A FOOL

If this isn't proof that men think with their dicks, I don't know what is.

What a fool - I mean, did he really think he was going to get away with it?

I guess it's true that power corrupts.

BACK TO SCHOOL

"This is where I first cut myself."

"This is where I found out I was pregnant."

"This is where I found out I had a brain tumor."

And my favorite - "This isn't a high school musical."

For the past few weeks, I have been mesmerized by these haunting commercials advertising WE network's new show "High School Confidential" - a documentary  4-years in the making featuring 12 girls from Kansas.  I mean, I drove my friends batty over the past few weeks with my constant "This is where I sucked my first dick  etc...." jokes about the show.

Well, this week I was lucky enough to meet the girls who were in Manhattan on a media blitz to promote the show.    Fresh from an appearance on "The Tyra Bank's Show", I primped the girls for a Newsweek article. 

Of course, I greeted each girl by her problem, which I have to admit made the Midwestern mothers a little weary of me.

The show starts this Monday on WE.

SEX ADDICT?

Am I a sex addict?

I don't think so, but a man I was kinda dating seemed to think so.

Let me explain:

We were out drinking cheap red wine when he asked me what kind of kinky sex I would like to experiment with.  Feeling slutty and slightly intoxicated, I told him I'd like to take him to a "dirty bookstore" and suck him off through a gloryhole.  

He looked kinda startled, but I didn't stop there.

I then proceeded to tell him I'd like to "fool around" in the back of a speeding taxi or maybe he could sneak into my apartment wearing a burglar mask.

He looked at me horrified and confessed his "kinky" fantasy was to "do it" in the kitchen.  

The kitchen?  I knew he was kinda vanilla, but I never thought he was that vanilla.  

Now I've always subscribed to the theory that a man likes a "saint in the sitting room and a whore in the bedroom."  I mean, my dead husband never had any complaints with my sexual creativity.

Of course, the next day I received an email from this man informing me that we were not compatible and that I was a sex addict.

SHE'S BACK

She did it!

Against all odds, Hillary took Texas and Ohio last night, which means she's back in the race.

It's not that I don't like Obama, I just don't think he's prepared to run the country.  I mean,  we only need to look at the current president to see what can happen when someone with very little experience moves into the white house.

FATTIES

You know, when my friends come to visit Manhattan, they are shocked at the lack of fat people.  Well, I tell them, a fat person could never survive in the concrete jungle.  For starters, most of the subways are two to three to four flights underground - and that is a lot of walking.  I mean, you might start out fat if you move to Manhattan, but you would get thin mighty quick.

In fact, I see a "fat to skinny" reality show - put two fatties in Manhattan for six weeks and see how much weight they lose.

The Biggest Loser - Manhattan Style.

THE OLD BLONDE MARE

Okay, she doesn't have a chance in hell to win, but let's give the lady her due.

I mean, she has more balls than 99 percent of the men in America, so no matter what happens, she will go down in history.

What really scares the fuck out of me is that in a recent poll old daddy MaCain is neck and neck with Obama.

Doesn't this country ever learn anything?  

I mean, does 50 percent of the nation really want 4 more years of Bush?

I HATE SUNDAYS IN MANHATTAN

You know, I hate Manhattan on Sundays.

All of the undesirables from New Jersey and Queens swarm the city with their tacky Coach handbags and boot cut jeans.

Tacky.

Sundays are for staying in my apartment.

A DATE

Why do str8 people think that just because you're gay, you lust after every other gay person?

Let me explain:

In my quest for love, I let my injection specialist set me up with her friend.

Big mistake.

I mean, I didn't want to go in the first place, but she insisted we were perfect for each other, so she cooked up this idea that we could meet in a bar on the pretense of returning my phone.

He wasn't my type.

He was one of those "power fags" with a short haircut and a designer suit - and he smelled of too much cologne and carried a man purse. I don't think I was his type either. I mean, with my rock-n-roll Farrah flip and East Village hipster style, he looked rather startled when he met me. During our brief time together, he barely glanced in my direction; and within minutes, he grabbed our friend and made a hasty exit.

Odd thing is, the next day my friend called and informed me he wanted the three of us to have dinner.

What?

Men.

I can't figure them out.

MISTER MAKEUP SPEAKS

My best buddy Mister Makeup is offering his Valentine's Day beauty advice at www.celebrityeverything.com

Take a look.

SETTLING? OR JUST REALISTIC

I was chatting with an old friend the other day, and she had some interesting opinions about love.

In her heyday, my friend, who is one of the most interesting and smartest people I have ever met, was a model that jetsetted around the globe with a worn Filofax that was filled with admirers. In other words, she had a penis in every port.

As she approached 40, she married a suburban Minnesotan and moved into his rambler style house that looked like a garage - you know the style - all garage door and driveway with very little house.

When I inquired about her happiness, she replied:

"Well, my husband is too fat, he drinks too much beer, watches sports constantly, and he farts at inappropriate times. He doesn't "get" me, but then again, whoever did? I know he's very common, but I guess he loves me.

" Am I happy? It's not the life that I dreamed for myself, but he loves me - did I say that already."

I had no idea how to respond to her.

I mean, was this her idea of love?

TOUGH WEEK

It's been a tough week in my search for love. I mean, it's almost Valentine's Day - the most co-dependent day of the year - and I'm alone.

I started out the week with a cute French man. I met him at a bar, and he said I was cute, so I let him kiss me. I wasn't that turned on by him, but you have to kiss a lot of frogs to find your prince, right?

I didn't go home with him.

The next night, I walked by a restaurant and noticed a happy young gay couple having dinner. I could tell they were on a date. It made me sad. I mean, it's been like forever since I've had sex with someone I actually liked.

Maybe I'm going about this all wrong.

Maybe I'm putting the horse before the cart.

I guess my fairy tale isn't about to come true anytime soon.

MORE MARRIED MEN

Do I have "whore" written on my forehead?

I think I do.

I was riding the 6 train the other day when yet another married man tried to pick me up.

