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Jason Rimbaud

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  1. Jason Rimbaud
    "It's not that I didn't like the gift..."
    "You don't," Ron interrupted while flipping through a magazine.
    "Right, but he doesn't have to know that."
    "He will figure it out when you never wear it and it goes the way the rest of his gifts have gone," Ron said, gesturing towards the closet.
    "It's our fifth year anniversary, that deserves something more romantic than a brown coat and an even plainer brown scarf," Daniel exclaimed, pushing his hair off his forehead.
    "It could have been worse you know."
    "Really. How?"
    "Remember the animal print top he bought you two years ago," Ron said, putting the magazine down on his lap. "What kind of animal was that again?"
    "Zebra."
    "Right, that would have been worse. A zebra printed coat."
    "Sometimes I wonder if he is even gay."
    "I doubt that," Ron said as he busied himself with his magazine. "I see how you walk into the kitchen the morning after date night."
    "That's what I mean," Daniel stood up angrily. "You shouldn't be privy to our love making sessions."
    "And you shouldn't be calling it 'our love making sessions' either."
    "We use to stay out all night just talking. We'd go out for long walks on the beach under the moonlight. We'd hold hands and make out until the sun came up over the city."
    "And I remember when you thought turtle necks hid your tremendously long neck."
    Daniel ignored him and continued, "Now I cook dinner, he opens a bottle of wine. We snuggle on the couch while watching Alien Encounters before shuffling off to our bed promptly at nine pm where our love making sessions begin and end by nine-thirty."
    "Sounds like a pretty horrible life to me," Ron said as he stood up and looked at his watch. "You have a man that not only puts up with all your crazy insecurities, your family baggage, and still loves you so much there are times I get physically ill being in the same room with you two. Horrible life."
    "You know what I mean," Daniel said as he threw up his hands in frustration. "What if it's over?"
    Ron rolled his eyes. He loved his brother more than anything but there were times it was exhausting listening to his insecurities. "COme on drama queen, we have to go if we are going to make that seven oclock showing."
    "I can't believe he has to work late on our anniversary."
    "Damn," Ron stated as he looked down at his shoe. "I think I have a broken shoelace. Why don't you go get the car and I'll change shoes and meet you down in a minute."
    "Okay."
    The moment the door closed behind Daniel, Ron pulled out his phone and waited for the connection.
    "Is it set?" The voice on the other end asked.
    "My brother the drama queen is heading down as we speak."
    "How mad is he?"
    "You know my brother, he doesn't even know how he feels moment to moment."
    "Thanks again for watching the house this weekend. You are by far my favorite brother in law."
    "I'm your only brother in law weirdo, "Ron said with a laugh. "Have fun in Bermuda."
    Ron returned his phone to his pocket and kicked off his shoes. He sat down on the sofa and put his hands behind his head and sighed loudly. "Finally, some peace and quiet."
  2. Jason Rimbaud
    I should be here more often but my career ( what a weird thing to come from my mouth ) has me full up the last year. As it is, in a weeks time, I'll be leaving San Francisco to open the second restaurant in what I hope is the start of a national brand.
    And though I'm not the owner or investor ( yet ) I am quickly moving up in the new company.
    Can you believe they put me in charge of a multi-million dollar restaurant? And a celebrity Chef too boot.
    How my life has changed in the last five years. I guess sobriety has its uses after all
    Jason ( the happy one )
    PS. I also have a great boyfriend
  3. Jason Rimbaud
    In a forum somewhere on that one site, there was a discussion topic that asked a simple question…Top or Bottom.
    And after reading all the comments in that thread, and believe me you should read them because they are extremely amusing, I decided to reply to that thread and offer up my perspective.
    And then, as one or two of you might know by now, I noticed my reply was getting rather long winded so I decided to answer this question in my blog where there is less of a chance that something I might say would get me in trouble.
    Besides, if you’re reading this blog than you are quite accustom to my long meandering rants that always seem to end before I get to the juicy parts.
    Before I get to the meat of the problem, I want t ask a survey question…Can you make a good top if you’ve never bottomed before?
    I would love to hear your comments about this subject since a few of my friends and I have a long standing argument about this very topic.
    I do know that I will always be grateful to a little punk bottom twink by the name of John for teaching me the difference between a straight top and a gay top. But then I’m getting ahead of myself again.
    If you’re straight, sex with a girl, even anal sex, is vastly different than having sex with a gay bottom. For one, it takes loads more preparation to get the guy ready which always leads to hot foreplay. And two, different positions adds a variety of sensations that changes the dynamic of just lying there on your stomach.
    Now before I go further, I am not a woman so please don’t tell me where I’m wrong with the above sentence. Thanks.
    The absence or presence of lube also changes the feelings for both top and bottom. I guess it depends on the need at the moment of penetration. And maybe the size of the penis that is entering me.
    In my late teens and early twenties, it was usually decided, and almost always in an unspoken action, who would top depending on our respective penis sizes as well as physical size. It was almost like the larger penis meant more of dominance in the bedroom.
    This is probably why my early forays into gay sex, while exciting and orgasmic for me, were usually ones I tended to forget the moment I left the room, or car, or park, or once a bus.
    This lack of memorable sex was also due to my lack of experience with a talented top that knew how to make it pleasurable for the bottom.
    I also observed back then that depending on my mood, whether I wanted to top or bottom, or to be completely truthful whether I was lazy or not, that I was drawn to a certain type of guy for each position. If I wanted to throw my legs over my head I was drawn to a more masculine guy, most of the time older than myself, and one that was more aggressive. If I wanted to have someone’s legs on my shoulders, I looked for a more feminine guy, usually smaller than myself as well as younger.
    Remember this isn’t a broad statement about all guys but my experience. And I am quite experienced in that arena. Some would say I was/am a slut but that’s not what this blog is about now is it?
    Why is it that younger guys tend to love bottoming? I’d love to hear some comments from some younger guys to see if they could shed some light on this subject.
