Free love and whippings for all

San Francisco is completely out of control right at this moment!

The time is 2.48am Sunday morning (or late Saturday night for those night owls like myself). I just got back from a night out on the town. Woods and I did a bit of shopping at H&M & Urban Outfitters, devoured a scrumcious dinner at Dosa in the Mission District, feasted our senses at the final live Ladytron show of 2007 which took place at Mezzanine, and secured a pre-Folsom parking spot in the SoMa district. Life is good.

As we drove around on a search for parking, I noticed the city is crawling with tweeked out club kids and leather men (and women). San Fran is host to the Folsom Street Fair (happenin’ tomorrow, err today) and the LoveFest (which took place today, err yesterday). In other words, it’s one big fucking party. I love it.

I didn’t make it to the LoveFest (and LoveParade) today as I partook in some “sins of the flesh” which caused me to sleep it off in the majority of the afternoon. And I was being a cheap bastard as the LoveFest required a donation to attend. Fucking is free so it that took presidence.

I also wanted to be well rested for Folsom tomorrow (today). I plan to get up before noon, a big feat I know, so I can experience all that Folsom has to offer – which translates to checking out all of the exhibitor’s booths (especially the infamous Fucking Machine). Of course I want this to happen much earlier in the day so I can spend the late afternoon/early evening eyeballing all of the sheninigans on the street, behind the dumpsters, and in the bars. I plan to continue the tradition of manseeding my much broken-in Fluevog black leather boots. Good lawd, if those boots could talk…

Anyhow, I have a freshly cooked meal waiting for me consisting of a lemon seasoned c hicken breast and potato salad all thanks to late night chef Woods. I need eat before I head to bed. I want to make sure that I am chock full of carbs and protein as I need my energy for the big day tomorrow (today). Then again, if I didn’t have the protein I needed to sustain my stamina I would be able to drain it from the anbundance of donors that will be trotting along at the festival. Hot damn, I just love how those Folsom men are so giving.

Reason To Fall In Love With Los Angeles #345

You want to know another reason why I love the Los Angeles area so much? Well, take a look at the following M4M postings in the losangeles.craigslist.org Missed Connection section:

we were at the same glory hole tonight - m4m – 33
we were at the same glory hole with two other guys all feeding the same guy. you had a plaid shirt and baseball cap on. I was a little shy and watched the hot action. if you'd like to meet up, drop me a line

Le Sex Shoppe - m4m – 40
One day last week at the Le Sex Shoppe in Studio City. You are a married white guy, medium height, alt/indie looking, br hair, brown t-shirt, jeans, baseball cap, nice hard cut cock. I'm a 40yo married white guy, 5'11, 175, moderately hairy in the right places, cleanshaven, br/hzl, 7 x 6 cut thick. We sucked each other off...you apologized because you weren't freshly showered like I was (I didn't notice)...you came BUCKETS under the booth seat. If you're intersted in meeting again, let me know...

Two studs freeballing around the lake today around 1pm - m4m – 31
Very hot, dudes. I'd love to suck you both after you show off again. Hit me up. Tell me what you had on, so I know it's you two. Thanks.

KooKooRoo - m4m – 40
It was Thursday or Friday late afternoon last week (the 20th or 21st)... You: White, 30-40, short brown/black hair, around 6', worked out, awesome uncut cock, wearing t-shirt (gray?), black track pants, cross-trainers Me: 40yo mwm, 5'11, 175, moderately hairy, br/hzl, 7 x 6 cut thick. We ended up in the back stall and I sucked you off...you came on the floor. It was awesome. If you see this and want to meet again, let me know.

I totally just creamed my shorts.

A Brief Los Angeles Calm Down

I'm officially back home in Los Angeles at the moment. I just arrived a few hours ago from San Diego. I was down there with Woods visiting Timofy and Machete, as well as to catch the Smashing Pumpkins concert at the SDSU Open Air Theatre on Wednesday night. Amazing show by the way... even tho I almost vomited from the gnarly strobe lights high above Billy Corgan’s bald head.

I also came close to barfing up my dinner earlier this evening at the Muse show in Irvine. Don’t get me wrong, Muse put on one hell of a show complete with video screens, flashy color drenched outfits, smoke machines, floppity balloons filled with confetti (think Flaming Lips), and, you guessed it, strobe lights. The only thing missing from this 90 plus minute entertainment bonanza was Freddy Mercury sashaying out on stage in full regalia. I truly did enjoy myself - as did the sea of extremely dedicated fans who chanted every lyric to the T.

Well, I have a few days in Los Angeles before I head onto my next adventure… San Francisco. Woods and I leave Tuesday morning. We are planning to check out Trannyshack’s ode to the Folsom Street Fair that evening. Along with a whole slew of dirty shenanigans during the entire week we are there. Too bad Raya won’t be there to join in the fun. She really did sparkle during Up Your Alley weekend. Le sigh.

For the upcoming days while in LA, I will have to see what kind of trouble I can stir up since I have to look for work when I return from NorCal. Oh, the joy of re-entering the workforce. I’m sure you can just feel the excitement I have building up inside of me. I wish I could just be one big whore turning out tricks for thousands of dollars. Unfortunately some cooze already claimed that position… and I don’t want to put Es Spicy Hilton out of a job.