Let me explain:

I was returning home from a shoot with Project Runway's Tim Gunn when a very middle-aged man in a suit kept staring at me. Within moments, he was chatting me up. He told me he lived on Long Island and sold septic tanks for a living. Yes, my dream man had finally arrived on a downtown bound Manhattan train.

I noticed the wedding band on his finger. Oh, don't worry, he said, my wife doesn't need to know a thing.

He said he had a few hours to kill - and asked if he could come over.

I said no, I'm busy.

No more married men - especially ones that sell septic tanks.

SUPER TUESDAY

What a great time to be an American.

I mean, a woman and a black man running for president?

We're witnessing history, folks.

SUPERBOWL

You know, I just don't get organized sports...I just don't.

Why do grown men and women get all worked up over watching a bunch of spoiled, uneducated millionaires tossing a ball around?

I just don't get it.

I also don't get how these same grown men and women take to the streets chanting..."We won, we won!!"

What did they win? Are these people living such sad lives that they have to transfer all of their hopes and dreams onto a sports team?

As I said, I just don't get it.

LATE NIGHTS

I hooked up with an old fuck buddy the other night – a gorgeous 28 year old boy with wavy Hollywood hair and eyes so dark and hooded they could turn a hetro boy queer. His name is Scorpio (I swear it’s his real name) and when I met him a few years back, he was trying to make it as an actor/model – he now works on Wall Street.

He came over at 1am – drunk. His hair was messy and he smelled of stale beer and cigarettes – and he wasn’t wearing underwear.

Why did I let him in? I guess the three devils of Manhattan - bored, lonely and horny – got the best of me.

He said he had stopped calling me because I was ”standoffish” during our last hook up.

Hmmmm.

Maybe that’s my problem with men.

I mean, he wasn't the first to tell me I have an icy veneer. I guess I’ve always subscribed to the notion that you never show feelings or love for several months – but come to think of it, the person who gave me that advice is 46 and still single.

I didn’t have much time to ponder the question of my cold soul, because in a matter of seconds his body was pressed up against mine. I woke up the next morning smelling of stale beer and cigarettes.

Time to save my soul later.

THE ORAL REPORTER ENDORSEMENT

With the onslaught of celeb and politico endorsements, I'm casting my vote for Hillary Clinton.

I have to admit, I was swayed by Obama's way with words, but when it comes right down to it, he doesn't really have much to say.

I mean, what are his views on anything?

Do we really know?

I'm sorry, but flowery words of change don't really mean that much.

I want a president with some experience.

And those Clinton years were pretty damn good in retrospect.

BYE BYE

I never liked Rudy Giuliani as mayor of New York City - and I despise his gold digging wife.

I mean, he was a big bully who did horrific things to common citizens who tried to stand up to him - the New York Times last week printed an amazing article about his mean-spirited tactics as mayor. And can we talk about Bernie Kerik?

911? Yeah, he did a good job - but I think any mayor or elected official would have done equally as well.

I say good riddance.

PS - Let's see how long his wife stays with him now that he hasn't got a shot in hell to be president.

A NEW ATTITUDE

In my quest for love, a good friend and I went out for drinks to discuss my situation. Over much heartfelt talk, and a few tears on my part, she asked me a rather interesting question: Who am I?

And you know what, I couldn't answer the question.

After many years of freelance work, which constantly requires a new face and a new attitude for each job environment, my wants and needs are as easily applied and removed as the makeup I apply to a model's face. Happy, sad, sexy or queeny, I've played every role with gusto. I mean, Oscar, Tony, Emmy - even a fucking People's Choice Award - I've earned them all.

Yet, sitting with a happy hour Rasmopolitan in my hand, I came to the conclusion that I had no idea who I am.

You know, I think I better find out.

NO PITY

Oh boo-hoo.

I don't understand why anyone in their right mind would shed a single tear for some rich brat that overdoses...I mean, come on, he was lounging around in bed at 3 pm waiting for a massage - damn, I should have it so lucky. Here is someone who had been given all of life's charms, and he chose to flush them down the drain. Although, I do find the Mary kate Olsen connection interesting.

I don't feel any pity for him whatsoever.

CELEBRITY REHAB

Wow, I love this new show on VH1.

Dr. Drew of MTV fame hosts a bunch of D-list celebs including Chyna Doll, Brigitte Nielson, one of the Baldwin brothers, a porn star and an American Idol reject - but the real highlight is Taxi's Jeff Conaway. I mean, he is a fucking mess. He is stuck in a wheelchair and totally suicidal and shaking and crying coming off his drugs - it's amazing television.

Watch it.

LOVE PAINS

Well, I’m discovering that the road to true love isn’t paved with roses.

The thing about finding love in Manhattan is that the majority of its residents are either jaded, opportunists or assholes - and let’s not forgets whores.

Why?

Normal and sane people don’t move to New York City.

I mean, it takes a certain bravado and self-centeredness to move to the island of lost souls – in other words, these people have more important things on their agendas than love.

OK, I admit I’m a jaded opportunist, too – and probably a whore – but I’m trying to change.

HEARTBREAK HOTEL

I have made 2008 my year to find true love again.

I don’t think of it as such an odd request, but my friends certainly do.

My girlfriend in Milwaukee practically jumped through the phone when I told her. I mean, she basically said I was nuts and I had better reserve my room at the heartbreak hotel pronto.

Another friend with perfect prose wrote in an email:

I always thought of you as more of a hardened jaded (distinguished) girl who has seen and done it all. Now I see the emotional vulnerability behind that fierce mask – smoke and mirrors.

I had to ask myself: Do I really come off as that jaded? Maybe I do. And for the record, I consider myself more of a dame than a girl.


Maybe I am nuts to search for love on the ultimate island of lost souls, but I’m going to give it a shot.

TAKE A PEEK

My buddy Mister Makeup is now writing a column for www.celebrityeverything.com - check his tips out by clicking on the "Winterize Your Skin" logo.