    I know there are loads of younger guys that love to top and have never bottomed before but I found that they were always lackluster in their technique. Though they did make up for this by their sheer exuberance and recharge abilities.
    When I first experienced sex with a guy, and I’m not talking about mutual wanking, dry humping, or oral, it was with an older boy. I was fifteen and he was nineteen.
    In my early teens, I “experimented” with another boy that went to my church. Quite harmless really, games of I’ll show you mine if you show me yours type of thing. There were loads of dry humping, no pun intended but gladly accepted.
    And then, a year later or so, I was working at this trailer park cutting grass, I had my first touch of another boys privates. And this exploration, wanking off one another, lasted the summer. We had two glorious months of shooting in the great outdoors, and in the tool shed, in the pool, and anywhere we could get away with having our privates exposed. But once summer was over, we both with back to our respective schools and never saw each other again.
    My fifteenth year was a year that I will never forget. Caleb, the nineteen year old boy that took my virginity, was the older brother of this boy I met from the public swimming pool. And being the walking boner machine I was back at that age, the moment I saw him in his cut off Levi shorts and his long blonde hair, it was lust at first sight.
    Looking back I now can see he was a total predator but since I was a willing piece of prey, I bear him no ill wishes. I think I pursued him just as strongly as he pursued/seduced me. But that’s a tale for another time as I am currently writing about Top versus Bottom.
    Caleb was that typical “straight” guy that plays around with other guys but never identified with being gay and probably had some reason for rationalizing his gay activities. He never once let me put my cock anywhere near any orifice of his body and only touched it once in all the times we played around.
    But since I was a horny little boy and didn’t know any better, I pretty much let him do anything he wanted to do to my awakening body.
    His favorite position for fucking me was me lying on my stomach with a pillow under my midsection. After barely any preparation, he’d shove it in and thrust away. I’m sure he was ashamed of what we were doing because he never wanted to look at my face and he wouldn’t make a sound except for his ragged breathing.
    And he was the quietest guy ever when he came. He’d hold his breath, which was rather loud and always smelled of cigarettes, and he’d do this…half thrusting motion before pulling out and getting off the bed rather quickly. He’d always get dressed right away and then watch me as I finished myself off.
    One time while we were thusly engaged, he kissed the back of my neck but most times the only part of his body that was actually touching me was his cock.
    I do remember the look on his face as he watched me jerk off. It was like he was in pain but he couldn’t take his eyes off me. I once asked him to help me out but he refused very angrily. I was good enough for him to stick his cock inside me but anything else caused him to shut down emotionally.
    Looking back I think he was molested as a child and was relieving some kind of trauma but I’ll never know as I lost track of him a long time ago.
    And I’m not even going to go into penis size because I never really measured Caleb’s cock but I now know it was well below average. I’m sure this is why I didn’t need a lot of preparation and never really had an orgasm when he was topping me. I also can deduce that he wasn’t very experienced sexually with either girls or guys but that’s not the point.
    All I can say was my first sexual intercourse wasn’t very fulfilling and for a time it actually turned me off guys all together.
    The next year I turned sixteen and my next sexual partner was a girl named Christine and she was a demon in the bedroom. Sex with her was downright amazing and in her I found someone who wanted to touch me, kiss me, anywhere and everywhere and demanded that I do the same to her. And for those two months I can honestly say I was happy.
    But sadly it was a summer fling and once she moved away I never saw her again. Oh the summer of my sixteenth year. But I wonder what she’d say if she knew the year before I was letting her best friend’s brother fuck me into straightdom/boredom.
    My next partner was a guy named Brandon, and let me tell you, he was sex on wheels. He was so hot I didn’t care that my first go round with a guy was unfulfilling. I now know that the sex with him wasn’t that good but he made up for it in so many ways. Not only did he love shoving his cock inside me and touched me and kissed me into delirum, he also loved it when I returned the favor. Oh the memories of my first sixty-nine. He was also the first boy that fucked me when I was lying on my back. And after that little bit of magic, I realized that bottoming can be very enjoyable if you have the right partner.
    It feels different, sex with girls as opposed to having sex with guys. And it’s not just about the different bodies, some softer and some harder, hairy or smooth. Guys smell different than girls and I found that most of the time I am attracted to the ways guys smell and turned off by the smell from girls.
    Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always enjoyed my forays into straight sex. And when I have sex with a girl I go all the way, I do oral as well as penetration. Though I must admit I’ve never really figured out the female breasts, most of the time I just leave them alone and focus on the other parts. And not to put down any of my female readers, but guys just give better oral.
    And there is something about giving oral pleasure to a guy that is always exciting and guys seem to just be tighter, on average, than girls and they grip you in a different way. Maybe because with each thrust there is a bit of resistance or maybe it’s just because I’m a gay guy that likes to have sex with other gay guys.
    One of my friends believes that topping is harder work than bottoming and for a long time I tended to disagree. I thought a good bottom was actually the one who controls the speed, angles, and does…or should…do a majority of the work. And then I’ve come to realize in my later years that it takes two talented people to have amazing sex. I know when I’m bottoming I am giving just as much as whoever I allow to penetrate me.
    Sex to me is like a partnership where everything is split down the middle. I’ve grown from my early years when I just laid there like a cold fish and let someone fuck me to an aggressive top that didn’t care about giving pleasure to my partner to where I am today.
    Am I a top or a bottom? That depends on your definition of each term and if there is truly such a distinction. I know I won’t be with a partner that is exclusively one or the other.
  4. Jason Rimbaud
    Personal Questions
    A boring look into the existence of Jason Rimbaud

