Our Thanksgiving history is the stuff of legends. Things like my brother dropping out of his Ph.D program to become a vacumn cleaner salesman (first of two), my brother announcing he had dropped out of a second Ph.D program to breed rats in a lab, mom and dad announcing their intent to build a new house so mom could live with her girlfriend, grandma going for a naked stroll through the hospital, friend Becky asking to pass the gravy and for a side of sperm (her and her girlfriend wanted to have a baby), dad shooting a hole through the side of the house thinking I was a burglar, my brother announcing he was getting married to a woman from the Philippines he had met at a conference years before (not only had the family not met her, but she was a catholic – it nearly killed my grandmother), cousin Terry (fundamentalist side of the family) walking in on me making out with my boyfriend, and my parents walking in on me groping a male nurse at the hospital.

These are the Hallmark moments that mark our family holidays. It is no wonder we all hate this f**king holiday. Typically we just have the meal catered and try to get it over with as quick as possible. But something convinced my mother that we need to prepare the meal this year – or as will happen that I need to prepare the meal. You see, my mom can’t even heat a can of soup without burning it (Martha Stewart she isn’t). I am the only one that actually cooks (I learned out of necessity when I was a child), so I will drag myself in Wednesday evening and start slaving over the kitchen to prep the meal for Thursday – weeee, what fun.

I already know that my mom’s girlfriend is bringing her son (he just got out of prison AGAIN) and the local family gossip is that my father has a new girlfriend that he is planning on introducing. Hopefully this won’t be another for the record books, but it is already shaping up to be. I wonder if I can come up with an excuse not to go between now and tomorrow morning.

Inspired by the wildly popular video game of the same name, Dance Dance Revolution is like Footloose set in the future—but much scarier, and with 40 really attractive, barely-clothed young actors as well as free beer!
—Broadway World

If you happen to be in NYC between Dec 3 – 20 you can catch it at the Ohio theatre.

–Start pseudo rant/confessional

Alright, I admit it, I am a closet DDR addict. I actually got a little giddy at the thought of just how campy and funny this would have to be (and jealous I’m not in it). How far does my addiction go. I have at least one DDR game for every console I own. A total of 12 DDR titles including DDR Mario Mix for the Gamecube (if you are a DDR fan you know how uncommon that title is). I pretend to think DDR is silly and juvenile, but then can put friends/colleagues/students to same when they finally ‘convince me’ to try (I try to fake newbie status at first, but then become a ‘quick learner’). I had an ex-boyfriend convinced I only had a DDR game in case I couldn’t find time to get to the gym. The mats are all hidden (the one for my 360 behind the entertainment console, and other platforms in the back of a closet). The games and their cases are harder to find than my porn stash. DDR is both my shame and my joy. I readily admit to my vices and quirks, but DDR has been my little secret guilty pleasure for a long time.

Men are fascinating creatures, everyone says that women are confusing, but I definitely beg to differ. I understand women just fine, it is men I have yet to figure out. What brings this on, none other than a guy – but not for the reasons you are probably thinking.
The short version – Shortly after I moved here to Morehead, a guy randomly emailed me (from here in town). We got to talking and eventually hooked up, he was simply a “friend with benefits”. There was never any chance for more, for no other reason than that I do not date “closet-cases”. Until about a year ago, he had never even been to my apartment – I used to tease him about being afraid that someone whom he did not know and would likely never see again might just see him coming into my apartment – how scandalous that would be. Anyway, we have been just friends for about six months now, but tonight is what brings on this rant.
Over the weekend, I had a three hour “bi*ch” session with a friend. Traditionally, we get drunk during these as it is just that much more entertaining for the other. A few minutes after the bi*ch session ended, ***** called (I’ll keep his paranoia down and just leave him as blanks). We decided to get together and watch a movie, as I was in no state to drive, he came and picked me up. Everything was fine, we watched movies, and drank quite a bit – as I was already “sh*t-faced”, I ended up “skunk-a*s drunk” naturally. We talked, and laughed, and watched movies – nothing else. After he sobered up, he brought me home, and helped me to bed (I had one hell of a hangover the next day). Absolutely nothing sexual happened. As he had been a perfect gentleman, I decided to cook dinner to thank him (nothing fancy). Here is where the confusing part of guys comes in (did I say this was the short version, well I lied ).
So, Monday I cut out of work a little early and came home to cook. About 5:30PM ***** showed up. Everything was fine, we talked a bit and had a glass of wine. I went into the kitchen to put in the garlic bread, and asked him (from the kitchen) “Do you want parmesan on the bread”. When he didn’t answer, I stuck my head out of the kitchen to ask again. What was I greeted by? None other than ***** sitting on my couch with his dick in his hand stroking it. He looked at me (with his very bad come hither look I might add) and said “Fu*k dinner, let’s just skip to dessert”. All I could do was laugh, I told him that I wasn’t that drunk and to put his cock away. I went back in the kitchen, now everything would have been fine, except my uber-bi*ch kicked in. I came out of the kitchen (he still hadn’t put his dick back in his pants) and I went off, I told him that A) he needed a new line, B) I was no longer in the mood to have dinner, C) I had work to do, and D) “if you haven’t gotten the hint – get the fu*k out”. Needless to say, he put his dick away. When he didn’t make any movements towards the door, I looked at him and with as much bit*hy drama-queen as I could muster told him to “get the FU*K OUT!”, he got the hint and left (subtle aren’t I). Now was I a bi*ch – YES. Was it justified, I think so.
Let’s be honest, if I invite a guy for dinner, he should at least have the courtesy to wait until after dinner to pull out his dick, or at least let me pull out his dick.
Now, I can hear every guy out there, “you led him on”, what a typical guy response. You see, I have come to the conclusion that when talking to most guys they hear in an entirely different language.
If you say, “How was your day?”, they hear “F*ck me now!”
If you say, “Do you want to grab a bite for dinner?”, they hear “F*ck me now!”
If you even say, “Hi”, they hear “F*ck me now!”
But if you say, “F*ck me now!”, they hear something to the effect of “**** is on TV”. For str8 guys this is probably some sport, for most gay guys it can be just about anything else.
Now, on a side note, my favorite of all are the men that refer to themselves as “we”; the collective “we” to which they refer is often none other than themselves and their penis. What the F*ck? Now, in all honesty, I love my penis, but I do not refer to it as a person – that is just insane. I don’t ask my penis what it wants for lunch or dinner (though I have met guys that refer to what food their penis is in the mood for).
I wonder if it is a sign that ***** hasn’t called me.