And for those of you who don’t know who Es Spicy Hilton is… Es Spicy Hilton = the grand skanktress Paris Hilton.

And yea I said thousands of dollars, not millions. I know I’m not the fuck of the century, but I’m not some two bit salad tosser either. Altho, I’m sure that bitch Timofy would have a comment or two to contradict that, but that hooker can eat a bag of dicks. Oh wait, she already does!

The Dead Has Arisen

Holy fuck.

Has it really been months since I last posted an entry on this blog?!

Yipes, I guess it has been.

Well, time to play some catch up…

I moved to Los Angeles in July. Not that I have been there much, but all of my belongings are gathering dust in apartment just south of Hollywood.

I am still not working. Nor do I really want to be in all honesty. Ever since I got laid off from my old job, it has been a nice vacation. Free of the corporate crap. Free of the backstabbing. Free of the morning hours. This all coming from a non-bullshit, dramatic free, night owl.

I will be doing an extensive search for a job once October hits. That is after I come back from the infamous debauchery laced week in San Francisco for the Folsom Street Fair. My cum stained Fluevog boots will make an appearance …as they always do when I hit the streets of San Fran. Ah, good times.

Back to the unemployment situation… it’s been extremely lovely being able to travel, hang out with friends, fuck around (literally), and “casually” look for work that would be based on my terms. I’ve been a working machine since I was 14 years old. So now that I am 30, it’s cool to take some time out from the hustle and bustle of the fecal matter that is associated with anything corporate.

I got some shit from friends who were jealous that I wasn’t working and living off unemployment. I never feel I have to answer to friends, but I made it crystal clear that after 16 years of staying late for overtime and dealing with the “he said/she said” arguments that plagued my employment exsistance, it has been a breath of fresh air to live my life as a free agent. For now, that is.

Another update is I finally got a laptop! …thanks to the help of a certain special someone whom I owe a very sloppy blow job! This has given me the opportunity to get online (sort of) to blog and make new friends. And when I say make new friends, I mean being a big slut.

On that note, I will stop there. More will be coming as I have a plethora of subjects I need to tackle on this blog space. So to answer your question: Yes, I did relocate my soapbox from the town of flaky gay idiots known as San Diego to the great “I want it now or never” culture city of Los Angeles. Are you just getting totally erect with anticipation? I know I am. Hot.

Where in the world is Whiplash Lopenski?

It has been ages since I have last posted on my blog. I’ve been laying low since the big lay off. I haven’t had the right type of tools to successfully post a entry on this blog. The only computer access I have currently is Woods’ MAC – and blogspot doesn’t work that well with Safari and MAC Explorer. Bummer.

Since being laid off, I took a mini vacation up to Los Angeles & San Francisco. During my holiday, I got to experience Raya Light’s first ever hosting duties at Trannyshack, feast my senses on The Presets at The Ex_Plex, and spend money I didn’t have on clothes from H&M. I even took Tranny Christ with me on my trip. That bitch made a splash at Trannyshack, as well as Dragstrip66. I counted 36 Latino dudes who shot me glares of disgust. Hot.

On the flip side, I got a nasty little cold virus that took the best out of me. I was down for about a week. I couldn’t even cruise the local parking lot! Luckily with the help of Jamba Juice and some over the counter medication I fought that fucker off. I am back in tip top shape.

I am currently using Timofy’s laptop to bring you a post this morning. I am sitting listing to the Pet Shop Boys’ “Minimal” via iPod while I type. I am doing my best to drain out the unintelligible conversation from the white trash family sitting to my left.

Now that I am out of a job, I am living off of Unemployment. I may not be as ghetto fabulous as some of those bitches living off of the system but at least I am using my free time for good instead of standing on the pavement outside watching cars go by while my trousers slowly fall off my ass. I have priorities. I’m getting my shit together for the big move up to Los Angeles in May/June. I’m also spending loads of time at the gym attempting to build muscle mass. And now that I am feeling better, I want to spend my afternoons at the beach. As well as the art of cruising, of course. Heh. Oh yeah, and looking for a job. *cough*

I’m hoping within the next month or so I will have enough money to purchase a laptop so I can cruise, blog, cruise, contact friends, cruise, look for work, cruise, listen to music, cruise, myspace stalk, cruise, and so many other things I have become accustom to in the internet age. I just wet myself with anticipation.

Thank you Corporate America!

It’s official – I have been “laid off” from my position at work!

I am so colored pink it is unbelievable. I’ve been waiting for this for weeks. Hell, I even asked at my boss at one point if lay offs were in the works, and if they were, could I be selected to be one of the causalities. I guess my wish was granted. Woot!

So where does that leave me right now? Well, I’m off for some cocktails this afternoon with fellow ex-co-workers. Hell-fucking-yea. It’s party time.

Bitch, you betta pay my phone bill!

Miss Cleo is about to get smacked down by Milan...

The return of LBTG

Lower Back Tattoo Guy (LBTG) and I have had a rocky cruising relationship over the past few months. After I actually introduced myself to him in the locker room back in early December, he had been kind of scarce with me. He actually disappeared for a few weeks soon after that incident. Maybe he went away for the holidays, maybe he got shipped out to Iraqi, or maybe my forward introduction spooked him enough to switch gyms. Who knows, but a couple of weeks ago, he returned to the gym with a growing-day-by-day interest in me (and my cock) again.