    In the forums of GayAuthors, in the Games and Humor thread, there is an entry called Personal Questions. Basically it’s a forum game where each person asks a personal question and the next person answers the question before asking his own personal question.

    As I read through all the questions and the replies, I realized that there was numerous questions I would have love to have answered. So I thought it would be a good idea if I took some of those questions and answered them in my Blog for my one loyal reader who might want to know a bit more about me then I have shared thus far in my Blog.

    Basically, I’m out of ideas for Blog Entries so I’m going to pretend that people want to read my answers to these questions they asked other more interesting people.

    So without further interruptions or pointless digressions that go nowhere except to boredom. I give you personal questions as asked by lots of more interesting people to other interesting people.

    What is your favorite item of clothing? You might think this is embarrassing but I have an underwear fetish. And before you get to thinking that I’m some kind of freak and that your laundry isn’t safe in the dryer while you run across the street to get a bagel and a chocofrapalatta. You see, I don’t perv on your underwear, no, I perv on my own stash of underwear. And not my dirty underwear either, I like to buy all sorts of underwear. So for the moment, my favorite article of clothing is a pair of Batman boxer briefs, so comfortable against my dangling bits.

    Where was your first kiss? On the lips

    Where was your first kiss? My first kiss happened on a park bench during a summer rain storm with a girl named Michelle. She was also the first person other than me to touch my no-no parts above the jeans.

    What is the one gift you got that you cherish and why? Three years ago for my birthday, “M” bought me an orange fleece Hoodie that is as soft as baby’s tears and as warm as fuzzy bunny slippers. And though “M” is long gone and nothing but a memory, on cold nights I still like putting on that Hoodie and cuddling up in front of the TV.

    What was the last date you went on and how did it go? It was this last Christmas Eve and this great guy took me out to one of my favorite restaurants. We had a great bottle of wine, awesome conversation and then later, because he paid for dinner, I gave it up to him.

    What’s the story behind the worst scar you have? It was the summer I turned twelve and I came up with this brilliant idea that my friend and I should pretend that we were knights of the round table and go on a quest like King Arthur and his Knights. After a few hours of being knights, I decided that I should switch sides. Everything was going great until he swung Excalibur and I forgot to duck. His sword hit my face in a downward slashing motion that started at the top of my right eye, my eyelid, eyeball, and my right cheek. After I got out of the hospital, I realized that I would have to wear corrective lenses for the rest of my life. Luckily, the scar is barely visible.

    What is the one thing you are most proud of accomplishing? My sobriety. I haven’t done as much as a taste of cocaine in five years, three months and six days. And it feels surreal, I can remember telling my therapist all those years ago that I would never do cocaine again and I wouldn’t need a rehab program to do it either. She was very supportive of me but she felt that a rehab program would be something I would need to continue onwards. I don’t recommend that other addicts tackle sobriety the same way I did. I’m just relaying the story how I reached the lowest point in my life and I knew I had to make a change. Everyone must work on their sobriety in their own way.

    What would you say is your sexiest body part and why? Hmm, I guess my one loyal reader might guess that I would say my perfectly shaped cock or maybe I’d describe my prowess of lying on my back. Well, you would be wrong if you thought that my loyal reader. Because the sexiest part of my body is my blue eyes, the only good thing my fuck face father ever gave me.

    How did you imagine your life to be now when you thought about it ten years ago? Ten years ago I probably thought I’d be dead long before I’d make it ten years in the future.

    What is your favorite part of the day? Whenever I make it back to my apartment and close the door behind me and the madness that is humanity is locked out.

    What is something that you do that everyone else thinks is weird? I never sleep with my head against the headboard of any bed. Matter of fact, my own bed is in the center of my room where I can walk around the entire thing. In hotels, I sleep with my head on the foot of the bed with my feet pointed at the headboard.

    What is something that you do that everyone else thinks is weird? Whenever I first try on a pair of shoes I must try the left one on first. I find it very bad luck to put on shoes using your right foot first.

    What is something that you do that everyone else thinks is weird? When doing laundry, if anyone, even my boyfriend, touches my clothes before they are folded and put away and then taken out and put on my body, I have to re-wash them. “M” use to mess with me all the time; he’d open one of my drawers and pretend to touch my clothes.

    If there was one thing about yourself you could change, what would it be? It would definitely be to change my anal retentive behavior. Seriously, do I really have to make sure that all the rooms in my apartment are vacuumed in straight lines in sync with magnetic north? Does it?

    If you had a free pass to have sex with any person in the world, no strings attached and your spouse/significant other was okay with it...who would it be? Considering this question doesn’t specify any person living or dead, I have to go with Elvis. There is just something erotic about the thought of fucking the King of Rock-n-Roll.