I went to church yesterday. (Yes, I do go occasionally.) I grew up United Methodist and today’s sermon struck me as immensely ironic. I have a history at that church of getting up during the sermon and debating with ministers, but I held my tongue today as there were about 60 guests today and I didn’t want to make a scene. Plus, our minister gets nervous when the congregation gets large so me getting up and debating with him would have probably made him lose it.
If you watch television you have likely seen the United Methodist commercials, the “Open Minds, Open Hearts, Open Doors” – some of them are actually quite good. Well, the commercials talk about different aspects including diversity and how Methodists are open to all diversity – including one with a woman saying that none of us are qualified to judge. The commercials are to an extent misleading given the facts of the past few years. While it is true that Gay and Lesbians are welcome as members of the UMC by the articles, there are many aspects that we are not technically welcome in or treated equally. For example, you can not be openly GLBT and serve as a minister – nor can a commitment ceremony be officiated by a UMC minister, so it is not an equal environment and the commercials are somewhat misleading. I will say though that the UMC is loosely structured and individual churches do have a great deal of say so ultimately more progressive churches will move us forward. Unfortunately, I don’t think it will be mine that does it – there is a very delicate balance at our church and often the balance is maintained by my family and family friends as we have the balance control of the church committees.
But what is the point of this (there is method to my madness – now on to the sermon). The sermon listed in the bulletin was about family and loved ones, but the sermon he ultimately gave was a fire and brimstone type of sermon. The basic sermon was on how we have abandoned God and that in fact our tolerance of diversity and difference is what is bringing America into chaos. He went on about how the fact that we do not actively pursue non-members (harass them into the fold) is actually something that will result in sending us to hell. He preached about sex and sexuality and how we have lost the values of God. And he stood there and spewed statistics and so-called facts that were blatantly wrong. Basically for over 30 minutes he went on and on about this, with each second of it making me more and more irate. The only joy that I got was the fact that I take care of the sound system at the church so I just kept tinkering with it and making it squeal and squeak – just to distract him and throw off his sermon. But the reality is what the hell has happened to the church I knew. I grew up with the philosophy and ideology that God was a God of love, that everyone was his/her/its children and that went opposite of everything in that sermon. Additionally, I was always taught that diversity and differences were what gave character to a congregation – not so if he is to be believed. The reality is that the sermon was nothing more than conservative propaganda that served to promote intolerance within the congregation. I do have to say that he is a young minister (under 25) and that in fact he comes from a Baptist background and thus ideologically does have some issues.
Another little irony is that when he arrived most of the church thought that he and I would become close friends as I am basically the only one active in the church that is around his age. Let me tell you, he barely speaks to me – it is very clear that he is uncomfortable around me because I speak my mind and don’t care if he doesn’t agree with me (I don’t think he knows that I am gay).

Oh well, I am sure that no one really cares, but I needed to vent.

The key to fighting terrorism – hoes all around. (I got this idea while playing Pimp Wars). Yes you heard me right. I will beat myself over the head for saying it later. But, the idea makes a great deal of sense when you take into consideration an article that appeared in the Times of India (link no longer active). Apparently, analysis of Bin Laden’s handwriting shows that he is “beset by a strong libido, which was driving his actions”. Now, I have been horny, but I have NEVER been so horny that I wanted to blow-up a building, nor do I think that is the logical outlet for horniness. I mean, when I am horny the only things I can think about are blowing a load, blowing a guy’s dick, or being ramrodded by a big ol’ piece of meat – the thought of blowing up a building would never cross my mind. But let’s assume for a moment that the article is correct and that this is the act of a sexually repressed man.

