I didn't know your costume would be THIS elaborate

Yes, I am obsessed with the Runway. I loved the first season. I love this season.

Why, oh wise sage, many have asked.

Unlike the other reality shows where the whole goal is for the contestants to backstab, hoodwink or otherwise fuck over the other contestants in order to win something, the Runway is moral and pure. If it weren't for all the homos and hags, the Red States would love it. (But, I don't think Heidi "All-About-Trim" from BumFuck, Egypt and her pals designing shawls and burkas in a Lynchburg studio would be too interesting, but you never know. Huntington, West Virginia? Yes. Lynchburg? Probably not.)

It's all about beauty. It's all about creativity and innovation and vision. It's all about the talent of the designers. Wendy Pepper, from last season, was the exception and was rightly ostracized and demonized for all the strategery-izing and backstabbing and double-talking. She didn't have it, even though she, incomeprehensibly, got to the Final Three. (Although, I just read that both Austin and Kevin did show their lines at Fashion Week on the Runway runway. Yay for both of them!).

Ultimately, everyone on the show has to let their work speak for itself. And, if it's not beautiful and fabulous, then it's obvious they're going bye bye. They can't ally themselves with each other to vote someone out or screw someone over. They can't strategize to kill their biggest competition and cook them in stew.

Yes, there's all the drama in the workroom and at parties and in the suites and out on the Runway. But, the difference is, they're all saying the same stuff we're all saying out in front of the tv and it has no bearing on the results. They can talk all they want on the show, but they still have to produce up to standard or they're out.

And...FINALLY!, a reality show that isn't corny or truly stereotypical made up wholly of fags and their hags! There is no better entertainment. There can't be better one liners and catfights on the telly.

"...Uh uh. This ain't my first time at the rodeo."

"Oh, no, she better not come up in here."

"I don't believe in fair. [Take your hillbilly shoes over there...all in a look]"

"Sparkles!"

"I grew up playing with Barbies. I lived the whole Barbie culture."

I mean, come on now.

But, I'm not the only one. Every single person I've hounded into watching just ONE episode of the Runway is hooked. While I won't take all the credit...I will. In my acceptance speech, I'll thank Nick and Chloe and Daniel Vosovic and Zulema and Diana and Andrae and Santino and Jay and Kara Saun and Austin and Nora and of course Tim Gunn and Michael Kors and Nina Garcia and Heidi.

Then again, I'm apparently not as Runway-crazy as some others.

Project Runway: All Project Runway, All The Time

Project Outcast: Okay seriously, she takes the challenge requirements and materials and does it up like she's actually on the show.

Television Without Pity: Runway discussion board
AOL Project Runway discussion board

And from the Project Runway site:

The Runway auction top winners:

Nick's All Dolled Up

Starting Bid: $20.00
Winning Bid: $1,700.00

I thought I had it at $1500. Just kidding. Or am I? And, the PR blogsite says one can preorder Nick's actual Barbie. Believe, I'm all over it the second I see it.












Santino's Barbie

Starting Bid: $20.00
Winning Bid: $690.00

How much more did Nick get?












Nick's Social Scene

Starting Bid: $20.00
Updated bid: $510.00
2 days left!








Santino's Social Scene

Starting Bid: $20,00
Updated Bid: $365.00
2 days left

Daniel Vosovic's Social Scene

Starting Bid: $20.00
Updated Bid: $ 355.00

Two days left folks!

Eh...all in a day.

Happy Freakin New Years!

I'm not saying certain online job websites have my resume, but they might.

Highlights of Brent's schedule:

Dec 24 : Closer, 4 pm - 11:45 pm
Dec 26 : Closer, 4 pm - 11:30 pm

Dec 31 : Backup Closer, 3 pm - 12:30 am
Jan 1 : 3:30 pm - 11:30 pm

Granted, closing on Christmas Eve was my idea, mostly because Dan's family was in town and I was, well, sans plans. And, I guess I'm now a closer on Mondays.

New Years Eve was a mixed blessing. Customers were unusually polite and well-mannered so that offset most of the fact that I celebrated the New Year with a papercut from a placemat and mashed potato in my shoe. Still not sure how the mashed potato got into my shoe, but eh...all in a day.