    If we were in a relationship and I was breaking up with you what’s the worst possible thing I could do to hurt you...other than physical violence? Share my secrets that I trusted to you with your friends.

    Have you ever been in trouble with the law and if so, what for? I have to just choose one instance. Let’s see, I was once arrested for being drunk in public. I also received a ticket for drinking in public years ago.

    What is the biggest lie you ever told? I once told this really Hot Guy (who I actually quit my job and got a job at his restaurant just so I could be close to him) that his boyfriend was cheating on him. Though now that I think about it, that lie actually came true a few weeks later when I got the boyfriend drunk and had my way with him at a party. Hot Guy and boyfriend broke up a few weeks later and it took me another six months to get Hot Guy to sleep with me. Sadly, a few weeks later I realized that now that I had Hot Guy I didn’t really like him very much so I left him, drunk and passed out at a New Year’s Eve party one of my friends threw and went home with another guy.

    Where was the strangest place you have ever been taken on a date? When I was twenty-one, and trying to be more “normal”, I agreed to go out on a date with a guy instead of just fucking him after too many shots behind the local gay bar. He was a really nice guy and ended up taking me to a Church game night. After the shock of not getting struck by lightning, and using all my willpower not to spill the beans that there was two queers in the middle of “gods house”, I vowed to never try to be “normal” again.

    If you could physically change one part of your body to your complete liking what would it be? My cock, it has just the slightest bend to the right and I would love to be able to make it completely straight.

    What’s the worst nickname you’ve had? Gutter Pants, you can imagine why I’d be named as such.

    If you could go anywhere, where would it be? If I could go anywhere, again no one specified a real place or a fictitious place, so I’d like to go to Heaven and ask god why he’s such a fuck face.

    What’s the biggest secret you’ve ever kept for a friend? That the night before his wedding he came over to my house and the two of us had sex for the last time.

    Do you have parents that stayed together or are you a part of a single or blended family? Hm, a question about my family; I think I’ll pass on this. Well, they were never divorced so I guess I can say they stayed together.

    What’s one thing that you wanna try but too embarrassed to tell anyone about? I’m not embarrassed to tell anyone anything that pops into my little head.

    Who did you look up to growing up? Arthur Rimbaud...if you don’t know who this brilliant writer is, look him up.

    What is your earliest memory? I was around eight years old and the neighbor boy and I use to sneak under my bed and dry hump each other. I have other memories but what fun are they compared to this.

    What is the worst thing you hate/hated about your current/last boyfriend or girlfriend? “M” had the annoying habit of getting food to-go and then leaving it in my refrigerator. I don’t know if he even had the intention of ever eating the bits of crap he left for me to find weeks later.

    How big is your...? Considering who ever asked this question never finished saying how big my “what” is...I’m going to finish it for them. How big is your cock? Big enough to make any guy go gay, if only for a few hours while he is with me.

    What is something that is considered a social norm that you’ve never done? Cry at a funeral.

    What’s your favorite sexual position? It depends if I’m topping or bottoming. Shall I go into details?

    What makes you most nervous? Sitting down one on one with another human being and dropping the walls that keep me safe.

    What type of things do you find funny? Really, that’s a question you want to know. Watching a baby running down the sidewalk before taking a header into the pavement, watching a bicyclist ran into the side of a car, Bill Maher, Tosh.O, any George Carlin CD. I could go on but then I’d start offending you politically correct humans.

    When was the last time you did a random act of kindness and what was it? It was a few months ago, I went to Taco Bell and bought fifty taco’s and passed them out to all the homeless people I saw on my way to work.

    What is the number one thing on your bucket list? I don’t believe in writing bucket lists, I firmly believe that you should never put off something you want to do for a later date. Live like today is your last, always.

    Which is the shortest time it took you to like somebody? Again, this question is open for interpretation. Is it like somebody or like like somebody? So I’ll answer however I want. His name was Jason, some of you might recognize the name, and I remember the first day I met him. I looked at him, he smiled, and I asked if he wanted to smoke a cigarette with me, we went outside and by the time we came back inside, we were fast friends.

    What is your favorite comfort food? Now, remember, comfort food could take whatever form brings you comfort. And my comfort food is sautéed asparagus. It brings me back to when I was a kid, before the devil gay inside me came out to play, when my parents still loved me. We use to sit around the dinner table, laughing and talking, just being a family.

    Where is the craziest place you’ve had sex? I wonder if you’d believe me if I actually told you the craziest place...this guy named John and I once had sex on a public bus around 1am one night. We had just left the bar and were both extremely horny, had a thirty minute bus ride home, we couldn’t wait. He undid my pants, crawled up on my lap and rode my bent dick all the way home.

    Where is the craziest place you’ve had sex? This guy named John and I, a devout but twisted Catholic, once did the dirty in a confessional booth. And I can honestly say that was the most intense sex I’ve ever had, it was amazing.

    What is the happiest moment in your life? I’m still searching for that moment. Because each time I think I achieved that moment, something else that is equally brilliant happens and takes it place.

    What’s the worst thing anyone could do to you? Make me fall in love and then turn their back on me. That would crush me in ways that would destroy even someone as jaded as I.

    When it comes down to it, what is your ultimate dream life? My dream life is one that I cannot recognize or achieve so it’s best not to think about it.

