Monday, September 29, 2003

Topics to be covered this week:

The doorman saga

My new room mate has 16 staples in his head

It cost me over $200 to be miserable. Could I at least get a reach-around?

***I'll get to it but it's late and she's tired***

Saturday, September 27, 2003

My Weblog Archives Held Captive- Day 6

OK I give. I've sent several e-mails to Blogger.com. I tried being nice. I tried being shady. I tried to shame them into action. All to no avail. They've stopped even answering me and I don't feel like I've been some crazy on-line pest. I have updated the majority of this blog so that the pictures and links were easier to see and bypass all that password nonsense. There is something wrong on their end that prevents my archive section from republishing. I am looking for a new host for my weblog. I'm leaning toward TypePad. It's a shame it's not like I asked them to fix it instantly. Tomorrow will be a week. If anyone has a suggestion as to the best service (now there's a concept) let me know. I will be making the switch on Tuesday.

Thursday, September 25, 2003

My Weblog Archives Held Captive- Day 4

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Wednesday, September 24, 2003

My Weblog Archives Held Captive- Day 3

So the bad news out of Buffalo. It's not so bad after all. My brother in law (the father of She Who Must be Served) got into a bad car accident last week. He was critical at first but he managed to hit his fat head and it can take a lot more abuse than that. It would have totally sucked though if my neice had lost both her parents before her 10th birthday. He's expected to recover though, but for now he seems to be in a Bugs Bunny state of mind where he makes sense for a while and then answers the waffle iron. One order of brains! Scrambled! So they're shuttling my neice from house to house and trying to keep her on as normal a schedule as possible. This is actually a specialty of theirs in the House of Secrets. Acting as if nothing's amiss while you have a drooling ape-child with a tail chained under the staircase.

An interesting post on my new buddy Geekslut's blog. Not sure why he thinks any of that would piss someone off but I am wrestling with how when to tell someone (that you're about to sex up) you're poz too and I know some of my peeps are having problem's as well. I know a friend (who's poz) who was about to fuck a guy and actually pulled out the condom to which the bottom said "no, no condom. " My friend assumed this meant the guy was poz and cool with getting fucked bare. It wasn't until after they finished he asked my friend if he was neg to which he replied no. Well apparently the guy looked like he'd been shot. I know, I know how stupid is this guy? Or rather deluded. He didn't think my friend was negative he wanted to get fucked raw and managed to trick himself into believing my friend "seemed OK". And how fucking selfish are you to not ask a question like that and then turn around and act like someone did something to you. He pulled the fucking condom out you said no, asshole!

Anyway, I sort of try to tailor my disclosure to the situation I'm in or getting into. Because I'm such a well rounded faggot I can get off without necessarily fucking per se. I can get into a hot j/o porno scene with a lot of edging (look it up) and shoot a howling good load and I'm a happy camper. If I'm just gonna pop one on my stomach (after you drop one on me too grrrrrrrr) I'm not going to worry about disclosure then. Likewise if you're gonna slob my knob. It's not like I won't know I'm gonna blow and pull out in time. And you'll know too cause I'm really loud, usually. Unless we're in an alley. Sometimes if we haven't talked about it and the guy seems skittish or I know he's in a relationship I'll wrap my meat up even for a blowjob because even though he is making a decision (or not) I would rather not deal with thinking about and so on, and so on etc. Curiously, I'm less inclined now to fuck or get fucked bare. First from my end, since I'm not on medication I'm fucking Typhoid Mary in that I'm all about contagious. No undetectable viral load here I'm a bug factory. Besides, I actually like being a little de-sensitized by the latex. Nothing get's me off faster than the heat from a tight hole. I can give out a good quality long fuck with a condom on. Second, since I am relatively healthy I'd like to keep that going as long as possible so since I don't know your current health status and I know that faggots lie ya'll better wrap that fucker up afore you stick it in me. But let me suck it again, first. Man, I've just gone to filth, huh?