IT'S GOING TO BE A FIGHT

I don't like Hillary, but I'm glad she won.

Why?

Because now it's going to be a real fight to see who's capable for the job. I mean, we as the public are going to see Barack and Hill putting it out there for our vote - and that's a good thing.

A word of advice for Hill - no more crying. It worked once, but it won't work again.

DROP DEAD GOOD

I love this movie from 1999 - it satires life in Minnesota much more effectively than Fargo ever did.

The plot is simple: A bunch of girls compete for a beauty pageant in a mock documentary. The jokes are sick, twisted and very politically incorrect - but oh-so funny.

The movie is packed with talent - including: Kirstie Alley, Kirsten Dunst, Brittnay Murphy, Ellen Barken, Allison Janney (also in Minnesota based movie Juno), Denise Richards, Amy Adams, Nora Dunn and Mo Gaffney. Also, Joan Jett rocks out the Mary Tyler Moore theme song at the end.

Rent or buy it now.

HURRAH!!

I am overjoyed that Hillary did not win last night.

Why?

Because as much as I love her as my New York senator, a recent CBS poll said that 47% of Americans disliked her - my own father said he would vote for anyone who ran against her.

Well, if the Dems want the big house back this year, it better be someone who can win.

My vote is for Barack Obama.

HAPPY NEW YEAR

Well, a new year is upon us.

Time to make a few resolutions and changes.

For starters, no more married men for me - nothing but trouble. Exciting, yes, but stable, no. I think this year I will stick to men who are single and openly gay.

Next, I'm going to try to make a new set of friends. The problem in Manhattan is that its population is very transient; and in 2007 I lost many friends to the West Coast and other worldly ports. Of course, "friends" are a dime a dozen on the island of lost souls, but I'm looking for a new "smart set" to hang out with.

I'm also going to attempt to date again. I mean, it's been five years since my partner died from bladder cancer, so I guess it's time, right? It's hard watching the love-of-your-life waste away in front of your eyes - and I don't think you ever get over it. Last week, while I was in recovery from a minor operation, I kept insisting to anyone who would listen that "Denny was coming to get me", so I guess it's something I live with even in my Ativaned subconscious.

Well, this year I'm going to try to let another man love me - and not just in the biblical sense.

Wish me luck.

SPORTS FANS

You know what I don't get?

Televised sports and the millions of dollars that are paid to the athletes.

Oh, I know what you're thinking: What do I know? I'm a big queen who would rather dance around my apartment to the soundtrack of "Dreamgirls" than watch sports.

Probably true.

However, I just don't understand what is so great about watching other men/women tossing a ball around. I mean, I could understand if you were actually playing the sport, but to sit and watch and cheer from a sofa?

I don't get it.

I should also point out that most professional athletes are dumb as rocks, seldom vote, and if they do vote, it's Republican. Furthermore, when questioned as a group, very few even knew about global warming. I mean, how could they know about global warming when the majority of them drive Hummers. And I won't even go into all the sex scandals, rapes and drugs these athletes get involved in. Oh, did I mention they make millions of dollars a year?

As I said, I just don't get it.

SUPERSTAR

I love this great quote from Andy Warhol superstar Brigid Berlin.

"My mother wanted me to be a slim, respectable socialite. Instead I became an overweight troublemaker."

ONLY IN NYC

I found this little tidbit while I was cruising the men for men on Craigslist - I think it's hilarious.

i have an STD but wanna get blown anyway. (serious) - 27

Reply to: pers-515403676@craigslist.org
Date: 2007-12-20, 3:33PM EST


i know this is irresponsible of me but i don't care.
I have had a burning when i piss, a little bit of discharge, etc. It seems like a textbook case of the clap.
my doctor is on vacation until after christmas so i can't do anything about it until then.

the obvious, adult thing to do would be quit screwing around.

but i am one horny beast right now. jacking aint cutting it.

so if you wanna get with a 27 year old, 6'1" 170lbs athlete with good abs, tight ass, and thick cock. . . get in touch.
Of course i'll wear a condom.
and its syph. . its curable.

pics for trade

serious only. . . and don't preach to me. i could just keep my trap shut about all this but i'm being up front. so don't preach to me.

PARTIES

It's high season for parties in Manhattan - and I'm not missing a single one.

Last night, I attended the one-year anniversary of the Rapture Cafe - a decadent and divine coffee shop on Avenue A. Of course, all the hipsters and dragsters were out, but it was the stage show that was truly amazing. Many clubbers got up to talk and sing, but the highlight was most definitely the stripping rabbi with the eight-inch shlong and prosthetic tits.

Yes, only in New York City, kids.

SICKO

OK, we all know the health care system in America sucks, but I've never experienced it first hand - until now.

My mother - a senior citizen - had an operation this past week and was sent home within 2 hours of the procedure. I mean, she looked like death warmed over.

Once home, she moaned and groaned for three days.

My parents have excellent health insurance and this is the treatment they received.

God help the rest of us.

LOOKING FOR MR. GAYBAR

It's a colder than normal in Manhattan. I mean, it's mittens and scarf weather. I had just come from a painfully dull straight person party - all wrinkly faces and bad clothing choices. I couldn't wait to leave. Once home, with the cold winds blowing against my cheap rent stabilized windows, I began to feel lonely - and horny.

It was too cold to go out looking for love, so I turned to the Internet; and within minutes, I had found a trick.

The man that showed up at my door was beautiful, but when he opened his mouth, Fran "The Nanny" Dreiser came dancing out.

"I'm just a queen from Queens," he laughed in a nasal voice when I inquired his origins.

OK, I strategized as I looked at his muscles and cute dimples, let's get this over with as quick as possible and with little or no talking. With my mouth clamped over his, I led him into the bedroom. Once undressed, his Internet pictures did not lie - his body was rock hard with a bubbled ass and a dick that was both gargantuan and beautifully shaped.

Things were going as scheduled until he questioned the music in the background.

"Is that Dusty Springfield," he squeeled.