The kickers have been:

(1) An older male customer whose party spent a mere $11/person yelling, "Sonny, was that too difficult for you to understand? Or do I have to explain it to you AGAIN?" This was preceded by another older male customer from the same party tapping me on the shoulder as I was talking and clearing dishes from another table with actually couth customers. He asked for ginger ale in a tall thin glass. We have neither. He started to ask to see a manager. Turns out he had already yelled at the only manager I could find. I discovered he was upset because he was seated later than his reservation time...by two minutes...on a Friday night.

I guess this doesn't sound so bad, but he also complained that there weren't enough settings on the table when in fact there were, minus one chair that a nearby party had swiped and put at their table. The salads weren't set out when his family sat down, which we don't do unless you actually tell someone that works at our restaurant that you want it that way. The wine he ordered (the $15/1.5 liter wine from a fucking tap) took 5 minutes to get to his table. And the cans we put on the table to place the pizzas-as-the-only-entree on top of were detracting from the decor...as if the Christmas lights on the wall and his own Walmart-designer-clothes-on-a-budget-wearing group hadn't already accomplished that. And, he spoke with an east-coast-Ivy-professor accent.

I guess it was the accent that pissed me off the most.

(2) Party of 25 Russians. 45 minutes late for a 7:30 reservation. Of course, the first person to show up doesn't speak enough English to explain to me the problem. The only thing I understood was, "No." Turns out Grandma likes the flowers on the ceiling in a room we keep closed on Monday nights. But, nobody bothered to tell any of the restaurant staff.

Fast forward past the point where several women invaded the work station and claimed it for mother Russia, planted a flag and...well I guess that's all you have to do. Thanks a lot Eddie Izzard. Past the parts where barely-English-speaking woman tells me not to order the next course until she says so. Past the part where she yells at me that her next course is taking to long...exactly 3 minutes after she tells me to order it. Past the part where she yells that we don't carry Russian vodka. Past the part where she yells at me to get out of the room as I'm filling water glasses.

And now to my favorite part of the evening. An older Russian man holds out his full water glass and speaks to me in Russian. I take the water glass and look at it, thinking there's a crack in the glass. Nope. I put it in the workstation, sidestepping the flag, and place it on the counter. Nothing's wrong. I walk out of the workstation and the man starts gesturing wildly at me and starting in on that Russian I'm a little rusty on, seeing as how I never took Russian. He starts to yell. Well, at least we're back in a familiar place.

Older Russian woman: "Fucking water."
Me: "Excuse me? Did he want that water, ma'am?"
Older Russian woman: (A little bit louder now, a little bit louder now) "Fucking water. Fucking water. Fucking no ice."
Me: "Oh."
Older Russian woman: "FUCKING WATER NO ICE."
Me: (on my cell phone in the work station) "...Immigration please. Yes, I'll hold."
Me: "Here you are sir. Enjoy your meal."

I understand that waitering is a job that I chose and that certain downsides come with every job. I get it. I really do. Every job has a shitty side. There's, 99% of the time, some loss of dignity and blows to the ego. There's the occasional contractual obligation to occasionally cover up the occasional child molestation in Neverland. There's the lung cancer that comes from chain smoking the day away holding that "SLOW" sign on the interstates.

And by the way, if anyone can get me that job, I'd do just about anything. Well, almost anything. I don't like wearing white after Labor Day. But, other than that, I'm game.

Seriously. Anything.

I did a little looking online and there are a lot of jobs out there in Milwaukee for someone with my qualifications and experience. Let's see, I've been an administrative assistant, cashier, teaching assistant, barrista, waiter, actor, writer, director, sound editor, nuclear engineer (I assume that's what breaking up a fight at a gay bar is), barback (I said bar people. sheesh), bartender, security guard (you try keeping the liquor away from unwelcome visitors at a homo house party), customer service peon, receptionist and the like.

And, I'm totally in a right place in my life and state of mind to do a little hooking if the situation presented itself.

How hard could it be for me to find a job that I can really like?

Beyond Queer

"Faggots, faggots everywhere and not a drop to drink."

- Emmett (QAF)

A lot has happened the past few days. Or as I call Wednesday and Thursday: my weekend.

Let's see... (1) Billie's birthday party! and (2) Milwaukee's Brokeback Mountain premier

Maybe there really is a "gay lifestyle."

