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Frank Gumola - Journal | Weblog

Rosie On Flickr (Yes, THAT Rosie)

I've spent the past twelve hours both working, and working with The Boyfriend. I'm rather exhausted both mentally and physically. I found this link this morning en route to work via my PSP and someone's unsecure wireless connection. I was hoping to post this during my workday by using my new toy at work. Unfortunately I was entirely too busy, nor could I find another wireless connection to save my life. This is what I get for working in the middle of nowhere.

via mefi and someone's unsecure wireless network. thanks, guys!

In And Out

A certain someone celebrated his birthday this evening. Of course The Boyfriend and I made an appearance. After dancing a bit and greeting a few other peeps, we found it nearly impossible to get our much needed 'drink on' in a timely fashion. A conversation regarding why I wanted what I wanted, the moment I wanted it follows:
    ME: "I'd like my beverage now. There should be a line for those of us that thought about what we were wearing."
    HE: "And those that didn't? What about them?"
    ME: "The tap in the bathroom is working."
What? My boss found it funny.

What's That On Your Head?

I present you with the first and second installments of The Worst Haircuts on Myspace. And the Super Heroes they resemble. You're welcome.

via mefi

It's Friday And I'm In Love

Almost everyone I know has a bit of a negative opinion when the topic of "Chinese Buffet" comes up. The Boyfriend and I had a rather uneventful day and decided to ignore the usual foodborne illness rumors being tossed our way. We had an hour and a half to kill, and our eatery of choice was located near another business I wanted to visit.

After gorging ourselves on quite a bit of Americanized favorites and enjoying my complimentary pot of tea; we then stopped by one of the more upscale tobacco houses hoping to find a few after dinner treats.

Mission accomplished.

Fun For The Whole Gay Family

It's that time of the week again, kids. Stop by and say 'hey' sometime.

Nice To Gleet You

The Boyfriend and I (after a hard day's work) decided to once again venture out for a few cocktails. While walking to our destination The Boyfriend made a very familiar, yet disturbing sound.
    ME: "Did you just do what I think you did?"
    HE: "What? I breathed in."
    ME: "It sounded like you spit between your teeth. Eww."
    HE: "I did not. And what you are thinking of is called gleeting."
    ME: "It frightens me you know such a definition."
    HE: "It frightens me you don't."
    ME: "Touché."
The evening ended with The Boyfriend and The Best Friend entering a Karaoke competition; neither of them winning.

Don't look at me. I sat in the corner playing Ridge Racer singing Dolly Parton songs to myself.

Queer As Frank

Limmy and his readers asked, I answered. You have been warned.

Late Night Browsing Part One

f.r.a.n.k.i.e. duh.

via mefi projects and flickr

Game Over

Looks like my winning streak may be ending soon after all. I'm sure it's only a matter of time before the machines disappear from this neighborhood as well.

So what late night textversations will we have now?

The Frank Gumola Interview

Brian Limond, aka Limmy, ktfa* The Master of Flash has been an influential presence in my internet world for over five years. I first discovered his playground via the Cool Homepages website. As soon as I saw his Homo Orgy photo, I knew I was destined to tell the gays about this brilliant man and his perfectly warped sense of humor. I fell in love with his beautifully fluid work, his dashing good looks, and his gorgeous gal, Lynn.

Limmy has asked me to answer a series of questions from both he and his readers regarding the gay lifestyle. Who could say no to a face like this?

*(known to frankie as)

Love Hurts

The CSS Love Child is a nifty little experiment. Take the HTML from one site and add the CSS from another to create some interesting blends. Oh yes, I mashed all of you together. (Insert maniacal laughter here.)

via digg

Blue Da Ba Dee

One would think that after eleven hours of working one's energy level would be so incredibly low that one would want to spend the rest of the evening flat out on his back in front of the television with the remote control in one hand and anything else in the other. Well one didn't. One should have, but didn't.