As for the shave/unshave discussion. I recently leapt over the fence and joined the (mostly) unshaved ranks. If you read my older posts you'll understand it's a HUGE change for me. I have way more free time! And I have to say, I've been known to get down and snog around in a guy's pit before but that's far different then when you see some dude in a tank top and he's got like an entire spare head of hair hanging from his underarms! That's just gross! I've said it before. Hair is like jewelry you can in fact wear too much. Here's hairy me.....





Oh and for the record, I reposted most of the past pictures in my archives section. But don't bother looking because Blogger fuckin bites and my archives are still totally fucked

Tuesday, September 23, 2003

See? I may be crazy but I ain't stoopid....


Your archive files are being successfully updated. This was verified by
downloading the June 2003 archive file onto my station and viewing its
content. All edits mentioned in your last message have been published. The
problem is, the wrong archive file 'version' is being served when you
click on the archive link.

This problem is the result of a temporary server outage we experienced
early this morning. Our developers are currently working to get the
problem fixed as soon as possible. When this issue is resolved, you will
see the changes in your archive file.

- Steve
assholes

My e-mail to Blogger.com:
I am trying to republish archives as I upload pictures directly to the
blog and make some edits. The changes are taking effect in the archives
when I'm in edit mode but they won't republish correctly. I have tried
rebublishing the entire site as well as just the archive I'm working on. I
have logged on using several different browsers to see the current site
and none of my changes show up. There are a few things I don't want people
to see anymore and other things I now do....

Their e-mail to me:

I checked your blog and it appears to be publishing correctly. On
occasion, there can be a delay of several minutes between publishing your
blog and your changes being visible on your website.


Best Regards,

Steve


My answer:
(sigh)

In the entry dated Sunday, June 1. I deleted the very last line including the picture link. The edit appears in my edit your blog page but the last line is still on the public weblog

In the entry dated Wednesday, June 18. I disabled the link to a picture and embedded the picture into the page instead. The edit appears in my edit your blog page but the picture does not appear on the page and the link remains

In the entry dated Wednesday, July 18. I disabled the link to a picture and embedded the picture into the page instead. The edit appears in my edit your blog page but the picture does not appear on the page and the link remains

In other words you are wrong the archives are not publishing correctly. I know there can be a delay between publishing and viewing but these changes were made days ago and again, they show up in my edit page but DO NOT PUBLISH because they ARE NOT THERE. Like I'm retarded or something.

Best regards indeed....

Saturday, September 20, 2003

Mea Culpa

Thank goodness someone took the time to write. I had no idea that you needed a .NET Passport to see the pictures I included with some of my entries. Because I was on my own computer it didn't ask me to sign in so I was clue deficient. And there was nothing on the MSN users page that told me of this (really important) detail. I apologize as I never intended to force anyone to deal with Microscortch. I know some people hate em. And the very idea that you would need a password to spy my shaved white ass is against everything I hold dear. As to why some of you are signing in and still not getting a picture, I dunno. But no matter. As god as my witness I will take all the pictures and link them directly on the blog a la the gorgeous ass shot *lick* below. I want to add some commentary to some so be patient I will start today but it may take some time.

Some way bad news out of Buffalo but it's still developing so I don't want to comment yet. Send some love that way and see if it helps.

Wednesday, September 17, 2003

Welcome.

Just my way of saying hello. And no, it isn't me. But it does bring a tear of joy to my eye. Thank you god

Tuesday, September 16, 2003

What to Do, What to Do...

I'm faced with a dilemma.