During his workouts over the past few weeks I would catch him looking at me. In the shower stalls, he would position himself across from mine and coyly catch glimpses of me and my manhood. Sometimes he would even lick his lips showing his interest, or turn around to show me his drool worthy toned backside.

Every time I came into contact with him, he would get a bit bolder in his advances, but still maintain his distance. I’m fine with that, but I was getting quite tired of this game. I wanted to see what his exact intentions were. Did he want to meet up? Did he want to fuck around right there in the shower stall? Did he just like looking at me? What?! I was getting restless.

Last evening, I was 15 minutes late to the set time I had originally wanted to meet Woods at the gym. My plan was to do a quick cardio workout beginning at 6pm then hit up the AMC for “Volver”. But with the time crunch of my tardiness, it looked like I was not going to make the movie, so I decided to spend a little more time working out. Then I could soak in the spa post workout. It worked out nicely. I was showering up by 7:15pm.

While in the shower, I washed up pretty quickly. When I was finished, I remained still underneath the warm running water. It felt great as I positioned myself to have the water hit my neck to flow down my back. I noticed to my right that all of the stalls were occupied by less than exciting individuals including a local gaytard whose “white 4 white only” online persona was put into question when I spotted him sucking ethnic cock in a fuck flick years back.

AnyWAY, I thought all of the showers were taken up when I surprisingly spotted an empty stall which was catty corner to mine and one block closer to the locker room. Within minutes LBTG appeared in all his glory to claim it’s availability. He closed his curtain not too tightly as I could easily see his firm body soaping up.

As minutes continued to pass I observed how his curtain was opening up more and more in favor of my eyes. He could clearly see into my stall since my sluttiness only allows me to close the curtain to about 65% of it’s full potential.

His attention was rapidly rising. His eyes were fixated on me, and mine onto him. I was hoping that this would be the evening that all my burning questions would be answered.

To my dismay, a gentleman known as Big Dick’d Older Guy (BDOG) waltzed into the shower area with pole smoking on the mind – well you could tell by his demeanor. He casually plopped himself in identical catty corner shower which was two blocks down from LBTG. BDOG was trying very hard to grab my attention. He could barely see into my stall, but I was in no way return the advances back at him. I was doing my best not to make any indication that I was interested in him at the moment. My focus was solely on LBTG.

A few more moments lingered by and it looked as if LBTG was definitely reaching a level that would quickly catapult him into either the guilt or pleasure arena of gym sex – depending on how you view it obviously. LBTG was firmly erect. I smiled and nodded to him that I definitely enjoyed what I could see. He shot a smirk back to me.

At this time, BDOG was getting quite ancy from what I could tell. From what I figured, he wanted in on the action or try all he could to grab my attention fully for himself. Well, what this nutfuck did next was down right not cool in my book. This tall lean horny man left his stall only to shower hop into the stall next to LBTG. LBTG could see that there was someone moving next to him. This action caused LBTG to immediately freak out and shut his curtain completely. He turned his looks away from me and onto his shower head rinsing off the shame of jerking off in public.

I was livid because I was cockblock’d to the highest order.

I didn’t want make any eye contact with BDOG because I know I would have shot him daggers out of my pupils. But I wanted to see what the hell this asshole was up to. I looked down onto the tile, then over to the stall where I noticed him and his very aroused penis. I could tell he was trying to make any type of contact with me, but I was having none of it. I turned my face to the shower head and let the water trickle down in hopes of soothing my soon to be very pissed off expression.

Then all of a sudden I heard the squeaky sound of one of the shower valves turning off along with a curtain opening very fastly. I turned around to see LBTG drying off. I knew it was my queue to high tail it out of there. As soon as I turned off the water in my stall, I opened my curtain fully. I looked at LBTG and grinned. I spotted BDOG replacing his movement from the stall across from me to the original one he first occupied. BDOG looked directly at me. We made eye contact. I kindly gestured to him via body signaling “thanks but no thanks, not tonight”. I made a motion to my wrist as if I “didn’t have the time”.

LBTG bolted out to the locker area.

I quickly dried myself in hopes that I could get to my locker, dress up in a matter of seconds, and walk out to the front of the building in order to cut off LBTG on his way out of the front door. I was hoping to at least get his digits. Hell, even say “next time buddy”. Well I dried my, now, 141 pound body at record speed, skedaddled over to my locker. I got a peek of LBTG at his locker as I flashed over to mine, which was in an entirely different area of the room. I rushed through my lock combination to open the wooden door. I grabbed my belongings with a quick fist. I then threw on my black H&M cargos, pulled my grey t-shirt over my head, followed by a sweater, snug my feet into my flip flops.

All during this time, BDOG makes his exit from the shower stall into the locker room. I initially thought he had returned to see if there was any new meat in the room. Wrong. He had approached his locker in order for him to dress. I didn’t think anything of it. I wanted to get the hell out of there.

Once I finalized myself, Woods came in from the showers. I whispered to him quickly that I would see him out front because “I wanted to catch LBTG”. I then practically flew out of the locker area through the gym and to the front door. But when I got there, he was nowhere to be found. It seems as if he had been spooked again. Fuck.