    Do you have a good relationship with your parents? Laughing, I’m laughing at this question.

    Have you ever smoked marijuana? Exactly three times I smoked pot and ate brownies three times. I am not a fan of cannabis. But I’m not against anyone smoking it.

    What’s the worst thing that has happened to you? Sobriety...it has given me the means to look back at a life filled with regrets with none of the tools to medicate the memories.

    If you could murder someone and get away with it, would you? Yes, without even thinking about it. I’d kill my father. Sometimes I wish tombstones could talk back.

    What do you consider your biggest failing? That even after all these years, my fuck face dead father still affects me.

    Would you ever trust your online boyfriend with money? Never. Mainly because I’d never have an online boyfriend because I’m not delusional and can get a guy in real life.

    If you could have one wish (for yourself alone) what would it be? I’d wish my family didn’t hate the fact that the person I love has a cock just like me.

    Are you happy with your life now? Mostly.

    Do you like peanut butter? Not on sandwiches but peanut butter is always fun to have lying around the bedroom if you get my drift.

    Have you ever stolen anything? Yes, and let’s leave it at that shall we.

    What is the one thing you wish people to remember you for? That I was honest...well almost.

    Have you ever shaved “down there”? I’ve shaved down there, up there, around there, pretty much anywhere, not a fan of body hair.

    When was the last time you questioned your own motives for doing something and why? I don’t question my motives; I usually just go with the flow. Why question things I’m going to do anyway?

    What is the one thing you wish you had said to someone, but couldn’t bring yourself too? “M”, I’m sorry.

    What is your favorite color? Blue if its shirts and such...black if it’s coats and pants, and red if it’s underwears.

    Where are you ticklish? Why don’t you come over and I’ll let you find out.

    What other windows do you have open right now? Awesomedude.com, AuthorsHaunt.com, GayAuthors.org, and HomoEmo.com. I really hope further down they don’t ask what I’m doing right now.

    Do you sing in the shower? Yes, in the shower, on the toilet, in the car, on the train, on the street, on stage, pretty much anywhere except work. Though I guess I sing at work sometimes as well.

    What time of the day do you usually get the most done? After midnight usually, I love the quiet time of the night after the weirdo’s go to bed.

    How many sex toys do you have? Three, not sure if I should disclose which type of toys I own...fleshlight, vibrator, and duel headed dildo.

    What’s the most creative thing you do? Answer these questions.

    What is your favorite meal to make for someone else? Chinese food, it always leaves them wanting more in a few hours.

    When was the last time you said, “I’m sorry” and why? Christmas Day, after getting an amazing blowjob and I couldn’t return the favor due to consuming too much egg nog that had my insides running in circles. Matter of fact, after several I’m sorry’s, I ran out of his apartment and straight into my bathroom for twenty minutes. Not fun.

    Would you rather be the best looking guy in the world or date the best looking guy in the world? After careful thought, I decided I’d rather be the best looking guy in the world. I think dating the best looking guy in the world would drive me crazy wondering if he was going to go out with someone better than me. Yes, much better to be the one cheating on the uggo than the other way around.

    What one trait can you not do without in someone? A sense of humor...because they are going to need it to date me.

    Do you have any songs that remind you of certain people/places/times? Runaway Train by Soul Asylum...several years ago, an ex-boyfriend of mine accused me of always running away whenever I’d get close to someone. He was as usual, right.

    What is the most vivid dream you’ve ever had, and why is it so memorable? I had a very erotic dream about my ex-boyfriend (one that I really wished never got away) and when I woke up, for a few minutes, I thought we were still together and I almost expected him to walk into my room and jump into bed with me. It was rather disappointing when reality came back and I realized it was only a dream.

    Will you be willing to be a surrogate for my baby if I asked you nicely? Never in a million years will I use my baby gravy for anything other than for dripping down someone’s cheek/cheeks. One of the best things about being gay is we never have to have those sick, loud, pooping machines. Why would any gay guy in his right mind ever want to have a family like “them” is beyond me?

    Have you ever wrecked your car? Nope, I’m a good driver.

    What is your favorite movie character and why? It varies depending on my mood. Lately my favorite character is Eric Draven from the movie The Crow. What is more romantic than coming back from the dead to avenge your girlfriend’s murder? I know.

    When did you break your heart the last time and why? I have never broken my heart, I leave that to the men I fall in love with.

    Speaking of punishment, what is the cruelest punishment you’ve received by a mate? One of my ex-boyfriend made me go to his family Christmas dinner one year, sober, because I had promised to go to his nephew’s christening and while he was waiting for me to pick him up I was half-way to Atlantic City to go gambling with my friend, Jason, who was my secret fuck buddy for five years.