This story starts a few days ago as I was fucking around reading some of the blogs I check regularly. Yes, I have some favorites I have bookmarked. I edit the list periodically depending on who I find interesting or fuckable or fabulous or outrageous. Many have fallen from favor with me as they reveal themselves to be charlatans or quite frankly boring. Remind me to publish a current list of blogs I read. So I'm clickin and reading and follow a link to an escort's diary. Now, I had been vaguely aware of Devon's diary since it was added to one of my favorite sites a while ago. (and I freely confess to reading Hoo Boy's site partly as a research/job necessity, partly cause the voyeur in me loves to read who's doing what with/to/in who(m).) I had read excerpts from the diary months ago but it didn't click with me then. This time, I was hooked. I wasn't too far into it when I became convinced that somehow, my little corner of 58th st was going to pop up here somewhere. You just know, ya know? At least I frequently do. So color me not surprised when a mere two or three pages into the damn thing I find this:

My London correspondent has been urging me since I started traveling to New York for work to visit The Townhouse, a bar where gentlemen of a certain age go to meet gentlemen of a significantly younger age. The other week while I was in New York a client and I decided to stop in there after dinner, but we were turned away. Not because we were wearing shorts on what was, after all, a warm summer evening, but because I was wearing a black sleeveless shirt.

"Could I at least use the restroom?" asked my short-sleeved client, and the doorman, who was very courteous about turning us away, let him in.

As I waited, this little tart in a much tighter, much slinker shirt -- but one with (very) short sleeve -- sashayed up, and was admitted. Well!


Well you know I couldn't resist reaching out and touching young Devon about this subject. You can follow the link to his diary where he posted the bulk of my response as well as my invitation to say hello and buy him a drink. (legendary? I don't think so but thanks) Lo and behold Sunday came and around 1am who pops up asking for me but the Dev-ster hisself. We had a drink and shot the breeze ( I babbled a bit). I was a little preoccupied as we were moving into the closing down portion of the evening (it takes two hours or so). But I found him to be very charming and open and able to talk about a variety of subjects, many of which I had already read about in his diary. He makes eye contact often which, I guess, in his line of work, is a skill you learn. I caught him yawning twice which, for my own ego, I will take to mean he was tired. I wasn't really looking for anything beyond a drink and a chat which was what I got. All in all an obviously smart, nice man.

Here's the funny part. My staff just got all a 'twitter after he left and started peppering me with questions. Who was that? He was cute, where'd you meet him? etc. You see, they rarely see their spinster Duchess, talking to someone closer to my age and they rarer still see me sitting down chatting with an eligable bachelorette. You'd think that with my job I would meet all kinds of men/boys/rentboys but nothing could be further from the truth. I suppose if I was a little more predatory and just wanted dick I could exploit my position a bit and score more fucking but honestly, whenever I do spy a guy I might be into, they're usually a bit younger than me and then you're always thinking is he working me or "working" me and my ego can't take the risk that a cute guy is talking to me only hoping I'll pay him for sex. I still hold out hope that I can meet a guy that really does want to see me naked. And you really don't want/need to get mixed up with the boys that like you for an hour anyway because you never know who would try to exploit the situation and you always want to be in the position of being able to toss said "taxi-dancer" out onto 58th st. if he gets out of line. Best not to mix fucking and managing. Anyhow, I shocked my staff completely by being totally honest about who Devon was and how he came to show up there. Further solidifying my staff's opinion that I'm just not right.

So here's my dilemma. As you've seen by now assuming you've followed the link to his site, Devon has graciously offered to pop a link to my little blog up on his blog. At first blush, the exhibitionist in me went "fuck, yeah!" Devon's site gets hits in the thousands. And being linked to Hoo Boy's site adds untold links. Part of me loves the idea of reaching that many people. And this is a public weblog. I'm linked already on NYC Bloggers and other gay blogsites. Over 650 people have at least visited me already and I've gotten 3 (count em, 3!) fan e-mails. But another part of me kicked in and went "Whoa, slow down there, Helen." This will take me public. Real public. And I have some intensely personal posts on my blog. About being HIV+. About the love affair that was totally one-sided. And while I have already decided to be a little more open about my HIV status (not that I was covering it up, but I was keeping it more private) the idea of potentially casting my guts onto the internet has me spooked. Me, of all people!. Who thinks nothing of sending out naked self portraits when asked. I don't know though, this is different. This is inviting thousands of people to lift up my skirt and have a look. This is taking a risk that people will dope out who is who in my anonymous blog and take it upon themselves to discuss that fact. Understand, that risk already exists in that I'm already on-line. But the small risk appeals to me. And the blog was always about giving me a forum to express myself in an honest way. And I've done that. I'm not embarassed, just scared. But this whole year has been about facing my fears hasn't it?