(1)
I was all in a tither about Billie's party. Seriously, a tither. While trying to find someone at work to be my "guest," so I'd be assured of having someone to talk to, I repeated the line over and over.

"But, it's invitation only. Strict invitation only. That's gotta be a reason to go: others can't."

Am I the only person who thinks this is just a grand ole reason to go to a party? Plus, it's Milwaukee. Nothing's exclusive in Milwaukee. Nothing. At all.

Alas, no luck at work. You'd think the fag hags, at least, would get it.

Besides the whole "exclusive party" thing, I was all about celebrating. When I moved to Milwaukee there were people here and there who befriended me and introduced me to their friends and so on.

I really took a leap of faith when I moved from Chicago to it's far northern suburb in Wisconsin. I knew a total of two people in the entire southeast Wisconsin area; both were actually mere acquaintances that were friends of friends of friends that I didn't have too much in common with. I started to go out to the bars as often as i could, pretty much alone, to meet people. It wasn't a sad thing at all because I was all about having fun. It's not like I was a hermit or a recluse. I had school and work and volleyball teams. But still...

Enter Billie one summer. To be honest, I don't remember too much about when or how we met, but that's a good thing. He just kind of befriended me and treated me like we had known each other for a long time. Anyone who can skip the whole awkward "getting to know you" stage straight to "bitch, where u been?" is my absolute favorite kind of friend.

Back to Billie's party. Of course we were packed at work and, of course, I got stuck in a crappy section AND STILL sat with a late party that refused to leave an hour and a half after our closing time. I ended up walking into La Cage, invitation in hand, around 12:30.

A few things struck me: (a) the "invitation only" sign was hand written, off centered, in sharpie, (b) it seemed I was one of the few who didn't think that just showing up was present enough and (c) I knew a total of 6 people...in the entire place...including the bartenders.

Now, the sign really wasn't a big deal. I wasn't exactly expecting a red carpet and I was a little late for that anyway. I was still hoping though...just a little. Walked in, looking for the big bouncers with sun glasses and ear pieces demanding my invitation. Nope. I ended up looking like a big dork who thought "exclusive" was a big deal. Who thinks that?

I found Billie to give him a little ole gift certificate from the gay bookstore. I wanted to assure him that if he wanted to buy porn, it was a-okay with me.

Billie was so happy he just licked me.

On the eye.

I still want my contact back. It's expensive. I have a stigmatism. And, it's half of a pair.

I considered leaving.

Four Corona's later and I was all about hanging out and having a good time.

Plus, there's this really cute guy who seems really cool. Only, he looks a lot like this other really cute guy who doesn't. Four Corona's in about 45 minutes makes things even more difficult.

The only way I can tell them apart is when they speak. Or sign. Sign language? Cool guy. Speaks? Wrong one.

I SWEAR, that's not the only reason I'm taking ASL classes starting in January. It just helps.

Overall, it was a good time because Billie was just having the grandest ole time in the world sans any of the drama (which--believe--was never more than a whisper away). Maybe everybody was being so damn cordial out of respect or maybe they didn't bring a present and figured not-causing-drama was a damn good gift. I can't really argue too much about that. And, in Milwaukee, that's one helluva gift.

More on Brokeback later.

And the gays have it...

Today's quote:

"I was against the whole gay marriage thing until I found out it wasn't mandatory."

-Jon Stewart

And now on to more important things in life.

Project Runway Episode #3

I'm vindicated! I've been saying since the very beginning that Daniel Vosovic is this year's Jay. All the way back to the very beginning of this season. All the way back.

His lingerie line was hot.

(On a side note, if I didn't spell lingerie correctly, please don't e-mail me that I'm a bad homosexual. I already lost my gay I.D. I failed the eye test. I couldn't tell mauve and purple apart. I also incorrectly applied a Listerine breath strip, couldn't identify the low-fat hummus from the regular stuff, and didn't get properly excited about Hypercolor t-shirts.)

I loved when Daniel V. sat down with Heidi and she did everything but dedicate herself to being his fag hag until death do them part. And then Daniel was all, just put on my panties and love it bitch. But in a loving kind of way.