Well, let’s look at the towers. One can see how they could be taken as a phallic symbol. Tall (long), erect, and hard – further, Bin Laden’s need to destroy these huge phallic symbols (in other words these big steel dicks) is a sign that he himself feels a need to destroy phalluses that are larger then his own. In other words he is trying to overcompensate for a small penis.

Additionally, in the attack on the Pentagon the plane hit the outside and missed going for the center. Now we can look at this attack in terms of a metaphor for Bin Laden’s own sexual frustrations. The plane exploding on the outer edges can mean one of many things. The first thing that such an attack could symbolize is that Bin Laden has an issue with premature ejaculation – he cums before he can even get it into the target. The other thing that this could represent is that Bin Laden is saying that in fact he does not find the sexual role that has been proscribed to him to be satisfying – as he never actually got into where he was supposed to and found satisfaction and release without ever achieving that role. In other words this could mean that Bin Laden is in fact a big ol’ bottom in need of a big ol’ dick rammed up his rump. The easiest way to test this theory would be for a tank to simply impale him up the a*s with its turret (soldiers keep this in mind when you get him) and if by chance I am wrong it will sure as hell be one big pain in the a*s for him.

Now as we can see we need to spread the wealth of hoes throughout the world and liberate the women in Afghan society; as well as get rid of that public stoning for homosexuals thing. If we did this it would at the very least curb terrorism. I mean think about it, if given the choice between killing yourself and getting laid, which would you choose. I can honestly say that I can not think of anyone that would not choose getting laid. Thus if we liberated the society sexually we would most certainly curb terrorism as most people are not going to be destroying things if in fact they are enjoying a nice after-glow.

So SEX is the solution to terrorism.

I have developed a new theory that I think will revolutionize the way that we look at the world. I call this amazing theory the Couch Potato Law. You see the Couch Potato Law states that the number of channels you have is inversely proportional to the number of television shows that you actually want to watch.
The means of testing the theory is as follows
1. Turn on your television
2. Go to your program guide and scan what is on.
3. Count how many shows or channels you would actual like to watch
4. Count the number of actual channels you have
5. Do the math

My results. Number of channels 180+ and the number of shows that I wanted to watch – zero. I did manage to find something sort of The Vicar of Dibley.

I know a stupid theory, but why do we have so many channels if we are not going to watch them? I mean who actually needs 10 shopping channels. I am a self admitted shop-a-holic, but I have never watched them nor do I have any desire to. Next, 8 channels dedicated to Christianity – WHY? First how many people come home after a long day at work and want to watch someone tell you that you are a sinner and the only way to go to heaven is to call and give them your money. What is up with that, beyond that isn’t the market for the channels basically the same people and as you can typically only watch one thing at a time – why 8 of the things? But let’s not forget the number of channels that show infomercials at night – at 5AM I counted 52 channels that had infomercials on them – why?
I thought the purpose of having so many channels to choose from was that one could find something they were interested in at any time of the day – that is obviously not the case. Plus, we see the media characterize us as a society of couch potatoes, HOW? I am not content to sit on the couch and watch television – especially when I can’t find anything to watch no matter what time of day or night that it is.

By now I think everyone has heard Jerry Falwell’s infamous comment (link no longer in Internet Archive) of last week (The Village Voice did a nice top ten style list using it). Needless to say it still pisses me off. By why do I bring this up now, you will understand in a few moments. (but first the rant).

I would think that the America people would finally wake up one day and realize that religious fanaticism in any form is dangerous. It is a lesson that we saw the deadly results of on 9/11 but no. Shortly after that Jerry “Bin Laden” Falwell comes out of the wood work and claims the blame for the attack rests on everyone for which he typically shows disdain. Have people forgotten his last major PR release (no not Tinky Winky) it was a little comment about how a hurricane was going to come and destroy Florida if the people did not turn against what he viewed as their sinning ways (specifically naming several groups – same as always homosexuals, pagans, feminists) (On a side note will he ever find new groups to pick on). This man is a true nut case. How anyone can take him serious is beyond me. But the reality is that it was a great deal of free publicity that offended half the country and caused the other half to call up and let him steal their money for his theme park and God only knows what else.

Now what made me think about this tonight. Well, I think I have figured out why it is that all of these people like Falwell are crazy. They too are drinking the Pat Robertson protein drink. Yes folks did you know (or even care) that Pat can do 600 pound leg-presses. His secret a special 700 club protein drink (expect the infomercial coming soon – can’t you see it “a drink inspired by God”) but yes folks I believe that all of these nut cases are on the same protein drink. A drink that no only allows them to do 600 pound leg-presses but also makes them absolutely certifiably looney. (All that stuff up there for this, you can tell I am tired — time for sleep).