Sunday, September 14, 2003

Clean Up, Aisle 6!
As we attempt to veer this chronicle in a happier direction. Some thoughts and events that need saying and exploring.

That window installation finally happened in my bedroom. He seemed to do a pretty good job and managed to not trash my bedroom in the process. So as not to totally disappoint me The New "Super" returned a few days later to seal the window and there are now great gobs of hard foam insulation hanging off the window high above Second Ave. It looks like crap. All is right with the world.

I've decided to try to barter my digital video cam on Craigslist for a laptop. I paid over $600 for the thing and I've used it like five times. And as much as I'm enjoying writing this in front of my open newly repaired window I'd rather be in Push on 23rd street looking at the hot ass of the coffee shop busboy.

My apartment is filthy. I need to clean from the front door to the avenue. Next week, in anticipation of the arrival of our new room mate. The Ex's friend, Al Coholic is moving to NY and staying with us for a few months (forever would not surprise me).
This oughta be interesting.

I had sex last week. It was........ fine. He was very cute and I was very horny.

I want to take some new self pix this week. If they come out good you can finally see how hot I am.

I got a couple responses this week to resumes I've been sending out. No interviews yet and certainly no offers. I need to examine my feelings once and for all regarding my job and the money I make (or in my case don't make) and how it all relates to........

Neo called. I was about to call him, naturally. He leaves for Hawaii for a wedding today but P---- mom died and he was torn as to what to do or how. Oh, and he broke up with L----. (sigh)

I am the subject of a scurrilous rumor regarding one of The Hellcats. Apparently, the reason he can be such a fuck up what with being late, missing shifts etc. is because we're fucking. Although I love being the subject of a rumor like that I'm a little insulted and highly amused. I've presented myself to The Girls as a spiritual and honest person, and that is how I'm trying to live my life. I do however know the way to the devious manipulator I was and the very idea that I would leave such an obvious sloppy trail is a little insulting.



I went to the San Gennaro festival on Friday. We had a dinner planned so I'm going to have to go back this week and eat my way from one end to the other. Some pictures that made me go hmmmm.........





Sunday, September 07, 2003

Hate Me I Don't Care

This was in the news recently. I have mentioned on many occasions how deeply I was affected by the destruction of the World Trade Center. For the record, I hate hate hate this new trend of giving serious and monumental acts/wars/events a catchy, easy to reference name, a McName if you will so you won't have me referring to this horrific destruction as 9/11. As a city and as people we have been and we continue to be affected by the aftermath of this tragedy.

Having said that, and after being fed a steady and increasing stream of memorials and planned tributes and news coverage for next week being hyped in advance. I find myself taking the unpopular position of saying enough is enough! This ridiculousness about a memorial and this obsession with "the footprint" is just another way for people who can't move on to stay where they are. And I'll tell you why. It started in Oklahoma City. It continued in Columbine. And then it moved right on in and parked itself on lower Manhattan. It's an American need to "me too" everything and I'll tell you an ugly little truth. It's a way for people to get attention. The Oklahoma City terrorist (home grown - USA! USA!) attack was an awful heinous moment in time. And then the cameras and the reporters came and peoples suffering appeared on Oprah and well, if it gets you on Oprah it has to be important. And then the Memorial. Oh god, the Memorial. It's sweeping and majestic and somehow manages to tastefully convey the pain of those that were left behind and it will keep our lost blah blah blah blah. And suddenly everybody needs to have a memorial. And it absolutely must be sweeping and majestic. The shuttle astronauts need a memorial. The WW2 veterans need a memorial. The Japanese holding camp survivors need a memorial. sweeping and majestic , natch. So of course we have to have a memorial for the victims of the World Trade Center Destruction. And another in the field where the plane went down. And they must be sweeping. And majestic. And most of all bigger! To signify our big errrr pain. Yeah, that's it! When all it really is is a bunch of people who have figured out if they make the right kind of noise about the right subject at the right time somebody may stick a microphone in your face because otherwise nobody was ever going to care one whit what you had to say about any subject so you get this:

"An irreplaceable part of our American heritage is being systematically destroyed," said protester Beverly Eckert, who lost her husband in the 2001 attacks.