"Yes," I said running my hand over his lips trying to get him back into the moment.

"I have her greatest hits," he said. "But she isn't one of my big three - Cher, Elton and Whitney. Oh, I just love those three. I used to love Barbra Streisand, but she didn't answer the fan letter I wrote to her last year."

OK, the sex was over. I had now discovered the piece of the puzzle to this beautiful man's singlehood.

He then went on and on about his love of all things Bette, Celine and even Reba.

I couldn't get rid of him fast enough.

I mean, it's fine to be a big queen, but for the love of God, please butch it up a bit for an Internet hookup.

TOO MUCH

The thing about living in Manhattan is you never lack for things to do.

Let me explain:

Last night I attended Dirty Thoughts - an event that invited writers to share their thoughts on sex.

A pre-op tranny spoke of her love for her fully functional tranny cock. At times, her penis prose became quite graphic, but since I was sitting in a slick downtown coffee shop that considered itself a vision of nowness, I couldn't wince. One of my best friends is a tranny, and although I think of her as a 100 percent female, we seldom talk sex. I mean, I'm a 100 percent man-loving gay boy, so the thought of a pecker in lace panties is non too appealing to me. In other words, some sex acts are better left behind closed doors.

A bearish looking man was up next. He told a moving tale of searching for love via unsafe sex in a world filled with HIV. He held the audience in the palm of his hands as he spoke of his journey to find the right man to give him the "gift". Once HIV positive, he found it wasn't all parties and pride marches as in the HIV medication advertisements. Not surprisingly, his story turned into a story of regret and sadness.

Finally, an older man of about 70 spoke about his sexual trysts with two brothers in catholic school. The timeline was the 1950s. He detailed hidden meetings and hidden signals that seemed so foreign and unbelievable to his young audience. In the end, both brothers became priests and were later involved with molesting alter boys and sharing them with the writer on the stage. He didn't seem to have any regret about molesting young boys. In fact, he had a sickly sweet smile on his face when he spoke of the alter boys.

As we left the coffee shop, my friend looked at me: "I don't know about you, but that was way too much information."

MARRIED MEN

The world is full of married men.

Let me explain:

A good friend - I'll call her Bess - told me over the weekend she is in love with a married man. Of course, she said, he is going to leave his wife.

As she told me of their steamy afternoon delights, I ordered another soy latte and bit my tongue.

Yes, I know better.

I've had experience - lots of experience - with married men. At first the passion is amazing and it all seems so refreshingly naughty - as if your dull life suddenly has a new sense of purpose. But then it gets messy. Feelings get involved, and eventually someone gets hurt. And yes, he never leaves his wife.

I didn't tell my friend any of this. Love is always on loan - never the nest egg we can depend on, so who was I to burst her heart shaped balloon.

I smiled and wished her well.

SCARY SHIT

As I watched the YouTube Republican debate last night, I was horrified by the hillbillies and rednecks that call this party home. I mean, these people - as well as the candidates - scared the shit out of me.

Why do these people champion the right to carry guns, but demonize abortion? The fact is the more guns a society has; the more those guns are used to kill people.

Why do these people, who claim to be God fearing Christian fundamentalists, back the death penalty 100%? I mean, last time I checked, Jesus did not preach about electric chairs and gas chambers. In fact, I think Jesus said to turn the other cheek.

Why do these people hate illegal aliens as much as Bin Laden? I mean, the Mexicans that are cleaning your houses and mowing your lawns are not the enemy. Granted, some enforcement in this area is needed, but to demonize these people in lynch rallies is wrong.

As for the candidates, John McCain looked one hundred years old – and can we talk about that turkey neck? He preached his love of the Iraq war, which made him appear terribly out of date. I’m sorry, but I don’t want some geriatric warmonger running the country.

Mitt Romney scares me the most. He refused to answer any of the questions in a straightforward way. I mean, with his slicked hair and greasy smile, he looked like a smarmy used cars salesman who would say anything to make the sale.

Only Rudy Giuliani came off as somewhat sane.

STUPID DEMS

How stupid can the democrats be?

I mean, for the first time in years the democrats have the American people in the palm of their hands - and what do they do? The fools choose to back a candidate with no chance in hell to win.

Yes, I'm talking about Hillary Clinton.

Recent polls report that she will lose to anyone tagged to the republican ticket. I'm sorry, but too many people hate Mrs. Clinton.

What the democrats need to do is nominate a candidate who can win - or it will be eight more years of shit.

SHIVER ME TIMBERS

It's getting colder in Manhattan - and I'm not complaining.

Why?

Because the freezing New York City winds not only keep my concealer matte, they keep me bone thin.

Let me explain:

I call it my shake and shiver diet - and here's how it works.

When the temperatures turn frigid, I never wear a winter coat or a scarf, so I run wherever I go and my poor body is always fighting to stay warm - thus, the shake and shiver diet.

It works great.

DEBT

What is wrong with America?

I was at the post office today and some idiot was holding up the line because he was paying for his various packages using several credit cards. I mean, this poor fool was putting $5 on this card and $10 on this card and so on and so on.

That idiot was a snapshot of modern America.

I mean, most Americans are thousands of dollars in credit card debt, their houses are being foreclosed upon, and the newspapers talk of nothing but of an upcoming recession, but what do they do....they go shopping. According to the news, the stores were jammed to the gills on black Friday.

I personally know two friends of meager wages that owe over $40,000 on credit cards - and this is on top of their mortgages.
.
When is this going to end? Who's going to pay these bills?

FINGER LICKING GOOD

I needed a good night out.

Yes, I certainly did.

This weekend, I went out with a horribly pretentious bore that talked of nothing but money and work. In fact, this “friend” made me feel so bad about my career and finances, I cried all the way home. And for the record, my career and finances are just fine, but when you're boozing it up with someone who pushes their $300,000 a year paycheck in your face, well, it’s easy to feel like a loser. Thank God he bought the Vodka/Cokes, so at least I had a free drunk.

