Sunday, December 11, 2005

Questions You Don't Need To Ask

Tonight I was quintuple-booked. Well, technically, I was only triple-booked until the early evening, when I became quadruple-booked. And then event #5 reared its head. Events #1-4 were free-booze house parties in MD and DC, and event #5 was "dude, we're all at Cobalt." Now, I've posted about Cobalt in the past. The music is too gay, as is the clientele. My friends C&Z even refer to it as "The C Word." But, after a little egg nog with a lot of rum, I can be convinced to bring some holiday spirit to the C word. So we danced, and when last call came, we hung out on the street. Trying to see if there were actually any good parties going on, and what-not.

Problem was, my friends and I wanted a cool party, but we were a little tired, and my friends' one friend kept hitting on me, and I wasn't interested. He kept asking the question "Are you gay or are you straight?" And of course I kept dodging it, just to be a dick. Because, really, if everyone you're with is gay, and you're hanging outside on the street in the middle of December outside of a gay bar, does it really matter? Can't you assume that there's some man-on-man love there?

This all brought me back to a threesome I had a few months ago. I'm at an ostensibly straight bar, and I find a couple 'mos dancing, and I decide to dance with them, being all cool and acting all Naive Midwestern Boy and all that. So we're all wasted and we stumble a few blocks to the one guy's apartment. Within a few minutes, the guy who lives there is sucking on my dick, and I'm sucking on the other guy's dick, and while my head is bobbing up and down on his cock, he goes,

"Are you gay?"

In between deep throatings, I'm like, "dude, um, I dunno" and keep chowing on his rod. But no, this isn't enough. So like five minutes later, he's like, "hey man, are you straight or gay?" and I release his member and turn to him, and I just say, (in my Dumb Minnesota Boy voice) "I guess I never really thought about it, man" and continued to give him one of the best hummers ever. After he came in my mouth, and I snowballed it to the other guy, whom I made swallow it, he went off to the sofa to sleep while I fucked the other guy really hard. It wasn't really till I was stumbling home that I said to myself, "what was that?" I really doubt that legitimately straight men go to bars where the girls are young, cute, and easy - but just choose to go home with two male strangers. And functionally, once you've got someone of the gender you want sucking on your dick, do you need to ask questions?

That's why I refused to swallow. It's just a matter of principle. Really.

Tuesday, December 06, 2005

I Tried...

I have tried so hard to keep this blog from being serious in any way, shape or form. I've done everything possible: made fun of myself, made fun of broad swaths of the population, used the crudest, foulest language possible... and yet you people keep bringing me back to serious issues. So let's get down to business. Specifically, in the words of the immortal Salt and/or Pepa, Let's Talk About Sex.

I have serious issues with the way people treat HIV/AIDS.

Specifically, HIV transmission is perhaps one of the simplest things possible to understand. Here's a brief graphic of the complexity of things that could be understood (1 is the simplest; 5 is the least simple):

1. Scratching one's own ass
2. Using a doorknob
3. Understanding that HIV is spread when someone who has HIV in his/her blood, semen, juices [of the girl variety], or breast milk, puts one of those four fluids into the bloodstream of someone who doesn't have HIV
4. Opening mail
5. Applying sunblock to your friend's back

So why the double standards? Why is it that people are so scared to be around someone that they KNOW has HIV, but have no problem being around people that they believe don't have it - whether or not they do? It's not like knowing about someone else's HIV status gives their HIV magic superpowers that make it penetrate skin, fly through the air, and infect you. But somehow, KNOWING about other people's HIV is worse than pretending that they don't have it. Kinda strange.

You can get HIV, or not get HIV, from someone who has it, whether or not you KNOW they have it. Frankly, the virus doesn't really care what you know. It just replicates itself. And technically, being a virus, it's not even alive. It doesn't have a personality, or value judgements, or a stream of consciousness. It hijacks cells and makes copies of itself. And it eats the T-cells of people who have it.

The real trick to not getting HIV - and I know this is, like, the most complex thing in the WORLD - is not putting specific fluids of other people into your own bloodstream. And if you follow this practice, there's a good chance that you'll turn out like me*, and NOT have the virus. (*technically, me a couple months ago at the 99.99% certainty level. But I've continued to follow the fluid rules, and am extrapolating from that)

Now, wait - I know you think you know where this is going - and it's not going there. Nope, this post is definitely NOT about self-congratulation. It's really easy when you don't have a fatal viral infection to be so God Damn Proud of yourself. Shut The Fuck Up; I'm still talking here.

This post is about double standards when it comes to HIV. So here's another double standard people have: Blaming people who got HIV from not following the fluid rules, and TOTALLY FUCKING EXEMPTING THEMSELVES AND OTHERS who have broken the rules, and have been lucky enough not to get HIV. If you break the rules, and you don't get the virus, you're not special or so much better than people who broke the rules and got HIV. You're just lucky.

Encompassing both of these double standards is one general delusional maxim: the idea that if someone says they don't have HIV, they are safe to do anything with; and if someone says they have HIV, they aren't safe to breathe near. Get a clue; HIV transmission is identical whether or not you are aware of someone's status. Put that in your pipe and smoke it.

I know I'm preaching to the choir here - but it's nice to weigh in on serious topics once in a while, even when you're not really saying anything new.