After what was probably the worst workday of my employment history with my current company (going on three years, kids!) I got home to The Boyfriend and almost broke into tears. The solution to repair my unhappy state? The Boyfriend, The Best Friend, and alcohol.

Nothing cures 'the terrible day' blues like drinking several shots (this, this, and this), taking several shots (we had to. he was wearing mom jeans cut into shorts!), and shooting around the neighborhood from bar to bar to bar.

The only setback to the aforementioned cure is that I usually wake up to Taco Bell wrappers on the living room floor and a cloudy fog hanging in my 'just how the hell did I get home' memory bank.

Good thing we walked.

Gavin Be Thy Name

maybe it's his eyes, i dunno.I have been infatuated curious about this man's identity for quite some time. The Boyfriend refers to him as "that commercial guy you like" because my until now mystery man has appeared in numerous tv spots.

I first spied him in a commercial involving an office copier, I can't recall the details right now, but no bother. I think my favorite has to be the Verizon bowling alley commercial.

The IMDB is where I finally tracked him down.

Kids, I am not ashamed to say that Gavin Bellour makes my knees weak. I'll now shelve my twelve year old inner schoolgirl and return to my adulthood programming. Thank you, and good night.

Domo-kun Of Bel Air

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls of all ages; it is with extreme giddy pleasure that I introduce you to Domo-kun of Bel-Air. Please enjoy responsibly.

Purple Reign

I found yet another unwanted email in my mailbox this afternoon; this one from a well known website asking me if I wanted to check out my high school's message board. Oh, and would I care to attend the upcoming reunion?

I marked the mail as 'spam' and smiled as I pictured a miniature paper shredder chewing the piece of html to bits. Little ones and zeroes flying through the air. It makes me giddy. Yes, I know I need help.

On a more positive note; all hail The Queen. And while you're there, why not apply for employment within the palace?

Finger Flickin' Good

It's been a rather lazy day in the neighborhood, kids. The Boyfriend returned home from work to find me napping on the sofa and decided to join me. I've learned to appreciate the value of a good nap; especially those of the snuggling kind. During my on again, off again waking moments I found myself partially watching the following (with obligatory commentary):
  • Blowout: "Bad hair, zero; Jonathan, one million." From the site: "Hair tips from his hairness." Ahem. Please hold your giggling until class is over. Personally, I'm shocked the show's lasted this long. Wait, it's Bravo, no I'm not.
  • Supernatural: I enjoyed Jared and Jensen on two other shows and I'm happy I finally gave this one a chance. Although neither of you boys hold a candle to this man, in my book.
  • Top Chef: Some of you won't be all surprised to find out which chef is my favorite contestant.
The Boyfriend is taking over my bingo calling duties again this evening thanks to the previously mentioned pinched nerve. I guess I could always continue chanel surfing and check out what other poor quality programming my cable dollars are giving me.

On a side note: I've had a few people stop by via my myspace profile. Thanks, and hello! You know who you are.

Wet Trucks, Wetter Trunks

Nothing brightens my day as much as a surprise encounter of the naked kind. OK, wait...no, I don't need to clarify, that is correct. See, I was out getting some smokey treats and as I turned the corner of my block I noticed the local firemen were out doing some chores.

Needless to say my brisk walk turned into the speed of a crawling infant.

My mobile phone does not have a camera. I am a bit disappointed. But now that I think about it, I forgot to get um...something.

Who am I kidding? Kids, there's half nekkid firemen in these parts. Back later.

Wedding Belle

the artwork on the bottom of the page is beautiful!I didn't get my invite, but I'll still see the bride. I didn't know Storm was getting married. She's always been a favorite of mine. I had a small collection of Storm dolls, some quite valuable, some could be bought for pennies. The dolls are long gone, part of a much needed weeding out process; yet I still have this strong affinity for all things woman and hero.