I will take this moment to own up to my shame. A tear trickled down my cheek when Daniel F. gave his speech...which turned into a hand-over-the-mouth emo moment when Heidi booted him. I could tell the show editors tried to make him look like he should be physically booted, but it didn't work. He was endearing. And I feel shame for feeling that.

I about came when Nina threw down with Santino. That chick is fierce. It totally turned me on. In a loving, platonic, I-wanna-fondle-Heath-Ledger kind of way.

Santino's line really was horrid. In a Survivor-gone-wrong, I-wanna-fondle-Heath-Ledger kind of way. His runway might have been better if Dame Judi Dench made a cameo model appearance.

My predictions of the Final Three have changed a bit. I'm still going with Santino. I know, I know, he's gonna make it, get over it. It's the only reason he didn't get the boot this time. But the final 2 will be a battle between Nick, Chloe and Daniel V. I'm still holding out hope that the final elimination challenge will involve oil wrestling and thongs with the model contestants doing the refereeing.

I know. I know. I'm wierd.

Take out the model refereeing.

There.

Normal again.

Cough. Cough. I said...and boy are my arms tired... cough. cough.

Quote of the day:

"Metrosexual is just a rest stop on the highway to homo. Kyle? He took the expressway."

The bird flu is contagious.

My computer caught a couple of viruses. Luckily for me, the only thing the viri got a look at was a couple of annotated bibliographies and a lot of free porn. No really, viri is the correct pluralization of virus. In the biblical sense.

Ha ha.

Just kidding.

About the annotated bibliographies.

(cricket chirps). (cough). (spit hocking). (laundry machine spin cycle whirring).

In other news of the day. Mom sent a care package for me, which she likes to do on occasion. The roomies like to have a look when I open the box up and have a laugh at what's inside. Usually it's stuff like dried squid, wasabi-covered peas, ma po tofu sauce in a box, mochi mix, even freeze-dried sticky rice . Sometimes I have to call her cuz I don't even know what the stuff is. Which, methinks, is the reason she sends it.

Always at the bottom is my high school alumni magazine. I like to read it and then fall into a deep depression. It's my thing. I own it.

This time around there were the usual, "what's new at Punahou?" Apparently they've got this whole study abroad thing going on. Study abroad in high school? Yep. There's a class: Art History in Europe summer school class where they study art history for a couple of weeks on campus and then head over to Rome, Florence, Sienna, Venice, Paris and London to live it up for a month or so. There's a group picture in front of the Louvre and the teacher is not only obviously homosexually-inclined but a hottie.

Methinks it should be crossreferenced in the course listing book: Arts: Art History in Europe (see also Psychosocial Education: Introduction to Hit That Homosexuality Running, see also Social Studies/Service Learning: Gay Paris, More Gay than Paris).

Also in the curriculum. Middle School: interdisciplinary study of flight including lessons in physics, the history of flight, an actual flight simulator, orienteering and the like. I guess that $15,000 a year is going to something. $15,000/year for K-12? Yep. I'm out.

This season's Bulletin was mostly about this summer's Class Reunions. Shit. I forgot this was my 10 year reunion. I don't feel so bad. Out of 400 in our graduating class, only 70 or so showed up. I'd have gone, but I'm not that invested. Which classes had more people there? 1985, 1980, 1975, 1965, 1960 and 1955. Damn. Then again, I either don't recognize or can't name more than half of the people in my class's picture. Check that. More than half.

Four. Am I average?

So a table full of giggly, college freshmen girls in my section was talking last night. Usually I'd shove a dirty meat-poking pitchfork into my ear to dig my eardrum out before returning to the table. But, they asked me my thoughts and -- unfortunately -- I both responded and proved their point. I considered hara-kiri. Honorable death.

Blonde #1: "So, Mitzy was saying that people, like, change majors, like, 4 times before they finally graduate."

Me: "Uh huh. I guess. I don't know. Can I get you another Diet Pepsi (before I swallow every painkiller in the first aid kit in the back)?"

Blonde #2: "So, yeah, what about you? Like, How many majors did you have?"

Me: "Well, my parents wouldn't let me go away to school unless I picked a major and stuck to it. (Let's see, 40 packs multiplied by 2 pills per pack...gosh math is so hard.)"

Blonde #3: "Cool. Like, what was your major?"

