me.

I believe in you, my sweet Adam.

XXOO,
Cory

ps - I've already made an appointment for you to get your hair cut, because I really can't live with the one you have now.

Just home from a great evening.
Although we would have probably just stayed home tonight normally, I had e-mailed our friend Drunk Fuck (Dave) yesterday and promised him we'd meet him at the Ramrod tonight. Curt and I were pretty mellow at first since we arrived a little early. We sat and watched boys play pool and pinball downstairs, and then during a trip to check our coats I ran into Drunk Fuck. Many beers consumed (us Bass, and him Bud Light), a trip or two to the bathroom for a little pick-me-up (use your imagination), and suddenly there we were, in the backroom, shirts off, being bad.

Curt was "on", although I was a little reserved tonight. I was really very happy seeing many friends I hadn't run into in a while (seems out of all the bars in Boston, Ramrod is the place where everyone I know - or ever have known - hangs out), very content being with my boyfriend, re-discovered friends, and watching cute boys. Tonight was definitely a voyeur night for me. Eventually, the beers just stopped tasting good, the boys started getting annoying, and it was time to go. Smooches and tit-licks for Drunk Fuck and Yuri, goodbye to several old friends on the way out, smooches and farewells for a friend at the coat check who had obviously had just a few too many hits of something, and off we went.

Now the boyfriend is snug in bed, I'm extremely content and satisfied from my evening (just the perfect combination of fun, slutty and comfy) and trying to decide what to do for the next hour or so before I'm unwound enough to join lover-boy in peaceful slumber (a quick Instant Messenger chat with Choire ends up doing the trick).

Life is very satisfying sometimes. Ya know?

Love it? Hate it? Love it? Hate It?
I'm not sure, either. But here it is, basically a variation on my old design. A little more color, a different (and smaller) font. I intend to create some sort of graphic for the top eventually (to replace the boring corycnc.com thing that's there now). Let me know what you think.

Competition
Now there's another short bald boy with a web log ('cept, he's more famous than me).

Actually, I see Moby started keeping a web log at exactly the same time I did. So, we're both mid-thirties, shaved headed, music producing web loggers. Lots of similarities except, once again, he's famous and I'm not. Dooh!

Please Lord, Don't Let Me Screw It Up
Naturally, after a month of mulling whether or not to change the look of this site, and after hemming and hawing about the risks of using coding I really don't completely undestand (cascading style sheets), I finally work up the courage this afternoon to take the plunge. I take my old Blog template out, put the new one in, save and publish and . . . nothing. It just stalls. My Blog is gone! Quickly put the old HTML back in the template, save and publish (all the while cursing myself messing with something that worked fine) and . . . still nothing. On a hunch, I try opening a few other Blogs that also use Blogspot and find that they don't work either. Whew! I think the problem is just that Blogspot is down.

At least, I hope that's the problem!

At last your search is over.
I feel bad sometimes for the people who come to my site through a search engine, hoping to find what they're looking for only to find it's just little ol' me (silly, slutty, drunken, eccentric, gay, me). Since I'm feeling a little guilty about it, I thought I'd try to help out you folks in the last day looking for:

"where + is + josh + hartnett + staying + in + new + orleans"
First place I'd check is Jonno and Richard's bedroom. They may have him tied up in a sling there. If he's not with them run upstairs and try someone who even confesses to be a stalker. Second place I'd consider is Keith's. If that doesn't work slap yourself and realize that your obsession with Josh Hartnett isn't healthy (but my obsession with New England Patriots kicker Adam Vinatieri oh-so-very is).

"gay + poppers + drunk + feeling"
You can find this here, darling. Remember to share.

"southern + decadence + nude + pictures"
Modesty won't allow me to post our personal collection (although money might). In the meantime, try here.

"drunken + lesbians + party + site"
I have no idea. The closest to anything like this I can recommend is here. They're pretty close, no? My real drunken lesbian friends don't have party sites, and my lesbian friends with party sites aren't drunk. Sorry.

"cum + flavor"
Cum flavor what? Bubble gum? Coffee? We need to be a bit more specific in our searches, kids. Work with me! If you're wondering what it tastes like, for a small fee of $25 I'll send you a sample. Either mine, my boyfriends, or a mix - your choice. Mmmmm mmmmm good!

And lastly, to the person looking for "XXX + nude + partay" (yes, "partay"), I just want to say thank you. You've come up with a Google search of which there are only two results, and I'm #1. Partay on, dude!