What the hell does that mean? When did the outline of a previously standing building become a part of my American heritage? Or yours? Please understand, I'm not suggesting we don't mark the anniversary next week. And I'm not suggesting that we don't build the most beautiful memorial we know how to build on the site. Let's build a big damn over the top only in New York "memorial this, Oklahoma City" memorial. But it really doesn't interest me if it's on the whole footprint, or half the footprint, or the big toe. And I suspect, it doesn't really matter to the victims' families either. Not really. But the press can't interview indifference. And they don't ask you questions about how you're healing. Although they should. As for this nonsense about the site being hallowed ground now. You know what your likely to find if you dig around lower Manhattan? Well, there'd be a layer of black people killed during a Great Moment in New York History. Below that, a layer of dead Indians. Uh-huh. Yeah. We killed 'em. Dead. What did we do? Built buildings on it. Apparently it only became consecrated ground when white people earning 75k or more driving a Lexus died there. (hops off high horse).

Which leads us here. I'm so sorry for this families' pain. But what is this goulish desire for a body part to bury? To the point where you wait two full years to have a service and then bury a vial of blood? Has our reaction to death and loss become so ritualized that we can't begin to mourn and maybe heal without some set ceremony some set of rules that must be followed? I need no such ceremony to understand the finality of death. When my sister died several years ago I didn't need to see her bloated body in a casket to know my neice's mother wasn't coming back. As I said at her eulogy, death, any death diminishes us all. You need to acknowledge that fact and take the time to mark and celebrate the life of the person you have lost. And then you need to say goodbye. But that doesn't have to happen
at a $10,000. funeral with bagpipes playing and people flailing themselves across coffins. You don't become a man in the age of AIDS without at least shaking the hand of the Grim (it's the outfit) Reaper and asking him to come back another day, thanks. The ritual of death is not the point. Saying I'll miss you and goodbye is. And two years is too long to wait to say it. The body never mattered. The spirit within did.

We need to keep some things in mind as well. Instead of getting all bogged down in the footprint and the memorial (sweeping and majestic though it be), we would do well to remember we're living on an island here. Space is limited. Nine million of us have to live and work and survive here every day. Because that's what we all are. Survivors. And if you really want to show the world something impressive, take the space that used to be a symbol (some say) of America's greed and avarice and our monument to all things biggest, and build a shitload of affordable housing on it. American's will move in fuck like bunnies and make more Americans. And won't that frost some Iraqi butt?

Wednesday, September 03, 2003

Holiday? What freakin Holiday?

Hoo lawdy! While the rest of America took a long weekend, as usual, that meant I was gonna have to work. And let me tell you child, I worked for you muthafuckin bitches!

Well, the Labor Day holiday weekend is over. Typical of all American holidays the name of the holiday has almost nothing to do with the holiday indeed, most of the country does jack shit this weekend. I guess it just sounds better than National Get Drunk, Barbeque Some Cow and Beat Your Wife Day. Add in another weekend of cloudy skies and rain and well, this holiday weekend was much like Memorial Day (where we remember nothing and no one). Except we were stupid busy at the bar. Jabba The Drunk was still on vacation and I was on the late shift and was already tired from the get-go as I spent the week arranging for repairs and liquor delivery and running out to Office Depot because we ran out of ink cartridges for the register and what do we do? Being in charge can really suck sometimes. I was at work even when I wasn’t at work. So for four days I was butt up against various and sundry drinkers/drunks and gay men of various ages and let me tell ya…….ya’ll are a bunch of fuckin freaks! Which brings me to the reason for this post. Inappropriate Public Behavior.