    When was the last time you pooped? About seven hours ago. And it was a good one too.
    What was the last dream you had about? Aliens had attacked the earth and my boyfriend and I was driving in the dessert trying to outrun the invaders in a Chevy truck. It was so good I didn’t want to wake up.
    Have you ever tasted your own cum? Really...do I have to answer that? I’m sure my loyal reader could guess the answer to this question.
    What is your biggest regret in life to this point? That I let Jason go without telling him how I felt about him.
    What would you do for $1,000,000.00? Whatever it took.
    Where would you never want to live and why? Texas, because everything and everyone in Texas is fucking crazy.
    What is your favorite sex act? It kind of depends on if I’m a top or a bottom in said sex act.
    Who is your best friend? Daniel, he’s the one person that always makes me feel safe no matter what craziness is encompassing my life.
    What’s the worst thing your parents have ever caught you doing? I was sixteen, and my father caught me bent over the couch getting fucked by a nineteen year old guy. It was also the last thing my parents ever caught me doing.
    What is the last book you bought? Nikki Sixx’s This is Gonna Hurt.
    Who was/is your last crush? Again this question doesn’t specify online, real life, or fantasy so I’m going to answer with my online crush. Though I’ve never seen a picture of him, I have the hugest crush on the author known as Julian. Yummy yummy he is.
    If you could choose to have one superpower, which one would it be? I’d like to be able to fly...then I could chase the sun.
    What scares you? Honesty...the scariest thing on earth.
    What are you wearing right now (underwear too)? A pair of slim fit black jeans, red boxer briefs, and black tank top. I know, boring right.
    Have you ever had sexual intercourse with a female? Yes, more than one time. Every once in a while I feel like sleeping with a girl.
    Where’s the weirdest place you’ve had sex? On top of a fire truck with a paramedic.
    If you could throw everything away, what would it be for? Happiness, true happiness without faking it.
    Which is the shortest time it took you to have an orgasm? It was the day after I first had sex with Jason, he was at work and I was thinking about the time we had. I went to the bathroom and in less than a minute I was rinsing out the sink. It was the most intense I’ve had by myself. And I still remember it though it was years ago.
    Who do you think about when masturbating? It’s always the guy I’m on the prowl for, and never the guy I just fucked.
    What is your ideal man/woman like? Preferably he’s a brunet, around my age, a nerd star that wears glasses, has a sense of humor, and likes me for who I am and not what I project to be.
  5. Jason Rimbaud
    A New and Improved Blog Experience Brought to you by the one and only Jason Rimbaud
    The other day or maybe it was the other week, life has a habit of going by faster than the speed of light and sometimes I feel like I’m being left behind, I was at work and all I could think about was grubbing on some 4 Alarm Hot Wings from my favorite place in the world, SmokeEaters, in downtown San Jose.
    For those of you that watch the Food Network Channel, and more importantly, Man Vs Food Nation, you might have watched the episode where SmokeEaters was featured due to their “world” famous Hot Wing Challenge. If you did watch that episode, then you’ll also know that Man defeated Food in a big way. But that really has nothing to do with this new and improved Blog experience I’m bringing you on this day so I’ll continue on my fairy way.
    Well, I will say, briefly, that if you live in the San Francisco Bay Area and enjoy a good hot wing experience then I urge you to go to San Jose’s SmokeEaters and try them out. Tell them Jason sent you. Though to be truthful, that won’t really do you any good as I have absolutely no pull whatsoever there but maybe if enough people go there saying my name I’ll get a discount. Or better yet, maybe because I’m doing all this “free” advertising they’ll give me free wings for life or something like that.
    Two years ago when I first started my new job in San Francisco, the very first person I hired was a twenty-three year old kid fresh out of culinary school. He was from a wealthy family and much to their chagrin; he was dead set on becoming a Chef with a dream of one day having his own restaurant. He was fresh from school and had zero experience but I saw something in him I liked so I took a chance.
    Now before you say that I hired him based solely on his nerd star looks…I want to set the record straight right now and say that I hired him half on his looks and half on my gut feeling. And over the last two years, my gut proved me right once again and he’s turning into a talented line cook and a future that looks mighty promising.
    I’ll forgo the fact that a few months ago he quit to take a better job with a greater chance at advancement but that’s how life in the service industry goes, you stay only long enough to learn everything you can before moving on to bigger and better things.
    Six months into his tenure, he started dating one of my hostesses. I know it’s never a good idea to date someone where you work but I couldn’t tell him or her that and I knew they’d have to figure that out on their own. So I set back and waited for the inevitable clusterfuck that was sure to ensue.
    For more than a while things between the two of them were proceeding at somewhat of a boring pace and if I were to be truthful, they lasted way longer than I ever thought they would. But once he left our restaurant to pursue his new opportunity with one of his old teachers from culinary school, things started heading south quickly. And much to my dismay, she feels like I’m the one person at work she can trust enough to tell her relationship woes too. I know more about their relationship then I’d care to and some of it is quite disturbing in a dysfunctional kind of way.
    Oh really, what’s so disturbing about it, you might ask.
    For an instance, they had a three-some with one of the other line cooks after a hard nights drinking. Apparently one of her turn-ons is to watch two dudes getting it on. Though on the other side of that coin, one of her turn-off’s is coming home from work early and catching her boyfriend and this same line cook in bed without her. I guess it’s only sexy if she’s there to watch and I guess participate in some way. Though I must admit I’d be pretty pissed if I came home and saw my boyfriend on his back with his legs in the air screaming out, ‘fuck me, fuck me harder you son of a bitch’. But then I might join in, it all depends on my frame of mind on that day.