Me: "Elementary Education. (80. 80 pills. I think that'd do the trick.)"

Blonde #1: "So, like why aren't you teaching?"

Me: "I decided I didn't like kids. (Or there is that new industrial strength bleach...)"

And then it hit me...I've had 4 majors.

Major #1: Elementary Education w/ math, science and social science endorsements.
Duration: 6 1/2 semesters
Reason for leaving: 3/4 of the way through student teaching, I realized I don't like kids.

Major #2: Geography
Duration: Toooo long.
Reason for leaving: (1) Realized that all countries, lakes, rivers and mountains already have names, leaving me with few job prospects. (2) All the geography majors were REALLY wierd. (3) Geography of the Grasslands is REALLY NOT as interesting as the people in the class made it out to be. (4) The ex-elementary ed major should NOT BE THE ONLY person in the entire class of geography grad students who points out problems with Jared Diamond's "Guns, Germs and Steel." I know I was the only non-white, non-Chicago suburbanite in the class, but come on now people...

Major #3: Secondary Education - History
Duration: 1 semester
Reason for leaving: Re-realized I don't like kids. Slow learner me is, I guess.

Major #4: American Studies

I don't know which was more depressing: Having 4 majors? Proving Mitzy and Co. right?

Huh?

A little help please.

I just found a shirt that says:

"Friends don't let friends drive GREEN TRACTORS"

...with a picture of a red tractor.

Does anyone know what that means? Or why I bought it? Or when I bought it? Or where I bought it from?

Just wondering.

The Runway...Live It, Love it

A little more than 7 hours until the Runway, Episode 2. Dressing one of the most fashionable icons? Who is it? Who could it be? Oh the suspense.

Not really.

It really doesn't matter who this hot hot celebrity is. Hell, it could be one of Kara's other personalities from a different dimension.

It's all about the designers.
It's all about the drama.
It's all about the verbal diarreah that gets thrown from wall to wall.

Some things I hope I see:

- The judges decide that Chloe and Santino are tied as the winners. They are given a ball of twine, two paperclips, a bottle of mace and half an hour. They don't have to design anything, just do with it as they may. Project Runway Episode 2: The Gauntlet.
= Nina says: "I would like to have seen more eye scratching and better use of the twine. Rope burn is in. Mace doesn't express who you are."
= Michael says: "I know you're both talented designers, but you're a bunch of pussies."
= Heidi says: "If I didn't have this bump, I could whoop both of you bitches."

- Diana creates a wormhole from hand soap, her magnets and Kara's right eye. It sucks in and transports Zulema to Alpha Centauri. Everyone pretends not to notice until Tim asks why everyone looks so calm and rested and there's no hand soap anywhere in Parsons.
- Daniel Vosovic gets more than 2.5 seconds of airtime.
- Kara takes her meds and admits to being from Topeka.
- Nick gets drunk and sews Lupe to her bed while singing "I Will Always Love You."

I'm not gonna lie, that would be hot hot hot.

Weasel

Weasal? I have no idea.

I decided to take a little break. I'm out of funny right now. Although there is lots and lots of fodder for the funny to explode all over and stain the carpet, alas, the funny is lacking. I couldn't even come up with a witty analogy or metaphor for the last few sentences. Accckkkk!

The highest corporate execs will ALL be in town this week at work. It's been pretty high stress for the managers. They're tired and freakin out in their own way, so we've all just tried to stay out of the way as much as possible. Even the dumpster area out back -- yeah the one that nobody but the staff can see -- has been tidied up. Ordinarily a gay would love all this organizing and tidying, but, alas, no. Not at all. Their stress is becoming our stress. I've come to defensively use the phrase,"I'm not that invested," way too much. I've recorded it so I don't have to say it cuz I'm just not that invested. Damn, (sigh) I did it again.

As much as I do, from time to time, find myself enjoying my job, I always come back to the fact that it's just a job for me. I really am not, in fact, that invested. I smile and make nice. And that's about it. Being a server isn't a career, but it's what pays the bills now and something I'm pretty good at. At this point, it's wearing on me though.

Apparently not as much as the server that quit last week. Not so much quit as stormed out toward the beginning of his shift. It's meant that people have to pick up more shifts, which some people want. I thought it was fun to think of ways I would have done it. I'm thinking a little Martha Graham number followed by a runway walk out the door to some theme music. It's not gonna happen, but it's fun to think about.