Yes, sometimes living in the richest city in the world can be depressing, but I digress.

I needed a good sleazy night out. Yes, Sperm night at the Cock bar was calling my name. Of course, I always go with the intention of meeting a new husband, but that never seems to happen.

Take last night, I was sitting at the bar watching the queens cha-cha when a foreign man sauntered by and smiled. He was a tad drunk, but cute enough for a Sunday night. He held my hand - how nice I thought. He brought my hand up to his mouth to kiss it - how romantic I thought. Then, without notice, he started sucking my fingers - very smooth and erotically. I mean, here I am sipping a Vodka/Coke with one hand and getting the other hand sucked. Yes, only at 3 am in NYC.

I must admit it felt rather good, but why do I always attract the freaks?

WHAT HAPPENED?

OK, I love my plastic surgery, but sometimes you have to look in the mirror and realize you have created a monster.

Take Meg Ryan, does she really think she looks better? I mean, doesn't her agent or BFF tell her she looks ridiculous?

Meg, lay off the injections.

ONE BALL IS NEVER ENOUGH

When work is slow, I tend to go out way too much and drink way too much. And sometimes, I get myself into situations that can only occur in Manhattan.

Let me explain:

Late the other night, after a few Black Bitches (vodka/coke), I went out cruising for a bruising. It was one of those Manhattan nights when the three deadly vices of singlehood rear their ugly heads. Yes, the terrible trio of horny, bored and lonely - a lethal combination on the ultimate island of lost souls.

At a dim bar on the Lower East Side, a sexy foreigner was giving me the eye. Greek? Italian? Arab? Israeli? Spanish? Didn’t matter, foreign men love me. Soon we were in a dark corner making out. When we came up for air to order yet another cocktail, he said to me…”You don’t remember me, do you?”

“No,” I said, my mind racing to place the face.

“It’s been about 10 years,” he said. “I look different, but you oddly look the same.”

I smiled at his charm and remembered to send a thank-you note to my injection specialist.

“Maybe this will remind you,” he said as he put my hand down his Diesel low-rise jeans.

Shamelessly, I groped the goods.

Suddenly, I knew who he was.. His name was Marcello and he was a one-balled actor from Barcelona with a never-ending sex drive, but oddly, with all that testosterone, he was remarkably bad in bed. I broke it off with him not only because of his poor sexual skills, but because his libido woke me up in the middle of the night so often I was beginning to look my real age.

“I remember you,” I smiled.

We adjusted ourselves and went back into the main club. Two girls ran up to him and asked for autographs.

“I have a show on the CW network and I’ve done a few movies,” he said.

Hmmm….this was looking better.

We went back to his very upscale condo on the West Side Highway in the West Village.

In the morning, after an all night love fest, I was exhausted. Yes, in the past decade his sexual skills had improved, but he still wanted it every 15 minutes. He looked at me sans concealer in the harsh light of day and commented that I looked tired.

I gave him my cell number, but I doubted I would answer his calls. I love the fame game, but I also like my sleep.

FREEBIES

In Manhattan, there is a party every night. In fact, there's probably hundreds of parties every night.

I like the afterwork cocktail parties held in honor of openings/celebrations of new stores or products the best. Not only do you get free food and drink, you get a bag full of goodies that you can sell on ebay.

When I first moved to Manhattan and pennies were sparse, I would angle for invites from anyone to get the free food and drink. I mean, where else can you get food, drink and products for free?

Only in Manhattan.

A SJP WEEK

This must be my Sarah Jessica Parker Week.

Monday night I sat two tables away from her at the oh-so trendy Box; and tonight I walked past her on Avenue A as she filmed a scene for the Sex and the City movie. In was raining and she looked kinda miserable. No sign of the other girls, but perhaps they were in their honeywagons, which were parked on Tompkin's Square.

Yes, In Manhattan you never know who you will bump into.

YOU NEVER KNOW

The thing about living in Manhattan is that you never know how your day in going to evolve. In other words, the sky is the limit.
I mean, when I lived in the Midwest, my days were well scripted and about as spontaneous as a daily bowel movement.

Not so living in the city that never sleeps.

Yesterday I woke up to a ho-hum day, but an afternoon phone call changed all that. On the other end was a friend with free tickets to a dress rehearsal of the Rockette's Christmas show at Radio City Music Hall.

Cheesy? Hell yes, but fabulously campy, too. The show was filled with more special effects and 3D images than a Star Wars movie. Of course, the high point was the limber legged Rockette's kicking up their heels, but I also adored the dancing bears and dancing midgets, too.

And thank goodness I'm not Jewish, Muslim or Mormon, because the show is totally a Christian feast for the eyes. In fact, I'm surprised some do-gooder liberal hasn't shut the place down.

A chubby lady from Long Island who was sitting behind me said it best... "I thought I had died and gone to heaven at the Celine Dion show in Vegas, but this show takes the cake."

Afterwards, we went to the Box on the Lower East Side for drinks where Miss Sarah Jessica Parker sat two tables over sipping a white wine.

I love New York.

TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD

Well, it's about time.

President Bush presented Harper Lee with The Presidential Medal of Freedom - America's highest civilian honour - for her outstanding contribution to literature. Lee's only novel, To Kill a Mockingbird, is one of my favorite books. I mean, I fell in love with the book when I was a young sprite of nine and have reread it many times.

I didn't know it, but I must have sensed a kindred gay spirit in Lee's words. It was years later that I discovered that she was lifelong friends with gay-as-a-goose Truman Capote - both Catherine Keener and Sandra Bullock played Miss Lee in the Capote films and both were wonderful.

The book, which is basically a simple story about racial tolerance and doing the right thing, also won the Pulitzer Prize in 1961.

Lee never wrote another book. When Oprah Winfrey asked her why? She simply stated that she had said all she had to say.

Bravo.

THE CRYING GAME

I don't blame Miss Oprah for shedding a few tears.