Sunday, December 04, 2005

The Columbia Heights Kegger

Recipe:

(1) take one neighborhood known for openness and diversity.

(2) move into the coolest house in that neighborhood, with a covered back deck and a billiard room.

(3) invite friends from other neighborhoods, and everyone who lives in group houses within 4 blocks. Plus randoms from The Compromise Bar.

(4) get a keg, and hope your hunky landlord shows up with a second keg.

(5) let people show up, find out there are two kegs, and invite everyone they know.

(6) laugh hysterically at the girls who can't tell which guys are available, and which guys like girls.

(7) keep people drinking all night till 4:30 AM.

(8) let a cute boy spend the night.

(9) be friends with the baristas at the local coffee shop, to get your free hangover coffee.

(10) promise to have a New Year's Eve party, and promise to do your damndest to rent a hot tub for it.

Thursday, December 01, 2005

Defining A World That Didn't Really Exist, At Least Not Like That

Such a brilliant idea. The downstairs dudes and my Real World roomies have decided to come together and throw a '90s party. Because, really, haven't there been enough '80s parties in the last few years? Aren't there enough '80s bars? That's for damn sure. So we've opened up four floors of nostalgia for The Slacker Decade. Now it's really a matter of deciding what cliches define the artificial world of '90s nostalgia.

Because '80s parties aren't about microwave french fries (which the Hipster family had WAY too many of in the '80s). '80s parties don't have footage of U.S.-funded tanks decimating Beirut, which is ALL I remember of TV news prior to the age of 6 or so. They aren't about the Dead Kennedys (too hip) or Huey Lewis (not actually enjoyable to listen to). The fictional world of '90s nostalgia needs to be boldly created by us between now and Saturday night. It's quite the responsibility.

So here are the ideas I've been bouncing around for this new nostalgic fictionalized '90s:

Clothing. Several distinct cliques are represented, primarily based on what music they listen to. (1) The grungers wear jeans with chain wallets, Doc Marten boots, rock band t-shirts (pref. black), and plaid flannel shirts, unbuttoned. Some gothyness is allowed, but not to the Robert Smith level. (2) The hip-hoppers wear Jamaican/Rasta colors (black, red, yellow, green) and/or those ugly Baja jackets that are just oversized Mexican hoodies that look like they were made from blankets. (The hip-hoppers who are White are also still derogatorily called Wiggers). (3) The preps wear Nautica and Tommy Hilfiger, but not Polo, because that was almost out for a few years there - right?

Important notes for the clothing: (1) Abercrombie & Fitch / American Eagle / Aeropostale do not exist in the Nostalgic '90s. They defined the late '90s, which somehow doesn't exist in this world. (2) The women look a lot like the men; pretty much no skirts or dresses period.

Music. This world is dominated by a few major musical styles, all of which fight on the party playlist: (1) grunge rock, including Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Alice In Chains, Soundgarden, Collective Soul, Live, Smashing Pumpkins, etc.... (2) hip hop as it's going gangsta: Dre's Chronic, Snoop's Doggystyle, Nate Dogg & Warren G regulatin' shit up, etc. (3) angry women with guitars, e.g. Alanis, Jewel, Ani, Shawn Colvin... (4) dance-party hip-hop: Salt N Pepa, Sir Mix-A-Lot, Wrecks-N-Effect, TLC, etc... (5) sensitive alternative rockers: Matthew Sweet, Paul Westerberg, etc. On top of all of this, there are random comeback singles from glammy '80s groups: Duran Duran's Ordinary World; Bon Jovi's Always, Def Leppard's Have You Ever Needed Someone So Bad, etc., and a little bit of that obnoxious 3rd wave ska revival (Reel Big Fish, that bad cover of Come On Eileen)...

Important notes for the music: (1) it all pretty much came out between 1991 and 1996, because in this fictional world, we pretend that the president isn't actually spilling his post-hummer spooge out of his leaky cock on the tits of the dress of his chunky intern; teenagers aren't wearing $80 A&F sweaters; and genocide isn't occurring throughout Africa. The late '90s were just such a downer.

Movies. Goodbye, John Hughes. Hello, Quentin Tarantino. The three movies most acceptable to have playing in the background are Reservoir Dogs, Pulp Fiction, and Trainspotting. Also important are Bio-Dome/Son-In-Law/Encino Man (those are all the same movie, right?), Malcolm X, Boys 'N The Hood, and Friday. Titanic is acceptable, despite its release during the last three years of the decade.

Beverages. Keg beer is still OK, but bonus points go to guests who bring Zima. All points lost if Bartles & Jaymes is brought (WAY too '80s) or Mike's Hard Lemonade (totally 2000s, dude).

Etiquette. Guests who wish to maintain the '90s customs are obliged to not be terrifically polite, nor high-strung. Mellow & laid-back to problems is important; however, one should also not go out of one's way to help other people or actually give a shit about shit. In the post-letters/pre-email era, correspondence is a lost art, and RSVPs are unneccessary. Those running late oughtn't call, because no one has cell phones. Thus, people show up or don't, with hosts left in the lurch. Hosts, of course, don't go out of their way to actually provide food other than what's lying around.

So. Have I captured the Zeitgeist here? What's incorrect? What's missing?