Of Pixels, Purchases and Painkillers

I recently discovered a blown pixel on my PSP. I'd read on a few forums that one or two of the little dead specs are normal; Mr. light-not-so-bright no longer gets to me. What does however, is the oh so almost invisible scratch I spied on the screen a few days ago. No more drinking and playing.

The Boyfriend called me on his way home yesterday and we decided on a few happy hour cocktails. Of course my new toy became the MP3 player of choice to accompany me on my brief walk to our chosen watering hole. Just into beer one, I decide to use aforementioned new toy and scan the area for any wireless networks. (I never said no drinking and posting.)

The glow of the screen caused an already tipsy bar patron to saunter in my general direction. At the same moment, The Boyfriend got a phone call and walked away leaving me completely vunerable to the drunken mess approaching me. He could honestly pass for the revamped Vanilla Ice. He wanted a hug while we were making our goodbyes. Awww. G'bye.

I've been up to my old spending habits again, and I really need to control them. The problem lies in the fact that the store having these incredible discounts is turning into a Macy's and therefor; marking all clearance items to the unnatural, ungodly, unheard of price of $4.98. Four dollars and ninety-eight cents. For Calvin. Donna. Ralph. Michael. I'm not sure how long the sale will last but until it ends my wallet will never be full. What's your inseam? I'll pick you up a nice pair of khakis.

I may have slept on either the sofa or The Boyfriend (we fell asleep watching television, awww) in a funny way the other evening because I've had this terrible pain in my neck and back for about 48 hours. It feels like it may be a pinched nerve. I've suffered this before and it usually goes away after a long hot shower and some serious rest. Makes the workday fun. Imagine me running around looking like a robot, turning constantly from the waist, unable to move my neck. Without a neckbrace to explain the pain; it looks rather idiotic. Thank heaven I don't work tomorrow.

I predict this evening shall include several moments of self medication.

Olfactory Overload

To say the tenants in my apartment building are a different bunch would be an understatement. This beautiful building houses friends, elderly, retired and not so retired drag queens, young families, and the occasional miscreant with an allergic reaction to antiperspirants, deodorants, colognes, oils, or anything else that might otherwise give an immediate hint of cleanliness to the air when confined in closed spaces.

I'll give you one guess as to which tennant decided to visit the inadequately ventilated laundry room about the same time I did.

It really wasn't all that terrible. At first. Then out of nowhere: bam! I thought the sewer line in the adjacent bathroom exploded. I mistakenly turned toward the location where I thought the stench may have started and to my horror, Mr. Not-so-clean proceeded to rip open his plastic garbage bag full of dirty white laundry.

He seemed rather unphased until he heard me gasping from shock and for air. That may have upset him; he then started waving his dirty unmentionables about, in the way we all snap our jeans prior to drying.

I'm raiding my stash of cologne miniatures and leaving an anonymous present on the dryer next to mine.

Not Quite Midnight: At The Oasis

One thing I'm very much looking forward to this summer: the ampitheater across the street from my apartment building. The Boyfriend and I were fortunate enough to attend a few of the events held there last year, and my favorite evening was the night we spent under a comforter with our fluffy (they were a year ago, they were cheap, i should have known better) pillows watching the movie Grease. The Boyfriend's female cousin was with us, so it wasn't like that. And it's a public park. Shame on you.

Anyway, it was still such a wonderfully romantic evening. OK, we held hands under the blanket and shared said former fluffy pillows. But that's all, I swear. Wait, there was that one kiss. OK, that's as far as it went. Honest.

The show started just as the sun went down and the three of us lazily lounged on the grass munching popcorn and throwing candy wrappers at one another. Simply one of the best evenings I can remember.

Maybe this year we'll actually get to second base.

(Oh, did I mention the former fluffy pillows were covered with a leopard print/wenge wood stain patterned king size sham? Well they were.)


I'm still working on the overall CSS for the site and of course I'm having problems with Internet Explorer. If you're viewing the site using the Firefox browser, go you. You'll see the site the way it's meant to be seen. I have no idea what the site looks like in any other browser, and after not playing around with this stuff for a few years; I'm kinda rusty.