Seasonal affect disorder sucks.

I ain't yo ho...

The Ignorant Vegas list is now on temporary (like a few days methinks) hold. I need to refocus, which means I need to remember. Not an easy task. I have many people, places and things left to blame for the birth of Winesha Malamalamanakoolaumekeainaikapono Lee.

How, fair bystander may ask, was Ms. Lee named?

Apparently, according to the rules of the Tragic Name guidebook, the required first name is bestowed by one's favorite drink. Captain was a little too butch, apparently. And, just because I went through two bottles of wine in about 45 minutes, I guess I deserved Winesha.

In high school, one of my friend's was Malama, which was the shortened version of a Hawaiian name I could never remember, so I used to just add the only long string of Hawaiian words I knew. Ua Mau Ke Ea O Ka Aina I Ka Pono. The Life of the Land is Perpetuated in Righteousness. The motto of the State of Hawaii.

Lee? I don't know either. And by the time I got around to coming up with a last name, I was too hammered and...maybe more.

At least I've actually named one of my other personalities.

Winesha has not made an appearance since Vegas. She may still be sleeping. Or she might be passed out. Maybe still trying to hail a cab on the Strip. I'm not gonna lie, Smeagal may be involved. Tragic.

And Project Runway rocked. I'm totally addicted already.

Andrae needs to go. And soon. Am I a bad person for wanting Nina to throw her chair at him standing up there on the runway?

Nick is way too funny for his own good. "Ooohh shut uuuuuuup! Girl better not come in this area." If he doesn't have an episode-long face-to-face throw down with Lupe, I'm gonna be mad disappointed.

If I was in the habit of dating women, I would be all over Chloe. And she's Asian, so the family would be all about me dating her. Oh, and she's a her, so that would probably really help too.

I find myself secretly cheering for Diana in all her geekdom.

The big secret of the show is going to be that Kara isn't really South African. She's really from Topeka and a third generation multiple personality girl off her meds.

Zulema? Where do I start? She's gotta stay for the drama. There can't be true drama without at least one strong Black woman to bitch slap the fags.

Pregnant big-boobed Heidi is, somehow, so much hotter than big-boobed Heidi. Michael is throwing the smack down early. Nina is the ultimate dominatrix. She soooo turns me on for some tragic reason.

I have my prediction for the Final Three. It's gonna be Santino (obviously already), Chloe and................................ Daniel Vosovic. I don't know what it is, but I have a feeling (as who-the-hell-cares ludicrous as it is that I care enough to have a feeling, much less think about the feeling, try to discount the feeling and then finally agreeing with the feeling) that he's gonna be in a fight with Raimundo and probably Nick and Lupe for the final spot.

And now a word from our sponsors...

I'm really embarassed about being really excited for tonight. I haven't actually told anyone about my unabashed glee out of pure fear that all the years of breaking stereotypes will be for nothing. I even made sure I wasn't scheduled to work tonight.

Tonight at 8:00 pm, the new Project Runway season premiers.

And, I'm not gonna lie, I've had a post-it note on my cable box for the last month and a half.

I'm thinking I'll watch a little Sports Center or some lumberjack competition before and after The Runway. But, trust, I'm gonna be faggier than a homo at a Cher concert tonight. However, I'm confident and secure in my masculinity, that I can admit and share. Well, I can blog about it. But, if anyone asks me, I'll deny, deny, deny and then change the subject. Oh look, I'm George Bush! Yay me.

I know there are more people out there who share my addiction to The Runway. There are meetings and we have t-shirts. They're fabulous though so, obviously, expensive.

I spent a few hours last night online looking at all the contestants...and their bios...and their Q&As...and their audition videos...and their portfolios...and watching the previews...and reading some behind the scenes dirt. Hasn't everyone?

No one can ever overtake Kara, Jay and Austin. But there are crazy cool people on this year. Not Daniel, the rejected on the first episode last year guy. But there are lots of (all?) big homos and strong Black women and quiet (but wild!) Asian/Latina women in the middle. Lots of Drama! Lots of glamour. Lots of drinking.

I'm in heaven.

But don't ask me about it, I'll deny it all.