As I turned around to see if Woods was behind me, I viewed BDOG darting towards the front. Was he was following me out? I didn’t want to find out so I skimmed through the parking lot over to my truck Betina. I unlocked the doors and threw in my gym bag. I lowered myself into the front seat and called Woods.

Woods was walking out at the time when he answered his phone. I told him what had happened. He then informed me that BDOG was searching the parking lot for my whereabouts. I could then see BDOG’s head bobbing up and down through the various sized vehicles. He made his stop only paces down from where I sat frozen in my car. I told Woods that I would see him at Casa Norte so I put the key into the ignition and started Betina up. It wasn’t long before I jammed out of that parking lot. As I was on the phone with Woods, he mentioned that BDOG was watching me leave. Wonderful.

I guess I am going to have to wait another 5 weeks before I have a run in with LBTG. I'm hoping that this time I will be ready. I'm crossing my fingers.

A puddle 9 inches deep

No lunchtime cock smoking for me today. It’s pretty grey outside this afternoon. Not to mention a bit rainy. For some people, it’s considered ugly. To me, it’s gorgeous outside. When the weather is like this, it makes it hard for someone with my kind of high sex drive (read: addiction) to keep it in his pants. I guess that is why there are bookstores to off-set for outdoor play.

Oh, I’m sure there are some peoples out there cruising the local parking lots and parks, but it’s too damn cold to be whipping my cock out when there is rain a drizzlin’. I guess I can wait until later when I get to the gym post-workout where I can show off my unit in the locker room showers like normal folk.

Actually, come to think of it, its better I didn’t venture out to the lunchtime cruising spot otherwise my truck would have been covered in mud – well worse than it is right now anyway. The parking lot is basically a dirt parking area where “on the DL” type married mens and pole riders on their lunch breaks meet for some in-the-bushes and/or in-your-car hi-jinks that could get someone arrested if the vice were to show up. Most of it is ignored, but I just know one of these days a cop vehicle is going to roll right through that bitch snatching up males who innocently just wanted to taste another man’s seed. There’s no crime in that. And there are no children around, so let a player play. Geez.

I’m hoping by tomorrow the sun will be out much more than it was today. There is a rumbling in my jeans that demands attention from a stranger. I can’t honestly say it’s a gay man thing, because it’s not. It’s a male thing. Testosterone can be one hell of an obstacle sometimes. It can lead to you have sexual relations with someone you find less than stimulating. Trust me. I think we all have been there.

If it doesn’t clear up, I’ll just have to take my happy ass over to the bookstore. At least if the other person behind the magic window is revolting (by my preferences btw – I’m not going to win any Mr. Gay Competitions soon myself), I can keep my eyes glued to the porn on the screen in front of me. Hell in that case, I can always give the other guy a show. They like that sometimes. And then they dirty up the booth in my honor. Narcissism is hot.

What can brown do for you?

Even tho it was raining profusely, Woods and I ventured out to Pacific Beach last evening for some dinner. The place we had our hearts set on was unfortunately closed for renovations. Bugger. Luckily, we remembered there was another restaurant down the street we were eagerly aching to hit up again – Gringos Cantina.

Being the fact that it was a Monday night and the glorious beachy neighborhood of PB, I knew the place would more than likely be busy – even with the fact that the rain was turning all of the local sorority skanks into wet poodles. It never fails with that area of town. And I was right – it was a full house, and yes, the chicks DID look like wet poodles.

As Woods and I were escorted to our table, I noticed right away that all of the patrons were, ahem, of the Caucasian persuasion. I didn’t spot an ethnic person in the bunch. I began to wonder where all of the colored folk were. Oh that’s right, we was all in the back making the food. I was quickly schooled when I realized the majority of the kitchen & wait staff consisted of the Joses, Hectors, and Maribels.

I’ve never been one to feel out of place when I’m the minority in the group. And I’m not just speaking of being around a bunch of white peoples, I’m talking about all kinds – Black peoples, Asian peoples, Green peoples, you name it. There has been one a many of times were I am the only Hispanic/German/Spanish/Native American/Pilipino person in the whole gawdamn place. I have never thought twice about it. And why should it bother me? It doesn’t. I could give a flying fuck if I’m the token. But I do have to admit, I love making my observations. Well, because, that’s the kind of bitch I am.

AnyHO, after waiting for what seemed like an eternity to get our main course, I spotted an Asian girl amongst a table of American Eagle rejects. They were all clearly having a good time – which is totally cool in my book. Laughing, snorting, snogging. I like it when you have interracial mingling. Hell, I enjoy it more when you have interracial fucking – but this was not the place I was going to see that.

I whispered to Woods of my Asian girl findings. He eyed the table over a few times and replied back to me “I think there is more than one Asian girl at that table”. I immediately looked back to see if I skipped over any one of significant importance. I saw nothing of the sort. Maybe it was his gigantic margarita that had him seeing fauxness. Or maybe he saw an interracial mixture in one of the darker hair girls across from little miss Asian. That could have been possible. Oh well, I lost interest soon enough as I was ready to lodge my sandal up between our waiter’s ass checks.