I'll fix things as soon as I can.

But for now, it's off to eat some of Mama Gumola's holiday ham and spend time with my two favorite men: The Boyfriend and my younger brother.

Actually, they'll be spending time with each other using my PS2 and the internet connection. I'll be in the corner. Eating ham. And deviled eggs.

I'll save you some. Maybe.

Update: My bad, I simply forgot to close a tag. Um...duh.


beautious!Now these are some damn fine creations. Happy egg hunting!
(via mefi)

Story Time!

It started innocently enough. The Boyfriend had a craving and asked me to bring him home some dinner. I politely asked my ride home if he wouldn't mind stopping since it was just a few blocks from my home. So we get to the drive through of McHellhole, I place my order, and the fun begins. Of course.

Now, you need to understand that this particular McHellhole basically finds the nearest barrel, scrapes the bottom of it, and slaps an 'employee of the month' label on whatever they find. Bada ba ba bah, I hate those people. Not all McHellhole employees; I ain't bashing fast food workers. Just. This. Location.

After inching forward in said friend's vehicle for what seemed an eternity (ok, so it was like ten minutes, but i just got done working nine hours and just wanted to get home to my man) we finally made it to window number one. No smile, no "hello", just a hand stretched out a glass window. Of course I know better than to expect any kind of polite behaviour at such an establishment. So I pass my fetti to Porkchop and he, in turn, gives it to generic McHellhole worker who in turn returns my change. Without. A. Word.

No, "Please drive to window two."
No, "Your food is that way."
Nothing but a blank stare.

So we wait ten more minutes. Inching forward, to window two. Meanwhile, cars are zipping by us at speeds I've only seen at NASCAR races.

Me: "Did we miss the express lane?"
He: "No. We missed the drug dealers."
Me: "My bad. Dammit."
(insert laughtrack)

As we finally pull up to window two, the young lady (with a really, really bad weave) not-so-eloquently informs us that we need to pull over and wait. What? Wait for what? I ordered three friggin' sandwiches and an order of fries. What, exactly, am I waiting for? AND, I've already waited almost twenty minutes. Oh. Hell. No.

I promptly and politely ask for my money back. And was told I would have to wait.

Here's where the story gets good. I am just about to launch into "I am a bigger Diva than you" mode, mouth agape, ready to spring when Porkchop (who is straighter than a twelve inch ruler) asks for the manager in a very unpleasant way.

Me: "Damn, gorl."
He: Blank stare, huge grin.

Miss bad weave then tells us to just take our food. Um, no. By now I have something else in mind for dinner and I just want my money.

Miss fatass manager shows up with my food. Erm, no. I am now fuming.

I felt like that kid from the movie "Better Off Dead".

I hide my anger just long enough to ask for my money one more time. No more waiting, just give me my cash.

Fatass manager rolls both her eyes and the top of my bag of goodies. I swear, it was like she was taunting me with McChicken sandwiches!

Money in hand, we speed off.

Me: "Sorry."
He: "Don't be. At least now you have something funny to write about."

The End

(i swear this story is about 99% accurate. i may have embellished here and there, but who wouldn't when talking about McHellhole?)

Desperate Times

Just how the hell did I miss this? I mean, one minute I'm sitting here eating my crinkle cut fries drizzled with ranch dressing (baked in the oven; never fried, kids) and the next I'm trying to dislodge one from the back of my throat due to my "gay giddiness factor" ™. I've been watching Desperate Housewives from the beginning and have missed only a few episodes. I'm no die hard fan of the show, but I am a die hard fan of Marcia Cross. And I love Carol Burnett. The two of them together? I guess I know what I'm doing Sunday evening.

(i know nothing about the gay giddiness factor. i make no claims to the trademark of the phrase nor do i actually know how to factor such a factor. that is all. thank you.)