    So I’m busy at work, busy running around in my new shoes that aren’t quite broken in as of yet and starvin like a marvin. For ten hours straight all I can think or focus on is leaving my restaurant and rushing down to SmokeEaters in San Jose to purchase my favorite flavor 4 Alarm Hot Wings.
    Of course I pretend to pay attention to the eight hundred guests I saw that day. You bet your ass I pretend to care about my employee’s and their numerous personal problems that always seem to crop throughout any given day at our very busy eating establishment in downtown San Francisco. But it’s all a show, my mind is firmly fixated on that burning sensation that is the only thing that can calm the ache that I harbor deep down my insides.
    If the above paragraph seems like a cry for help for a very unhealthy addiction…it’s not. I am fully aware that 4 Alarm Hot Wings from SmokeEaters isn’t necessarily the healthiest of choices when it comes to nutrition but none of that matters. I fully realize that I have this addiction and I actually control it through moderation.
    This practice of moderation is why I am so fixated on 4 Alarm Hot Wings from SmokeEaters on this particular day. At the time of this writing, it had been over two weeks since I had last indulged my addiction and I was starting to get the itch. I’m not quite to the point where I’ll blow some random stranger to get the time to head towards San Jose but I am at the place where I’ll give a Handy J to some random stranger to get the time to go to San Jose.
    Don’t judge me until you ate a million 4 Alarm Hot Wings in my shoes!
    I have been working more than a few hours over the last few weeks, though to be truthful; it’s been over a month since I started writing this Blog Entry. And even now I’m sitting at a bar in the beautiful Luxor Casino in Vegas drinking Absinthe and wondering why I’m sitting alone typing on my laptop.
    It’s 11:00 pm on Thanksgiving Eve and I’m feeling particularly lonely. Maybe it’s because I found one of my ex-friends on FaceBook earlier today and I realized I missed him. Or maybe it’s because I’ve been connecting less and less with real people and withdrawing behind the walls I’ve created over the years. But enough of my pity party, let’s resume the Blog.
    Let’s go back a few weeks. A day that I had decided the time was right to drive the forty minutes to San Jose for several reasons.
    Reason One: we had no late reservations so I figured that I’d leave San Francisco around 10:30PM giving me over an hour and half before SmokeEaters closed. And that was more than enough time to get there and back to my apartment at a decant time before going to bed.
    Reason Two: we have a new Chef and he swears by all that is holy that if I get him some of the 4 Alarm sauce he’ll be able to reproduce it so I can it so I can make it myself alleviating the need to drive to San Jose twice a month.
    And Reason Three (and probably the most important): I’m a full blown junkie and I needed my fix.
    And this is where things get fucked…because I only wanted my 4 Alarm Hot Wings but from the very beginning anything that could go wrong started to go wrong. A couple who were on a first blind date just would not take the hint that we were closed and I had to practically pick them up by the scruff of their necks and throw them out into the street much like you would a cat. And my bartender, beautiful but not very bright, somehow entered the wrong amount for one of his transactions that took me almost an hour to find and correct. Small unrelated instances but I didn’t get to leave the restaurant until 11:25PM.
    By this time I’m frustrated at all straight people and yes, I was judging the whole based on a few, pissed off at my bartender for not taking the time to enter the numbers correctly and seriously thinking that I’d blow Satan himself if there was a way to go back in time so I could go to SmokeEaters in San Jose.
    I arrive at my car at 11:30PM and start the engine. I am at war with myself as I stare into the mirror. Should I point my car south and drive like a bat out of hell or should I admit defeat and make plans to go to SmokeEaters in San Jose another time?
    I know the next day’s reservations are such that leaving before midnight is a pipe dream that only a Republican could believe. So the question is; should I wait three more days to head out at a leisurely pace on my next day off and really take the time to enjoy my 4 Alarm Hot Wings from SmokeEaters?
    I pointed my car south and floored the fucking thing.
    Over the course of my life, I’ve had numerous liaisons with guys that their first names start with the letter J. I don’t know if there is significance or just un-luck. But remember that guy I hired right out of Culinary School, his name was James. And since his girlfriend, my hostess, caught him getting fucked in the ass he is now newly single. And a few weeks ago (as of right now it’s been six weeks) I met him out for a few drinks after work.
    It started out harmless enough, he was bitching about losing his girl and yet excited about the new possibilities of exploring his newfound “bisexualism”. Apparently, with the exception of some mutual wanking in his youth, that was his first time with a guy. And newsflash, he loved it.
    Normally I’m a very defensive driver; I give others the right of way, I use my blinkers, I never tailgate and I always drive the speed limit. So I figured I was due for some more aggressive style of driving than usual. And since I always respect the law of the road, what are the odds of me getting caught driving like some kind of lunatic on a werewolf bender?
    Anybody care to give me the odds on this thinking? Anyone, anyone, Bueller, Bueller?
    So a few other days ago, I’m at my local gas station and I see this large red machine with Coke plastered all over the side of it in the place where the usual fountain soda machine normally sits. I walked over and peered at the screen.
    You read right, I said peered at the screen.
    In the top portion of this Coke machine was a touch screen menu that gave you the options of what type of drink you’d like to purchase in a cup, Coke, Diet Coke, Cherry Coke, etc etc. It was the coolest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.
    Well, it was until I watched this twink getting fisted at a sex club in Vegas last night but that’s another story for another Blog.
    I actually bought a Dr Pepper just so I could play around with this amazing machine.
    But then it got me thinking, we can’t fix the budget, our homeless rate is growing faster than a Republican’s debt, our banking system is on the verge of collapse but hey everyone, we have a touch screen soda machine. I’m glad to see that we have our fucking priorities well in hand. I mean, really, do we have to have a touch screen soda machine?