As I slurped up the last remaining alcoholic droplets of my strawberry cocktail, I looked once more around the room. I made a final observation that all of the ladies (read: bleached blonde coozes with bad clothes) looked exactly liked each other. There was not one person that stood out. For a moment, I thought the front door was a cloning device that was spitting out those squealing vapid Paris Hilton wannabes. It was sad. And predictable.

I was able to spot the girls who were secretly hating the girl across from them for being prettier or for having more money, or the girls who were so insecure that their entire silicon double D was pouring out of their top. And why was I able to do such a good job at this? Well, being a gay man, um, let me re-phrase, being a man who fucks other men, I was able to basically replace all of those Buffys with muscle queens at the local gay bar. It’s all the same really.

Everyone wants to stand out and be looked like as an individual, but when it really comes down to it, no they really don’t. Think about it – all of the Goths look similar don’t they? Even when they’re all crying about how different they all are. Sorry bitches, no you ain’t! You all look like Robert Smith/Siouxie Sioux clones!

I guess being the only beaner in the bunch (read: sitting down at a table feasting on food) last night was refreshing to Woods – which was nice, since he has to deal with my wetback ass on a daily basis. Oh, but what a fun wetback I am.

Distort this!

What is it with 94.9?! Seriously. Do they get a kick back from Social Distortion for playing all of their tunes?!

And don’t even get me started on Halloran’s ass. He is a total douche.

Celebrity Bitchfight: Mrs. Garrett vs. Alexis Carrington Colby!

I’m putting my money on Mrs. Garrett!



Altho after watching this piece of fluff I can only imagine those damn producers at The Insider totally fabricated this feud to be. Them fuckers.

Lick my dirty hole Wells Fargo!

That 34 dollar overdraft fee that Wells Fargo applied to my account last week was the final nail in the coffin. I’ve been actively researching checking accounts at various banks although I think Washington Mutual looks like it will win my business hands down. Wells Fargo is the shit stain on the panties of life. Seriously.

I’ve been with WaMu in the past and extremely enjoyed their service. Even the ways their employees handle customer complaints were downright phenom. I just can’t wait to walk into the Wells Fargo branch (the one over by my office) to tell them they can shove it. I’m sure they can care less about my account(s) (read: business), but I’m completely fed up with all of their shit. It’s like an abusive relationship where I keep getting smacked in the eye because I don’t know any better. Well you know what Wells Fargo, I’m turning the tables on your ass! Call me Tina and consider yourself Ike, you twats!

Unfortunately, I’m waiting on the company I currently work for to go belly up (or me leaving – which ever is first) before I close out my WF accounts. My employer filed Chapter 11 bankruptcy on December 29th, 2006. And it’s been downhill since then. Publishers and clients are backing off on business with us. Stock is being held. Payments are on hold. Lawsuits are being filed. Hell, even our paychecks are being tinkered with. It’s just all too much to even think about.

I am truly hoping I get laid off sometime in March. That would be totally great. I could file for unemployment. I could have a month or so to pack for the big move. I could help Woods finish up Casa Norte. And I could spend my afternoons cruising certain parking lots and bookstores. Now that is how I want to remember my last days living in San Diego. Call it a fantasy if you want, but at the rate my company is going, it could become reality soon enough.

Altho I do have to admit that I am a bit stressed right now. I discussed Euro travel plans with Woods last night. Planning Coachella is going to be a piece of cake compared to planning the European getaway. The thought currently is to hit up Europe for 4 weeks post Coachella – which would be fine. But even if I still had a job by then, I would have to quit by the time Coach rolled around – which would mean no unemployment coming in. I’m crossing my fingers for a massive lay off.

I guess I feel I have way too much to do with no time to do it in. I’m sure I will have all of my belongings in boxes by the end of April, but I’m scared that my finances won’t be in the light I want them to be. Add that to opening a new checking and savings account, and closing two old ones I’ve had since the early 90’s makes me a bit jumbled.

I suppose all of these obstacles will be worth it in the end. By the time I get back from Europe I will be completely refreshed ready to start a new chapter in my life. A new city, a new outlook, a new job – a new bank! This has been a long time coming so it makes the transition all that sweeter. Along with me flipping the bird to those fuckers Wells Fargo – that will be the icing on the cake.

Shall we celebrate?

Be there this Saturday.

Death to Wells Fargo!

I have reached my breaking point with Wells Fargo Bank. The result is frustration.

I just had it out with an unfortunate excuse for a customer service person named Kathy by way of telephone. She had a quite annoying nasally Minnesota accent. You know the kind I’m referring to – the kind that screams inbred, fundamentalist Christian, and overall do-gooder. I certainly feel as if she is a sloppy oinker of the highest order. She talked down to me as if I was a child. I wanted to jump through the phone and gouge her eyes out with a rusty nail file. Only if it was that easy. Sigh.

The idiot tellers at the branch closest to my office royally fucked up any normalcy to my accounts many months ago when they introduced a “monthly checking to savings transfers” WITHOUT my consent. I raised a fit when it completed it’s first transaction, but I was told that if the bank were to reverse it I would then be paying a monthly fee in my savings account. I became even more enraged because I’ve held the account since the mid 1990’s without ever having to pay a monthly fee for my savings account. My bitchfest led to nothing. I was told it was all my fault.