Her school in Africa is her dream; and she bankrolled it with her own money. As much as I love to hate Oprah, I do think she is a good person. I mean, she might have an ego the size of Canada, but she has a staff of hundreds and no one has ever come forth with a tell-all book etc...and that says a lot.

The disturbing thing is that the abusing matron probably thought she could get away with her kinky fun Scott free.

Why?

Because in Africa young girls don't really matter. Sad, but true. That is, until Super Oprah took to the skies.

But I do have one question:

Oprah claims to have given each of the girls a personal cell phone to call her on...does anyone really believe this?

THE LOWER FACE

As Tom Cruise shows in this picture, the lower face never lies.

After years of looking a perpetual 29, Mr. Cruise is now looking all of his 40 plus years.

Bookmark this page, because I'm sure after he sees this picture, he will run to the surgeon.

THE EAGLE HAS LANDED AT WALMART

Does anyone else find it odd that the legendary Eagles are releasing their new CD exclusively at Walmart?

I mean, wasn't this the hippy dippy band from the 1970's that preached against corporate America in their song "Hotel California"?

I smell a sell-out here - big time.

THE VIEWLESS VIEW

I have tried, Lord knows I have tried, but I just don't like the new line-up of chatty chicks on The View.

Watered-down Whoopie is so boring, she puts me to sleep. I mean, didn't this woman used to be black? She's now so politically correct I think she's a white woman from Long Island.

Sherry Shepherd is so stupid and unaware of news worthy topics that she even makes moron Elizabitch seem smart. I mean, however stupid her opinions are, at least Elizabitch has an opinion.

I miss Rosier days when The View was worth watching. Hate her or love her, Miss Rosie always had an honest heart and mind and wasn't afraid to speak it.

ANNIE

Last night, I saw Annie Lennox live in concert. I was seated 5th row dead center - and she did not disappoint. Her soulful clear voice and artful dancing were a real treat.

This being Minneapolis, the crowd was filled with grey-haired old ladies, pudgy and partnered queens and a slew of office drones with Coach bags. I am always shocked how tacky my hometown has become. I mean, I remember the 80's when an event like this would have brought out the fashionistas in droves. Freshly toxed, I looked the youngest in attendance.

After the show, we went to the Saloon and it was "chicken" night and the place was packed with 18 year-old gay boys. Honey, I was not the youngest in attendance.

What a difference crossing the street makes.

And Annie, as much as I love you, you should really rethink sleeveless tops.

TRAPPED IN HELL

You know, I don't think there is a more depressing place on the planet than the Midwest. Yes, I'm in my home state on a job and I'm depressed as hell.

I mean, what do creative people do here?

All I see are fat str8 people pushing baby carriages around. And what’s with all the high waisted jeans the soccer moms love? Or the totally sexless "bob" haircut with the pushed-up teased bang? And doesn't anyone wear makeup?

Honey, if I were a str8 man in Minneapolis I'd run screaming to the nearest gay bar.

SONGS OF MASS DESTRUCTION

As a child of the 80's, I love Annie Lennox. I mean, we both survived the 80's and lived to tell about it.

In Boy George's fasinating autobiography, he remembers that during the Newsweek photo shoot Annie instructed the makeup artist to "not make me look like Boy George." By looking at the finished product, I don't think the makeup artist listened.

Annie released a new CD last week and I was first in line to buy it. I was cautious about this new collection of songs, since her last outing "Bare" was less than stellar to me. Well, I am here to say "Songs of Mass Destruction" is amazing from start to finish.

Buy it now.

CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?

I am in shock.

According to itunes, Britney Spear's new single "Gimme More" is the number one requested song in the world. Also, the song is number three on Billboard's Hot 100 chart.

I guess it does pay to shave your head, show your puss in public and lose your kids. I mean, I guess white trash rules.

A NEW YORK NIGHT

Every blue moon, I have that perfect Manhattan night – I call it a “Carrie Bradshaw” moment - that reminds me of what a magical city I live in.


Let me explain:

Last evening, I attended a memorial service for downtown legend Dean Johnson. For those not in the know, Dean was a six-foot-six bald headed part-time club promoter, part-time prostitute, part- time rock star and full-time nice guy who died mysteriously from a drug overdose while trafficking a group of prostitute twinks to a wealthy closet case Saudi in Washington DC.

Yes, truth is stranger than fiction.

Dean would have been happy with the turn out. Past and present downtown royalty held court in his honor. Seen mingling were Rupaul, Lady Bunny, Debbie Harry, David Bowie, the cast of Shortbus.. .and a slew of aging club kids from my Limelight and Tunnel past. Oh, and a chubby and very aged Lady Miss Kier from Deelite.

Amidst all of this downtown glamour, I noticed a pudgy-faced sweat suit clad soccer mom yelling my name.

Who was this woman?

It was an old makeup artist nemesis from Minneapolis who I had not seen in years. Turns out she was in town shooting a catalog for Kohl’s. The stylist (a former go-go boy I knew from my Club USA days) had taken her to this event.

While I tried to listen to the many mourners who shared twisted tales of Dean’s infamous lifestyle, she bored me with pictures of her cross-eyed kid and tales of small town life. After a few beers, she suddenly turned ugly and accused me of sabotaging her career. Apparently, 14 years earlier I had called her clients in Minneapolis and had her blacklisted. My friends were rather shocked at her accusations and were anxious to hear my response. Now I had no memory of doing this, and quite frankly, I hate being blamed for things that I wish I had done in the first place.

I looked her dead in the eye and said: "Yeah, I did it and I'd do it again."

I guess it will be another 14 years before I talk to her again.

After a few more air kisses and stabs in the back, we headed to Mary Ann’s – a dive Mexican restaurant –and drank margs and nibbled nachos and talked about the good old bad days of clubbing in the East Village.

When my buddies taxied home, I was far from tired - and feeling fat from my Mexican feast - I decided to hit the gym. And yes, it was my lucky night – the kick boxer in all his muscled sweaty glory was pounding the bag, and, of course, he ignored me.

Oh, the magic of Manhattan.

WHY?