I Love Egg!

click me!This is eggs-actly what I needed to find today. Don't roll your eyes at me, you knew it was coming.
[via mefi.]

Vote Baby, Vote!

It may surprise you to find out that I actually watch some sports programs with The Boyfriend. Stop laughing. Actually, I personally know one of the Cleveland Cavaliers Cheerleaders. No, seriously. Until recently, we worked in the same location. I bought the girls' latest calendar and had my friend get all the girls to sign their respective layouts and presented it to my younger Brother on his birthday. Scantily clad women and big brother Frankie knows them? Hells yes, I was a hit at that straight boy's birthday party.

Anyway, I watch the games to see my aforementioned acquaintance take the floor during timeouts and breaks, The Boyfriend watches to see LeBron James shoot...anything.

The Boyfriend and I were out having a few cocktails earlier and we started discussing just how sexy athletes can be. We got on the subject of the Cleveland Indians (none of whom I personally know, sorry, kids.) And we decided to get you involved.

So please, take a moment and decide: Which of the three listed Major League Baseball teams has the sexiest men?

Team #1: The Cleveland Indians:
Grady Sizemore Cliff Lee Ben Broussard
Grady Sizemore, Cliff Lee, Ben Broussard

Team #2: The New York Yankees:
Derek Jeter Alex Rodriguez Mike Mussina
Derek Jeter, Alex Rodriguez, Mike Mussina

Team #3: Oakland Athletics:
Eric Chavez Barry Zito Mark Kotsay
Eric Chavez, Barry Zito, Mark Kotsay

The Mice Never Play Because The Cat's Never Away

The Boyfriend and I have never really spent any great deal of time apart. On occasion he'll go visit his family for a few hours; and I'll use the time to visit Mama Gumola, do laundry, and stuff my face full of anything she shoves in front of me or has in the fridge. God knows, my family loves food.

Me: "What's this mysterious package in the back, ma?"
She: "Just heat it, and eat it!"

Last night The Boyfriend decided to spend the evening at his Mom's house. Well, he tried to, anyway. Here's the scene:

6:30pm, my cell phone rings.

He: "Hi honey, what are you doing?"
Me: "Trying to get this PSP firmware update installed. Call me later."

9:30pm, my cell phone rings.

He: "I'm bored."
Me: "Still getting goodies for my new toy. Call me later."

11:30pm, my cell phone rings.

He: "I wanna come home."*
Me: "I'll pay for the cab. Hurry."

It's been almost a year, kids. I still can't sleep without him near me.
"Do not waste this evening, baby I'm begging you.
Your big imagination's playing its tricks on you.
If you think my up and leaving's something I'm gonna do;
Feel my chest when I look at you.
Baby you, you got my only heart."
*(to be fair, i was extra cute. i tucked a note into his overnight bag. it read: "i heart the boyfriend". who'd wanna stay away from that degree of cuteness?)

Test Drive

Well kids, it's official. I'm in love with my psp. I'm at the local java space blogging via my new toy and their free wireless connection. God bless modern technology.

A Tisket A Tasket, I May Puke In My Own Basket

One of the many reasons I decided to purchase my new toy was because of the lack of support Apple offers for non Windows XP users. I not only wanted to play games; I wanted to watch videos and listen to my cd collection as well. My PC is ancient. Six years old. That's like, 457 in gay years, or some other equally disturbing number. Anyway, my little whirring and beeping box of blinking lights is a six year old Christmas gift from an ex. I like it. It gets me from point A to the internet; and I get to do some freelance ad work on the side. Work which is now lost forever thanks to a fried something-or-other card which has been recently replaced.

My PC runs on Windows ME, (i've heard and lived the horror stories, so save them, please) neither the iTunes store nor the lovely iPod will work on my machine without either:
  • me upgrading to XP
  • me following one of those tech site workaround thingies.
No, and not gonna happen.