There I am standing at the bar at 3am. I got my manager mojo goin and I’m scopin out the bar, listening to the piano, checkin things out. I see one of our weekend drunks starting to walk across the room. Now, this motherfucker is the fuckin poster child for IPB. As the night progresses and he gets more and more vodka in him this old freak will break into private conversations, he’ll start singing (badly) to you, he’ll tell you jokes that all have one thing in common-they’re wildly unfunny. So it was with a little internal “oh, no” that I saw this booze bag make a very wide arc across the room and head unmistakably for me. Wondering what the hell he wanted but braced for anything I didn’t even look at him. “I betchu haf a verrry bigg dick” he slurred. Now this is what I’m talking about. IPB. What series of thoughts or decisions or combination of alcohol and sorely lacking social skills does it take for a grown man to walk across a room and speculate to another grown man about the size of his dick? (it’s pretty big, by the way. tee hee) Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a prude or anything but really, what did he hope to accomplish? “Yes, very drunk old man. I do have a big dick thanks for asking. Would you like me to lay it on the bar right now? Or better yet, why don’t I finish work now and take you 40 blocks downtown to my apartment. I can help you navigate the stairs and then pour you in. You’ll be too shit-faced to do anything but at least my sheets will reek of cigarettes because you do. Hey, maybe you can pee on my bathroom floor. Aw, skip it, just piss right on me right now.” For that matter how smart is it to make an ass out of yourself to the bar manager?

Next night, it’s Saturday I think. Again around 2:30 am. I notice some younger Asian boys working the room. I notice, because I’m trying to see if they’re working the room or “working” the room. I decide that nothing is horribly awry. At some point, one very much older man has paired off with a very young Asian boy and they have moved to a couch outside my office in between the bars. IN PUBLIC. As I do more and more as the night goes on I head for my office for some nameless, mindless task. As I look to the tableau on my left I see said very old man kneading the crotch of said young Asian boy. Now when I say kneading the crotch, please don’t think I mean he was kissing him and his hand brushed his dick. I don’t mean they were talking and he rested his fingers up a little too high. I mean this man was kneading this crotch, repeatedly. Had it been dough he would have been halfway to bread by then. And by the way, what did he hope to find there I mean come on, the kid’s Asian! All I could do was roll my eyes and keep walking as a half-assed attempt was made to stop what they were doing. At least the first time I walked by. Once they realized I wasn’t going to say anything they made pizza with abandon. I stopped paying attention after that.
But again, IPB. First and most obvious, hey you dirty old man you what the hell are you doing feeling up that young boy. I realize that he’s letting you and for most guys that’s enough and obviously since he is letting you he is either a) pretty drunk and not worried about a thing b) one of those young guys who have a thing (fetish) for the smell of Super Poli Grip or c) he’s judged you to be at least able to get together the $150 it’s gonna take to close this deal. Either way what is it that makes a grown man sit on a couch in public directly under a chandelier in between two end tables and two very tasteful lamps and stroke a little Asian stiffy in front of anyone who is walking by? That’s what dark doorways and hotel rooms are for. If I was with a guy that started to disrespect me in public and try to grab at my cock for everyone to see I’d be more than a little insulted. Turned on, but insulted.

Same subject, new example. We have a regular customer that comes in several times a week. He sings to himself. Italian opera. The whole time he’s there. When I say sings to himself I mean out loud. Just loudly enough that you can just…..barely…..hear. Is that Opera? Why, yes it is. Italian opera if I’m not mistaken. Now this particular IPB I find truly baffling. Isn’t there a point at which you would say to yourself hey, is that Italian opera I’m singing? When did I start doing that? Is anyone else singing Italian opera? Why no, no they’re not. I wonder if anyone thinks it’s odd that I sing Italian opera all the time. It does seem odd, perhaps I’ll stop it. But not this guy. And don’t even get me started on Tai Chi Guy.