Even more backtracking… this is the same branch that has deposited MY funds into checking accounts that were NOT mine – even when the deposit slip had MY correct checking account number. They are total fucktards at this location. If given the opportunity, and a way to secure my innocence, I would slash the tires on each of the branch employees’ Honda Accords every Friday for 8 months. 8 months of torturous transfers = 8 months of slashed tires. A fair trade if you ask me.

Anyway, the money in question that I phoned in about had transferred sometime during the twilight hours while I was laying asleep in bed. I checked all day yesterday to make sure the transfer hadn’t gone through. And it hadn’t. I thought I was safe as the past three times it was supposed to transfer on a Sunday or Holiday, it hadn’t. Well too bad for me as it showed this morning as transferring yesterday the 16th.

My main problem to all of this mumbo jumbo was the transfer caused an overdraft fee of 34 dollars that was applied to my checking account. The money transferred out of my account caused my check card purchase from Sunday evening to negative the balance. So essentially the 19.33 purchase had now cost me 53.33. Lovely.

Of course I was not going to take this lying down. Living with Timofy for 6 plus years of my life had definitely taught me something – always stand up for yourself, and be a bitch when necessary. Of course I did both. Add the sickness on top of all of that… it’s not such a pretty picture.

The first person I spoke to gave me the run around. Which is typical. The first customer service person you run into will more than likely try to get you to give up. I wasn’t in the mood to give up so easily. He kept stressing to me that he could not reverse the overdraft fee. I knew he couldn’t but I gave it a good try, and I made him work for his $8.75 an hour. He continued to place me on hold over and over again. This only added more fuel to the fire as I know these type of malicious tricks during my old customer service days. These people hope you will hang up and never call back. Unbeknownst to him, I was aching to speak to his supervisor. And when I asked, he kindly obliged.

He transferred me to this poor excuse for a woman named Kathy who from the get-go I could tell was going to be an overwhelming pain in my ass. Her voice was very managerial “I’m better than you”. Her choice of words were a distinct factor on how my attitude was shaping up – which was quite firey by then. She kept telling me that it was my choice to have this done to my account. And to stop referencing past experiences with this current one. I had to let her know that when it comes to proving a point, I’m going to prove my point any way possible.

This call was reaching the 45 minute mark and I had just about had enough. Well not really, I had to get back to my duties. I asked her for her full name. She was extremely hesitant. But on the fifth time asking politely she caved in and even spelled it out for me. What a cooze. The reason behind getting her full name was so I could write a letter to Wells Fargo in a few days documenting my awful experience with this woman.

As she spoke her last words about how I should have signed up for overdraft protection I hung up on the bitch. I figured it would be better for me to end it there. This would give me the chance to call back later in the afternoon and get a different batch of customer service employees to terrorize. I kept telling myself that I am not going to give up without a fight. And I’m not. I’m sick and tired of the bullshit that Wells Fargo has shoveled my way. At least if I don’t get this damn overdraft fee reimbursed, I will have given the dimwitted Wells Fargo customer service employees one hell of a ride.

Play sniffle for me

The weekend was completely shot for me. I was bed ridden with a cold. The iceberg weather that has plagued San Diego (and most of the country for that matter) has not been pleasant. It has only moved my level of sickness from a mere chill to an evil blockage of breath. My body is usually pretty good at dispelling any type of virus right out of my system, but this time around it has proven to be quite a chore.

At first I was pissed that I had to spend the weekend wiping my nose. But after much meditation, I was ultimately happy that it happened this weekend and not the upcoming weekend which is scheduled to be a busy one. Get it out of the way was my motto for the past several days.

I did manage to get out of the house for a bit tho. I took myself to the gym for a nice lower body workout on Saturday. On Sunday, I checked out the Joan Collins/Linda Evans farce “Legends” down at the Civic Center. A pit stop was made at Baja Betty’s on the way home for a Margarita in hopes that the tequila would diminish any stitch of the virus – no such luck. Monday was a holiday for me (read: no work!) so I laid low with 11+ hours of sleep.

Now it is back to daily grind. I usually don’t complain about the work week, but with this cold weighing in on every move of mine, it makes it rather difficult not too. All I want to do is snuggle up with a blanket while sitting next to CN’s fireplace with a bowl of Top Ramen spoonfuls away from my lips. But then again, I need to get my body up and running. Otherwise, I’ll never get better. And I want to get better. There are some lonely (read: cruisy) parking lots out there with my name on it!

Peter Griffin, you had it right!

You know what really Grinds My Gears?

The following does:

- individuals who stand behind me while I type on a computer or web surf online (watching or not, it still bugs)
- front of the line consumers at fast food restaurants who after being in line for numerous minutes STILL don’t know what the hell they want to eat, therefore holding up the line
- people who drive while talking on their cell phone
- drunk faggots
- drunk queens
- drunk me
- faggots who use the term “straight acting”
- faggots who think that “muscular” and “masculine” mean the same thing
- faggots who describe themselves as “muscular” when they are really fat
- faggots who think they are too damn good to talk to you
- faggots who ask you to name AC/DC songs
- faux friends who love to create drama (i.e. my Archenemy)
- me being bitter
- people who cannot do anything by themselves
- the personal trainers at the gym who try to sell you their services when you are clearly in the middle of your workout (and with your iPod blasting into your ears)
- people who invite themselves along
- those “bi-curious” personal ads on craigslist
- faggots who label themselves “bi” even tho they throw up just a little anytime a vagina is mentioned (I’m sorry but wanting to fuck Madonna doesn’t cut it as you being “bi” – newsflash: that bitch is a tranny!)
- people who claim they are “ok” with a certain issue, but totally give you attitude when that issue arises
- drastic mood swings
- people who carry grudges for other people (i.e. my Archenemy’s sibling)
- people who are nosey and riffle through my belongings and/or e-mails
- controlling individuals
- high maintenance persons
- clingy bitches
- not being able to retreat
- repetitiveness
- not being seen as an individual
- persons who meddle
- Jo Polniaczek's peasant dress!