I found it quite a relief that all I needed to do was purchase a ten dollar USB/power cable, connect said cable, and boom goes the dynamite. (I know, I know. But you try being witty after a ten hour workday involving screaming children and one single, solitary piece of pizza for sustenance.)

So now I can end this day and begin tomorrow with the likes of New Order, Stereophonics, James Blunt, and John Mayer on something a bit more stylish than my last MP3 player.

I just have to learn to not play a certain video game during the work commute.

Scratch Fever

My workday began with a bang, kids. So I did what anyone with an extra amount of cash burning a hole in his pocket would do. I went shopping, again.

I've been quite lucky with my lottery winnings during the past few weeks. I don't want to give the impression that I spend a great deal of money on those little scratch off tickets, because I honestly don't. I do however, spend a great deal of time asking questions before I buy them.

"How many of these have you sold today? Anyone win any large amounts in the past few days? What's the ticket number?"

As if any of those would help my odds.

Nope. It's just another good day, kids. And if you need it, I hope my luck comes your way. Just don't bogart my lottery mojo, yo.

Swing Me To Sleep

It seems the fine folks producing the new Spider-Man movie are looking through the prospects today, kids. While I'm excited about the idea of going, I'm honestly to lazy to get my butt to downtown Cleveland. Besides, my much younger, much straighter brother called this afternoon to ask what my plans were for the day.

the youngest one of all
The phone call went a little something like this:
Me: "Hey. What's up?"
He: "Nothing. I'm not going to work later tonight. Can I come hang with you and (the boyfriend)?"
Me: "Sure. Anytime, you know that."
He: "Um, can I hang all day?"
Me: "Mom's in a mood, huh? Come on, over. The boyfriend's making dinner tonight."
He: "..."
Me: "Don't worry. Gay breakfast time has come and gone. This evening we're dining on straight food."
He: "Sweet! Click. Dialtone."
I suspect I have time to get in a nap before he gets here. Then again, I'm too excited to sleep. Second only to quality boyfriend time is quality younger brother time.

My brother was in a car acident last year, just before Christmas. He lost control of his car on a winding country road just two miles from home. His car flipped mid-air, taking two trees out of the ground during the crash. He was able to get out of the car and call for help. A helicopter tried to land to get him, but there was too much snow coming down, and the area was entirely too foggy. They couldn't see him.

He broke his left femur in half (yep, it's the big bone, kids), and tore his liver in a few places.

After seeing the blood covered vehicle and taking his injuries into account, I can only imagine where he got the strength or how he was even able to exit the twisted metal sculpture that was once his car.

I found out about the accident while I was at work. I hadn't clocked in yet and my cell phone started vibrating in my pocket. The caller ID showed that it was my Mother. She knew I was working, and didn't call the main line of the business. Something was wrong.

After my brother's surgery I bought him a stuffed bear angel with his initials stitched in it's chest. He keeps it on his car's dashboard.

Quality Sunday boyfriend and younger brother time. I couldn't be any happier right now. Unless of course my new nephew was here.

Don't get me started, I swear I'll cry.

Why I Loathe / Love This Particular Saturday

Top reasons why today is what it is:
  • Working on this day of the week is always hell. On anyone. Especially when dealing with the general public.
  • Massive groups of children terrify me. Seriously.
  • I get to do some serious shopping on my lunch break.
Now that I'm home for the evening, I'm not staying home. The boyfriend and I are going to enjoy some of the wine and then head out for a few cocktails. It is Saturday evening after all.

Sad News

The boyfriend instructed me to call my parent's house as soon as I walked in the door this evening. The news was not good. A former classmate and family friend passed away a few days ago.
"More than 150 people have died in the US after being struck by tasers since June 2001 -- 61 in 2005 alone -- and numbers are continuing to rise. Most who died were subjected to multiple or prolonged shocks. While in most cases deaths have continued to be attributed to factors other than the taser, such as "excited delirium" associated with drug intoxication or violent struggle, in 23 cases coroners have listed the use of the taser as a cause or a contributory factor in death.