Tragic Vegas Part II

Maybe a few more. And considering we were there to play volleyball, perhaps some about the actual playing...

#19: Team Vegas Tragic

There are reasons I say I will never play with John again. It's not that John's not good or that John doesn't know players that are good. He is and he does. It's just that John putting together a team, AND AN A TEAM AT THAT, is much like Stevie Wonder rating America's best art museums. Tragic. Funny and amusing, downright hilarious, but TRAGIC. Unfortunately, when John registered us for Vegas, he did not sign us up for the: "Mostly 6'0 and under, Mixed B/BB, drunk, high, distractingly horny United Colors ad" division.

#18a-e: Did she just...

a) ...face his back to the net...toss the ball up...backwards backspin serve...AND get called for a foot fault? Yes, yes he did. We're fucked.

b) ...pass Kim Willoughby on the NCAA kill and attempts list...after six games? Yes, yes he did. His arm is fucked.

c) ...hit a ten foot line pipe...under the net? Yes, yes he did. We've been fucked, so who cares.

d) ...Yell "GET IT TOGETHER!" before I set the ball? yes, yes he did. With good reason, though so fuck it.

e) ...set match point, tournament one-two-bbq point, into the net? Yes, yes he did. Fuck this shit, where the hell's my drink? Coffee, tea, cigarettes?

Seriously, "She bang, she bang...oh baby she move she move..." had a better showing on American Idol.

#17: Why you gotta be sweatin the brotha?

Apparently it's no longer "appropriate" to set up your own bar at the gym. Before play starts. During play. After play. Anytime. I don't know where Mr. Rent-A-Cop got the idea, but maintaining a steady buzz through tournament play has got to be some kind of NAGVA bylaw. But of course, the only member of Team United Colors that gets busted by the cracka cop is Giniqua. It was, in retrospect, logical to appeal to his sense of aesthetics by displaying the sleek new design of Smirnoff Ice, but not entirely effective. So THAT'S WHY WE LOST. Damn cops. Girl couldn't get her drink on properly.

#16: Provo is so beautiful in autumn.

For a team that has never played together before, doesn't know each other's names and can't, in fact, point to their teammates yet, a practice session or ten is a good idea. However, was there no gym in the ENTIRE STATE OF NEVADA open for use on a Friday afternoon? It's not that I didn't enjoy driving to BYU, because I DIDN'T, but I'm still coughing up dust and tumbleweeds. Nobody else liked it either. Thanks a lot John. We still sucked something sour.

#15: No black soled shoes or prissy nelly bottoms.

Not only did we drive into the heart of Mormon country, risking our lives as it was, but what darling warning did we receive as we began the four day car ride to get there? "Okay, we all have to act straight." Girrrrrlllll. Awww Hellll no. And, for the record, it was Vlad and John that the underage chicken thought were the big homos. Take that bitches. *snap* *snap* *snapsnap*

To be continued.

Tragic Vegas Part I

And without further adieu...ala VH1 Great Things About

Top 25 Most Ignorant Moments, Vegas 2005

Honorable Mention: La Quinnnnntaaa....

I'm not saying that the southwest La Quinta Inn building style isn't cute and cozy and, I'm sure, functional. But, does EVERY non-casino building in Las Vegas have to be built that way? And must Brent yell La Quiiinnnntttaaaa out the window every 5 minutes? Bitch is gonna get slapped...and hard.

#25: Chicken...the other white meat.

If there's a straight boy, "straight" boy or "straight but has only f-cked boys for the last decade or two" boy within three zip codes in any direction, rest assured that Giniqua will know. And I mean "know" in that creepy Highlander-immortal-sixth-sense kind of way. Oh look a fowl has wandered away from the flock...poor things.

#24: "No cameras, camera phones, Etch-A-Sketches allowed..."

I'm not saying that a certain someone whose name starts with Jay and may or may not live on the eastern coast of some country that is the U.S. has pictures of the UNLV men's swim team....showering...in the locker room...wearing...??? But apprently, he might. And by might, I mean he does. If anyone asks, that spot next to the showers was the only spot on the whole UNLV campus that he could get any reception. But, seriously ask yourself: If a university swim team is showering in public, aren't you morally obligated to share that with everyone? Go Rebels! Run! Run! Run Away!