Holy shit, I guess I could go on and on, but I think I’ll stop there. Apparently many things annoy the fuck out of me – which is pretty normal. I personally think that everyone has a huge list of annoyances. Most people just never vocalize them. Oh well. To each his own.

Perfectly hijacked by permission

Princess Superstar’s “Perfect” through the Ministry of Sound's eyes…



I have to admit, I love it.

2007 Weekend Cherry Poppin’

Well the first weekend of the year was quite uneventful. Actually, it was purposely low key as I was trying to do my best to “save money” and “clean up some of my shit” – literally.

I had wanted to go out for a drink or six last Friday night, but that never materialized as the futon seemed all too comfy, and that first season episodes of “Charmed” were just screaming for attention.

Saturday was far more productive as I got a haircut, snagged some items from American Apparel, stocked up on some supplies at Target, and visited the gym for a cardio workout – all before 8pm. That evening I had very much wanted to go check out Club Montage since it was no cover all night long. I don’t ever really want to pay to go there so I thought it was the perfect time to do some observations of the San Diego nightlife I have grown to despise. To my surprise, the futon won the attention of my heart. And my ass.

Sunday was very frustrating as I had to (sort of) fast due to that fact that I was prepping for a not so pleasant doctor’s visit that would be happening on Monday morning. I was on a strict diet all day. I did manage to finish up some laundry in the mist of all of that craziness.

I do hope next weekend will prove to be more interesting, but then again it might be nice to lie around doing nothing other than reviewing my CDs and packing boxes for my move to LA that will be happening in a few months. I guess it’s better to start early than to wait until the last minute, eh?

The Midget (finally) comes to San Diego

Lady Sovereign at the House Of Blues downtown tonight – be there or be square.

Drunk on cum

Anesthesia rocks!

Oh Karen

I’m rarely ever star struck. And despite being a total slut, I could never see myself as a starfucker. It’s not in my nature. I’ve been in the company of celebrities and pseudo-celebrities in the past and not once have I fallen to the kind of school girl silliness or “Midwestern American on vacation in Hollywood” type of excitable fawning over someone who may or may not have been on television. Call me a bitch, but I don’t consider most reality stars celebrities. I hate reality television. There I said it. Sigh.

Anyway, what I was getting at is this past Saturday during my busy Los Angeles travels I made a pit stop at my favorite vintage retail store Jet Rag. Please note that the word vintage does not equal thrift. This store is anything but. I always manage to find all kinds of good one-of-a-kind items that I sport while out in the scene. I love this place.

While standing behind Woods in line to pay for the swanky duds I located within the depths of the store, I noticed a short(er) dark haired young woman next to me. I know I recognized her from somewhere, but where, it was escaping me. I held tight onto my animal print dress (yes, dress, I need something to wear to the Dragstrip66’s 14th Anniversary coming up), fur shoulder wrap (see the reasoning for the animal print dress), black cracked western-ish leather belt, and reversible snow blocking parka vest (don’t ask) as I tried to search my mind for a single memory of her face.

As soon as Woods signed his credit card statement, it hit me. It was Karen O from the indie rock group Yeah Yeah Yeahs. I wasn’t star struck, and I most certainly wasn’t fawning. I actually didn’t make anything much of it like all those previous times celebrities had been just a jizzism shot away from me. Although I still wasn’t 100 percent cocksure that it was her. And being the nosey person I can be, I had to make cocksure. I knew that this was going to be a crafty little task I was going to put myself through.

I barked at Woods to sit down over on the entrance way seat once he plucked his bag from the counter. I made some eye movements to him, but he couldn’t figure out what the hell I was referring to. He knew I was up to something so he went along with it. I didn’t look back at her at all during the process of my purchase. I smiled back at Woods a few times, exchanged some banter with the sales guy, and eyeballed a few of the skinny neck ties behind the counter.

Once the sale was completed, I quickly shimmied next to Woods on the seat. I softly whispered in his ear that my thought was dear Miss Karen O was the female behind me in line. Woods expressed a perplexed looked on his face for a slight moment... until he realized I was speaking of Karen O from the YYYs. He then leaned in to verify my star sighting. His eyes widened and agreed with me. I told him I still wasn’t sure tho, but I begged him to please bare with me while I investigate.

I left my bag with Woods as I stood up and walked over to the other side of the counter to “look” at the fauxstaches and wrist bands. The entire time my eyes were fixated on Miss Karen O. I tired not to stare. I moved a little closer to the register via the earrings in hopes to hear her speak. I knew if I heard her voice I would be most certain it was her.