In three cases in 2005, the taser was listed as a primary cause of death.

Amnesty International's continued research into the use of the weapons, including a review of taser-related deaths since the publication of the organisation's previous report in November 2004, reveals that most who died after being shocked with tasers were unarmed men who did not appear to pose a threat of death or serious injury at the time that they were electro-shocked. The use of the taser was often accompanied by the use of restraints and chemical incapacitant sprays. Importantly, the organisation's research showed that most who died went into cardiac or respiratory arrest at the scene."
Clint was a very muscular, but gentle guy. Something had to have gone terribly, terribly wrong for him to act the way he did.


Just over four years ago I took part in a search for a missing individual. It seems that I can now say, "Been there, done that, bought the t-shirt", and mean it.

Batterie(s) Included

I came across one exceptional link today, and it is most worthy of sharing. If you aren't already hip to the site Batterie, get clicking. Update your Acrobat Reader and download issue number 15 titled: Quit.

Update: I lied.

Everybody, Everybody!

Straight, gay, or bisexual. It didn't matter this evening, kids. I spent the night in the company of fellow coworkers at a local gay favorite with the boyfriend and just about Every. Single. Person. I spend my workday work with. Highlights from this night of debauchery include the following:
  • J*, aka 'Straighty' got his wish and was hit on by "an ugly chick with a penis".
  • A*, the innocent straight girl of the bunch, took photos of the evening's events and promises to mail them to me soon for your viewing pleasure.
  • P*, the totally straight, absolutely beautiful manager whom I am very much in lust with; danced the night away with myself and a few straight girls as long as I stayed on the dance floor with the honeys. I stayed, he danced. Who wouldn't?
  • D*, the player of players, (whom is, by every definition of the word, a beautiful straight man) decided to cause a commotion and "call me out" with a few 'dance offs' including the obligatory "I'm tying my t-shirt into a knot and calling you out, bitch" move; to which I responded with by grinding my crotch against JH*'s voluptuous and extremely exposed chest area. I know how to get my groove on, kids. Yes, I do.
All in all, it was a night I will never forget. And judging by the photos I saw that you will soon see; neither will you. I sincerely wish you were there.

And one more final, positive note: The boyfriend and I finally decided on our rings.
*names have been omitted to protect both my employment and the innocent.

Text Talk

A few highlights from last night's Gay Karaoke Jaunt:
  • I won fifty dollars promptly after depositing three into a "Tic-Tac-Fruit" machine.
  • Just because you are very straight, very hot, and very hot (oh, I already mentioned that) doesn't mean I will sit through your extremely off key rendition of Bob Seger's "Turn the Page". I mean it. No matter how hot you are. Hottie McHott Hott.
  • Cellular service inside a bar during traumatic Karaoke events can be a lifesaver. SMS=SOS. See text below.
Me: 'But he IS hot'
He: 'My vocal range keeps me singing torch songs. Of the Harvey F variety. Oy.'
Me: 'Update: Someone is attempting My Heart Will Go On.'
He: 'Throw Something. THROW SOMETHING!'

The above SMS conversation is reprinted without permission but it's all innocent and I know he wouldn't mind one bit.

Of Pickles, Weaves, And Strollers

It's been a day, kids. It's been a day. The workday was short, as usual for a Tuesday; the commute home: notsomuch. I use public transportation as a means of travel to and from the workplace on a daily basis. One thing I've learned about using said service in said city is that no matter how down and out I may be feeling prior to boarding the bus, you can rest assured that I most certainly feel much better about my life once I'm actually on my way to work and have to time to get a good long look at my fellow travelers.

Case in point: Vinegar Man. He doesn't appear on my route too often, but when he does; let's just say that I honestly don't feel the need to avert my gaze from the window to know he's there. Seriously, the man must work at a pickle plant. Either that, or there's a new hip 'rotten cucumber melon' soap I haven't had the pleasure of trying. I'm not certain I want to smell like a gherkin.