#23: Cosmos aren't just for brunch anymore.

I'm not gonna lie, Mike, John and I started drinking at 9:00. In the A.M. On Friday. 15 minues after I got off the plane, 3 minutes after John ate breakfast and 30 seconds after Mike woke up.

#22: Dear, John...you're stupid.

When you ask John where his shot glasses are, he'll tell you he doesn't have any. And, he doesn't. But if you REALLY need one, they're on top of his refrigerator. I'm just saying they're there if you need one. But, he doesn't have any. Anywhere in his apartment. Except on top of the refrigerator. Right there on top. At eye level, in fact. But, he really doesn't have any.

#21: Porn is the new art.

I'm not saying that anyone named MIKE will search for, download and save as the wallpaper on your computer a hung, hard man draped over some piece of furniture, playing with himself, EVERY time you leave the room. But, he might. And by might, I mean that he will. And does. And then he giggles.

#20: I'm not saying you're sleeping on a porn set, but you might be...

Anyone who has more than two computers is producing porn. Period. End of discussion. I don't buy the whole "internet gambling as a career" excuse. I walked into John's apartment and found: (1) numerous bottles of booze, (2) three side-by-side-by-side computers, (3) a futon in the middle of the living room, and (4) a straight boy in a white t-shirt and boxers "sleeping" on the futon. I don't know much, but I know a porn set when I see one.

To Be Continued...

And now you're picturing tracing your...

I just spent 15 minutes staring at my Raspberry Green Tea brewing in my new-ish French Tea Press Gay Toy Pot. I even dragged my roommate over to stare with me.

Me: It's soooo cool.
Roomie: That is so cool! I love it.
Me: I knoowwwww!

5 minutes later...

Me: You can play with it too if you want.
Roomie: (watching tv in another room)....what did you say?
Me: You can play with the teapot if you want.
Roomie: ...Really? Are you sure?
Me: Hmm...maybe not. But you can watch it with me.

No really, that was the last 15 minutes of my life.

The way you were drinking your tea...

Ha Billie! If I have to watch every episode of Will and Grace, believe, I will.

To all those (tens of) people out there: I am, in fact, still alive.

My bout with the Bird Flu has passed. Although I still predict immediate unconsciousness if I even see a snake, the worst has come and gone.

I would like to send out a big thank you to all those people who called, e-mailed, texted and messaged me to ask if I was dead. Although if I was indeed dead, the e-mailing, texting and messaging probably wouldn't have been as funny or productive. I still appreciate the sentiment.

To those who have sent messages demanding the Top 25 Most Ignorant Moments, Vegas 2005, I am almost there. A few drinks, a bottle of wine, three more drinks, a little Divas Live and then three more drinks and I will be right back in the zone that led to more than a few of the Top 25.

Some updates from the last two weeks or so:

1) I missed out on the encore presentatin of Divas Live: Back in DC. Although I would have liked to have given thanks to Krave for the pocket gift in an appropriate place and context, I could not join the raucous that was DC 2005. I did hear about some of the tragicity, but nothing will compare to Vegas.

2) Tragicity is now my favorite word.

3) I headed down to Evanston to watch Michigan State volleyball at Northwestern. After the match, I waited to say a quick hi and bye to the players and staff before they got on the bus.

I waved a quick hi at one of the players as I was talking to the head coach. Said player, who I last remember being chased across the X-Cel dance floor by a drag queen with a high heel over said drag queen's head, exclaimed, "Oh my god, when are you coming back to Lansing so we can go back to the gay bar!?!" I was assured later on that pretty much everyone in the western hemisphere and most of the other hemispheres knows I'm a big homo. That, my fairy friend, is not the point.

I don't know what the point is, but letting the head coach of a major volleyball program know that you hang out with her players at gay bars with strippers, drag queens, coke whore thiefs and the like is not the best way to get "come back and work for us" and/or "Dear Fellow Coach: Brent is an excellent and inspiring coach" letters.

4) The biggest thrill of the last month or so was my purchase of a new tea-brewing pot. It's like a combination teapot-french-press-accessory-plaything. I also bought some Raspberry Green Tea to put into my new toy because I was assured the color was crazy cool.

Yes, that's one of the coolest things that's happened. That's pretty tragic.