As I my fingers toyed with the 1980’s triangular and oddly shaped neon bright jewelry, I finally heard that familiar voice. Sure enough it was the Divine Miss O. She spoke softly to the cashier man about her purchase, and before I knew it she was on her merry way right out the door. Which at that time I hurried over to Woods and we both scurried out the door behind her. This was not a stalker move, this was a confirmation move. Since Woods had parked his vehicle in the front I stood frozen in the parking lot watching her walking away down La Brea.

I immediately called my brother as he would surely appreciate the caliber of that star sighting. And he did. I mentioned to him that it is quite commonplace to run into all kinds of entertainment folk while in the City of Angels since it is the capitol of such. I don’t know any other city where you can spot a porn starlet, a politician and a drag queen all at the local Starbucks sipping down a little of the liquid crack cocaine know as caffeine on any given day of the week.

Much later in the car, Woods and I conjured up some lines we could have spoken to each other in hopes to illicit a response from her – lines that if spoken loud enough would be considered quite annoying and, frankly, tacky in vying to get attention from Karen.

They began with the song titles:

- Hey, are you going to dress up as a GOLD LION for Dragstrip66’s 14th Anniversary?

- Or maybe you should go as a HONEYBEAR.

- What? Y CONTROL? Now why would I control that?

- Maybe we should have looked at one of those MAPS.

- You have such a BLACK TONGUE.

- Will you please stop CHASING HEARTS?

- You are such a RICH bitch!

And of course you have the album titles:

- Why don’t you just SHOW YOUR BONES?

- That is so FEVER TO TELL!

I guess I could have been really obvious and said:

- YEAH YEAH YEAHS, whatever!

You ain't ready two thousand seven!

Wow. What a way to bring in the New Year. I would be lying if I said that Los Angeles was a total bore. To be quite honest, it was down right insane – one hundred percent.

Pam Ann ---> It’s Absolutely Fabulous for the airline industry. Even with the fact that I wanted to introduce a certain table hording muscle queen to my right fist, I had a great time. My mates LadyE & Woods may not have loved it as much as I did, but they did manage to chuckle more than once. Peanuts, anyone?

Skin @ MJ’s ---> Thanks to Army (+ his minions), I put LadyE, Woods and myself on the Guest List for free entry to this dirty dance party where our eyes were filled with bare bubbled asses and educational fisting videos. I felt like I was back in San Francisco. Altho, SF isn’t lucky enough to have Willam Belli at the door! (it was nice to have finally met your acquaintance Willam!!)

Blondie @ Key Club ---> “Go Deb!” Holy shit. Can you say over booked? Fuck, I don’t think Key Club was prepared to have the place balls-to-the-wall packed with older hipsters, young indie rockers, and faggots of all races, shapes and sizes. Highlights included Deborah Harry’s wig, the crazy older woman on the stairs behind us yelling out her love for the Deb, the fight that broke out in which the bouncer grabbed the feisty female by the hair, and the “VIP after party” in the lounge downstairs.

Sterling @ Avalon ---> Vapid homos galore. Woods and I imploded our dancing techniques on the main floor to the sweet sounds that Joe Gauthreaux pulled out from the decks. Within the first 45 minutes I heard some of my favorite dance songs of 2006: Joey Negro’s “Make A Move On Me”, Blaze Presents UDA Featuring Barbara Tucker’s “Most Precious Love”, and Starkillers’ “Discoteka”. Damn, I’m gay. The only lowlight was the very yawn worthy exit of a very white Christmas looking Kristine W. It seems like someone dropped on the ball on the planning committee. Not to mention the half sound screeching out of her microphone. Mic check next time, please. Thank heaven I was too drunk to notice. Ahem.

LadyE’s New Year’s Eve Feast ---> Lamb, Macaroni & Cheese, Red Potatoes, Greens, red wine and so much more. It was definitely the right way to end the year. LadyE slaved all day in the kitchen while Woods and I attempted to hit the gym. Some Veuve Clicquot and a nap ensued shortly after the meal.

New Year’s Eve @ The Factory ---> One way to ring in the New Year with a bang is to party with the “gay and lesbians” – and LadyE, Woods and I sure as hell did that. We drank, danced and mingled with the infamous B.Lox whom we all originally met at Mickey’s during Los Angeles Pride. What a way to start the year right? Rekindling some fawning with a few masculine men… and no, I’m not including LadyE – no matter how masculine she claims to be!

New Year’s Day Lunch ---> The Red Rooster was definitely pulled out as the Catfish was fried and the Black Eyed Peas were spilled. Another one of LadyE’s tasty creations. Let’s hope her voodoo food magic brings good fortune this year. Yikes, I just jinxed the next twelve months!

Le Gym (Hollywood vs. Miracle Mile) ---> Despite the fact that I am paying for the usage of all locations in the entire state of California, the icy managerial bitch at the front desk in Hollywood had the nerve to tell us (me + Woods) that we couldn’t work out there unless we supplied them with the 5 dollar fee – each. Stupid asshole woman will feel the wrath of this queer as I will contact headquarters for this inconvenience.

The Tres Above Sunset ---> Two man-smells + a trimmed = perfect combination on the first day of the New Year. Now let me heal in peace.