I heard something hysterical and oh-so true the other day: Why do women - and gay men - wear cropped capri pants? I mean, they just make your legs look shorter and your ass look wider and flatter - not a becoming look.

THE WAR

I've been watching the amazing PBS mini-series "The War" - and I think it's truely amazing. One thing I found interesting is that President Franklin Roosevelt sent his son to the front lines, which made me wonder why Dubya hasn't sent his daughters to Iraq if he believes so strongly in his war.

Yes, another Republican hypocrite.

ASSHOLE OF THE YEAR

Ok, there is one guy I hate more than any Republican and his name is Mahmoud Ahmadinejad - President of Iran.

Today at his speech at Columbia University he not only questioned the truth of the holocaust, which is one of the most documented and researched events in history, he also denied that homosexuals exist in Iran. Of course, the audience burst into laughter at such an idiotic statement...to which he said: "In Iran we do not have this phenomenon. I don't know who's told you that we have this."

Honey, there are plenty of queers in Iran, they're just married to women and sucking dick on the side. Hmmm...I think that still makes them homosexual.

He also questioned if Muslims were involved in 9/11, and he hemmed and hawed about his previous statements about wanting Israel wiped off the map.

Yes, we are dealing with a madman. I worry about a nuclear Iran and I fully support whatever methods it takes to disarm them.

Am I a war monger? In this case yes. I mean, you only have to watch the wonderful PBS series airing right now called "The War" to see what happens when madmen are left unchecked.

APPLE DIED

My Apple computer died, so my blog will be sketchy for a few weeks. I hate Apple computers - they only sell you insurance/support for three years and then you are on your own - in other words, after three years you're fucked.

Is it just me, but shouldn't a computer last longer than three years?

I say fuck Apple and all their god damn ipods, iphones and other bullshit.

THE SOUTH

This Jena 6 thing is crazy.

In the first place, this was bound to happen. I mean, what school would allow white students to label the ground under a tree “whites” only? I mean, this is 2007. Then again, we are talking about the south.

ASSHOLES

Damn, I hate Republicans. I mean, are they all assholes?

Presidential contender Mitt Romney has launched a radio advertisement to voice his support of a constitutional amendment to ban gay marriage. I mean, who cares if thousands of our young men and women are dying in a Republican generated Iraq war or that the gap between the rich and poor is growing greater every day. No, what matters most is changing the constitution to include prejudice and hate.

Like I said, I hate Republicans.

WHAT'S THE BIG DEAL?

I don't get this Amy Winehouse?

I mean, everyone is championing her talents as if she were the next Joni Mitchell.

I say, oh please.

All this girl is doing is mimiking 1960's Motown soul and mixing it up with a dash of Dusty Springfield. I mean, she even copies Dusty's trademark Cleopatra makeup and beehive hairstyle.

Can't the kids today come up with anything original?

AMAZING

I went to a premier of a new film the other night, and to put it mildly, I was blown away by what I saw on the screen. I mean, it was simply amazing.

"Across the Universe" is a collection of 33 Beatle's songs weaved together karaoke-style to form a brief history of the 1960's. I have never been a big fan of the Beatles - too hetro and mainstream for me - but this film is a must-see. I know some of the critics have knocked it, but I loved it.

THE LAST SHOUT

This is the last installment about my big gay cruise – and then it’s back to politics, sex and other politically incorrect shit.

I forgot to mention that while we were docked in a beautiful seaside resort town in Germany, the locals kept asking me if I “was part of the big gay cruise”. This being Germany, I didn’t know what to say…I know my lip line said it all darlings, but that’s not the point. I mean, just a few short decades ago, the Germans masquerading as Nazis gassed us fags to death, so I was reluctant to say yes or no.

“Oh, we have big surprise for you when you leave,” they smiled.

Great, the first gay cruise to Germany and the locals were planning to sink our ship. Well, to my surprise, when the boat left the port, hundreds of Germans had gathered on the pier and were waving and cheering us off. I guess gay dollars do speak after all.

I have to mention St. Petersburg, Russia, too. It was my favorite place on the big gay cruise. Tourists are not allowed on Russian soil unless you have a very expensive Russian Visa or you take part in a pricey tour excursion. For my daytime activities, I went on a riverboat cruise on the various canals and rivers that intertwine throughout the city. St. Petersburg is beautiful…from the blue Winter Palace to the gold room at the Hermitage Museum to the wide Parisian boulevards. The Russians don’t have much money, so most of the buildings are in a serious state of decay.

Only on a gay cruise would one of the pricey excursions be a midnight visit to a local gay club. Forget the museums and historic stuff, I wanted to see how the locals partied, danced and dressed.

We were told by our tour operators to bring sunglasses.

Why?

Since it was July, we were still experiencing “white nights” – a time of the year when the sun doesn’t completely set until midnight and then rises again at around 3:30 AM - so the sunglasses would come in handy at 5 am.

The club, Central Station, was amazing. I mean, if anyone has ever wondered where the mythical Babylon from Queer as Folk is, it’s in Russia. The five-story club was really several clubs in one complete with spontaneous drag performances, gyrating go-go boys and a serious dark room.

I loved the trendy wendy room that was packed with fashionista’s “shalaging” to cheesy euro-pop. What is shalaging? It's a form of dance that originated in Sweden that you sing and act out the lyrics of a song as if you were in a music video - I swear I'm not making this up.

The Chelsea-fied boat queens ran from the room, but I had found my tribe. I was at home with the flaming fags in 80s clothes, shag haircuts and thick eyeliner. As I looked down at my "try too hard to fit in on the boat" Ralph Lauren Polo shirt, I was suddenly embarrassed of my normal attire...but I didn't let that bother me. I jumped up on a platform and started shalaging and waving my freak flag.

As the 5 am hour approached, I paid a visit to the dark room. I mean, who doesn’t love a night of dancing, drinking and debauchery? When the fun was over, I looked down to discover a bear from Long Island I had met on the boat. I had to laugh – half way across the globe and I end up getting head from someone who lives a few miles from my apartment.