Next up, we have: Wig Woman. Now, don't throw that stone just yet. I simply adore the right wig on the right person. The keyword here is on. Wear it, sister. Don't adjust it, scratch at it, pick random objects out of it, or tear stray flyaway hairs from it while you are sitting on a public bus. In front of me, even. I'm giving her one more chance, kids. I mean it. I will seriously surprise her by disembarking two stops too early and do everyone she comes into contact with a favor by ripping the nest from her head and joyfully (yes, with a smile on my face and love in my heart) toss that putrid polyester piece of crap under the bus tires as I dash off to my morning destination.

And finally, (see above photo): The Triple Threat. This can be a touchy subject. Your touchy subjects don't need to touch me. Seriously. Grape jelly doesn't wash out of clothing as easily as you might imagine. I don't care what you need to do. Shackle 'em down, duct tape them to the seat, velcro them to one another. Really don't care. But do something. And while I'm happy to help you with your monstrosity of a stroller, I'm not at all obliged to help you navigate the damn thing. Get a GPS system for all I care. Better yet, sell it and pay for a baby sitter. My ankle is still sore.

Anybody got any aspirin?

Gripes aside (i laughed at this so hard i swear i have to pee) it's now time for some quality boyfriend time. We're heading out: Karaoke style. I'll raise a glass and sing a tune for you.

p.s. don't forget your earplugs

Vanilla Is The New Kink

Right back at you, sweetie. Let's show 'em how it's done. Old skool style.

H.P. Who?

I was poking around here early this morning when I came across this link. The production blog is worth having a look at as well. It seems the film is in the last few days of production.

Why does this news make me just a bit warm and fuzzy inside?

Read the cast credits.

Do You Dwell?

I picked up a few things* during my lunch break this afternoon. The first item helps give me that extra oomph to get through the rest of the day; the second gives me something to look forward to when I get my me time.

A few random (nonetheless interesting) links from aforementioned second item:And finally, wait for it:
    Get a hoodie for your ipod from iSweats.
*(don't forget to check out dwellmag's fruit bowl manifesto! har!)

The Hits Just Keep On Coming

Just before I snuggled in for some Tori TV time this evening (see here for a refresher) I got to spend some quality Ma Bell time with my Long Distance Soul Assistance.

Oh. Did. We. Dish. (btw, the boyfriend was fine with our obnoxious fits of laughter, he simply turned up the volume.)

Two years worth of gossip and jokes in one marathon phone session. And then poof! All was once right again with my own little world.

I then pulled an old javascript from a former home and if you refresh the screen, you should see the title of the site change. I've tested this in both Internet Explorer and Firefox. Having accomplished that teeny task, I popped on to here for a minute and once again, another little gem in my inbox:

"I looked at down at Tori's Manolo Blahnik boots—then my own filthy Vans."

Yeah...that's how I'd feel if I'd been there with you. Only I'd never wear Vans. Ever.

Weekend Wrap Up

I installed Firefox a few days ago and I'm really enjoying the overall design and a few of the add-ons and extensions as well.

The boyfriend has been playing around with the Showtime On Demand Preview (mentioned in the previous post) and has gotten me absoultely, positively hooked on this show.

I didn't think my comfy, cozy weekend of in-house entertainement could get any better until I started perusing my usual web haunts. Someone sent me a very special gift this morning.

Spidey Sense : Tingling

Last night's plans were altered after the boyfriend discovered the entire final season of 'Queer as Folk' on demand. So naturally, the double shift I pulled today seemed to go on forever thanks to the sandman not visiting my apartment until about five this morning.

A few hours later I headed out the door while simultaneously jolting myself awake with more coffee than any human should ever consider consuming. I grabbed a paper and came across this article. The doom and gloom I normally feel during my work commute faded ever so slightly as I imagined being one of the chosen few out of several thousand applicants. Wait; several. Thousand. Eh, what the heck.