It was without a doubt, the best night of the cruise.

WHY?

It was sad watching train wreck Britney Spears waddle around the stage at the MTV video awards last night. I mean, why her handlers let her perform in the first place is a mystery to me.

Not only did she appear stoned out of her mind, but her lip syncing and dancing made her look like a joke from the American Idol try outs.

And that bikini? Doesn't she own a full-length mirror? She should take a cue from Liza - "Show the best and cover the rest." Amen.

Sadly, her legitimate career is over - all hail the new Anna Nicole Smith.

HE'S BACK

MILWAUKEE

I took a road trip to visit a friend in Milwaukee this past weekend - and the home of Laverne and Shirley has changed a lot since my last visit - and for the better. Sure there are still tons of blue collar guys with big bellies and scary ghetto folks, but the east side has cleaned itself up rather nicely and is lined with fun restaurants and coffee shops. In fact, I like Milwaulkee more than Minneapolis.

But let's not forget we are in the Midwest.

As the picture above proves, there is still a long way to go - these are some scary beeetches.

ON A STICK

As much as I complain about Minnesota, I do the love the annual State Fair - the largest in the United States. I mean, it's the only place I know that serves every imaginable food on a stick. I love the clear blue August skies and the utter campiness of a State Fair in the year 2007.

I also like looking at the hundreds of hot small town baby misters. I think Andy Warhol said it best..."The older I get, the better looking the young become."

I'M NOT GAY

Don't you love it when hypocritical republicans like Larry Craig fuck up?

I do.

Every fag in Minneapolis is aware that the airport bathroom is ripe with closet cases looking for dick to suck - and also ripe with undercover police. I mean, who cares if terrorists are plotting to blow up the airport, let's spend our money on catching those disgusting fudge packers.

I laughed out loud when I heard Mr. Craig describe his "wide leg stance" when taking a dump or his remark that he was "just picking up toilet paper off the floor." I guess Senator Larry Craig won't be getting his usual 100 percent rating by the Family Values Association this year. No sirree.

He can now join the ranks of other closeted self-hating homos like Mark Foley and Ted Haggard.

I say good riddance.

LAND OF THE BLAND

I am in Minneapolis for my annual summer vacation. I have plenty to write about...such as why does every woman in the state of Minnesota have a lesbianonic "bob" haircut? Gross. I mean, it's very unfuckable.

More to come of my unhappy stay in Minneapolis tomorrow.

2000 FAGS ON A BOAT (PART 8) PARTIES

2000 FAGS ON A BOAT (PART 7) COMPARE AND DISPAIR

There are a million places to dine on a cruise. I mean, you can have your choice of any worldly cuisine in the many restaurants and buffets. But the best dining experience bar none is the grand 5-star San Marco; where white-coated waiters serve lobster, filet mignon, veal and other delicacies – and yes, there is the army of silver wear to sort through.

Now on most cruises, you are assigned a table for the duration of your cruise, but that isn’t the case on a gay cruise. Each night you are seated with a new slew of queens to make small talk with. I mean, some evenings you can have the good fortune to be seated with a group of fun fags, but other nights you end up with a painful serving of compare and despair.

Let me explain:

On a bad night, my best friend Peter and I would have to sit and listen to wealthy and happy monogamous couples chat endlessly about their various 40-acre mansions, beachfront condos in St. Tropez and other assorted prizes of wealth.

Over the five-course meal, Peter and I (both single and middle class) would stare at each other and ponder at what point in the homo road of life did we take the wrong turn.

Some nights we choose to dine in the buffet because we couldn’t take another evening of being reminded that we were both romantically and financially inferior.

2000 FAGS ON A BOAT (PART 6) SEX

OK - everyone wants to know about sex on the big gay cruise. Well, there is some hooking up - but not as much as you think. I mean, the boat was full of happy - I hate them - couples, but if you wanted a quick poke, you could easily find it.

Of course, the steam room was a total suck and fuck fest; and the hot tubs were so packed with horny men that they resembled bowls of "bear soup." And let's not forget the "14th floor" - the tippy-top little deck for nude sunbathing that transformed into an al fresco orgy after midnight.

But the "let's get busy" award goes to Sam and Rob. This frisky couple plastered their cabin door with printed up postcards advertising their travel schedule and their sexual likes and dislikes.

No, I didn't knock on their door, but I saw plenty that did.

2000 FAGS ON A BOAT (PART 5) BELINDA CARLISLE HAS PANTY LINES

Every gay cruise has a surprise “star” performance. On previous trips, the “star” – and I use that term extremely loosely – has been Debbie “Only in My Dreams” Gibson, Charo and Joan Rivers.

I know, has-beens one and all.

On the Baltic’s, we were joined by Go-Go Belinda Carlisle. She croaked out her various solo and Go-Go hits with a blasé smile plastered on her face. Clad in a drab "garden party" pantsuit sans shoes, it was obvious as she robotically sang along to a backing track that she was in disbelief that her career had been reduced to singing on a floating resort to a bunch of drunken queens.

During a flat performance of “Circle in the Sand”, one queen leaped from the front row and screamed:

“Belinda – your music saved my life.”

As I contained my laughter from such an idiotic statement, Belinda just smirked at the poor soul and moved to the other side of the stage.

So how is the old gal holding up? I wish I could say my lips were sealed, but that isn't me, is it?

For starters, her face had that odd taut and shiny appearance ala Nicole Kidman from too much Botox and filler; and her neck looked a little bunchy from an ill-fated neck lift, but for 51 she looked pretty good.

What really surprised me were the visible panty lines on her wide pancake flat ass. I mean, I know she lives in southern France, but hasn’t she heard of Spanx? I just wanted to yell outloud..."Bitch, you got pantylines!"

As one old queen sitting behind me said before storming out mid- show….

“For the love of God, she can’t even sing, and for all the money we paid for this trip, she could at least put on a nice dress and a pair of Jimmy Choos.”