    There is a restaurant in San Francisco that has an I-Pad on every table. The I-Pad is the menu and you scroll through the food, wine, and cocktail options. When you find what you want, you order it and then someone brings it to your table.
    What’s fucking next? We already have less and less human contact via the internet, now we don’t even have to talk to servers. In ten years, are we even going to remember how to communicate face to face anymore?
    And while I’m on the subject, doesn’t anyone use a fucking phone anymore? Think about it, when’s the last time you actually made a call on your smart device. We use texting (sexting) emails and FaceBook, Twitter, and all the other social media so we don’t have to actually speak to anyone.
    Have you ever felt that the world is just out to get you? That’s how I felt that lonely night driving ninety miles an hour down 101 Southbound. I think every stupid driver was on the freeway that night. From the grandma’s doing forty miles an hour in the fast lane, to drivers hitting their breaks and slowing down to a crawl to gaze at the accident on the other side of the freeway, to road construction that didn’t seem to be constructing anything other than traffic problems and didn’t seem to have a purpose except to narrow down four lanes into one. The traffic was so bad I actually contemplated believing in a god just so I could lament that he/she hates me.
    Even with these crazy road conditions, I was actually making really good time. I’ll admit that I had to drive on the shoulder for a few miles but that’s not really illegal…right?
    At one point in my hyper-motivated journey, I zoomed down an off ramp only to shoot through the intersection and back onto the entrance ramp to get around a large moving van and three buses who thought it was a good idea to drive so slow I could have sworn in open court that they were moving backwards.
    At 11:40PM I call SmokeEaters and place my food order. I promised that I would be there in twenty minutes and to please not close until I get arrive. The young girl said she’d do her best but they lock the doors promptly at midnight.
    My poor little car is purring/growling as I push it to speeds that it was never built to achieve. I’m nearing a hundred miles an hour and it’s starting to shake but I don’t care. Nothing is going to keep me from getting my 4 Alarm Hot Wings from SmokeEaters in San Jose. Nothing.
    Three days ago, I started a fourteen day in a row stretch. I get to the restaurant at 7AM (to get there that early I have to get up at 5AM) and I’ve been leaving the restaurant around 10:30PM while arriving home after midnight. I’m tired, my shoes are now broken in but I’m getting a little bit grumpy.
    The good news, we hired a new manager that starts on Monday (but by the time you actually read this Blog Entry it could be tomorrow or it could have been two weeks ago) and I couldn’t be happier. I think he’s going to be a great addition to our team but since he’s brand new, he can’t be left on his own which is way I have to work forever in a row.
    Now the reason I have to work these crazy hours is our General Manager has taken a much needed vacation for two weeks. And I don’t begrudge him the time off but I am however grumpy as a withdrawing Meth addict that I have to work a hundred hours a day so he can get his freak on with all those Spanish hotties.
    A few weeks ago, I’m pretty sure someone used one of my own poems to tell me to go fuck myself. And if they did, I think that’s pretty fucking cool.
    So you all remember “A”, my friend with benefits that wanted to take it to the next level. Notice I didn’t type that sentence as a question because I know that everyone is fascinated with my life and they hang on my every word.
    Apparently the new and improved Jason is an egomaniac and should be punished for his arrogance. Any takers?
    Anyway, “A” grew tired of my lack of commitment and my neurotic behavior or maybe it was my lack of making time for him and after the both of us were silent for a couple of days, he sends me a text message something to the affect, ‘your poem un-remembered is my favorite one you wrote’. Then he never texted me again.
    If my supposes are correct, he told me he would be better off when I become un-remembered. Can you believe that? He used my own words against me. A part of me wants to contact him again just to see if I’m right in my assumptions.
    Oh well, it was fun while it lasted.
    Update: “A” and I are fucking again.
    I have enough shit going on in my life at the moment that doesn’t include my heavy work load or friends with benefits being mad at me due to my stupidity.
    What do you mean? Are you speaking of trying to get to San Jose? Or are you referring to your ex-employee that just found out the pleasures of being a big ole Mo?
    James and I are at the bar, doing shots and truly having a blast. I’ve gotten him to stop talking about his ex-girlfriend, not for any reason except that I had to hear about their breakup from her and I didn’t want to hear about it again from him. Plus the more I drank the hornier I was getting.
    James and his Ex had a common problem, they still lived together even though they broke up because neither one could afford to move out alone. I’m not sure if I could do that but they are pretty young and broke as a joke.
    Throughout the course of the night, James had made the statement it was hard to hook up with anyone because he didn’t have a place to go. And apparently, he was randy as a goat and looking to open up his experiences with guys.
    The bar closes, we’re drunk, and James starts complaining that he doesn’t want to go home to face her at this moment. So being the nice guy I am, I offer him my couch. And believe it or not, I typed that sentence without cracking a smile once.
    My car is whining and groaning but I’m not letting up as I fly off the San Jose Airport exit. My car’s up on two wheels as I careen down the exit ramp passing other vehicles as if they’re standing still. I’ve got Breaking Benjamin blasting in my ear buds and I’m chain smoking cigarettes like they are my lifeline to normalcy and I’m speeding like Charlie Sheen on a two week bender.
    Off in the distance I can see the St James exit looming ahead like a beacon in the wilderness. I glance at the dashboard clock and see I have about eight minutes to make it to SmokeEaters. I grin wildly and step on the accelerator trying to coax every last ounce of speed from my poor little four cylinder car. I’m so close I can taste the sweet taste of victory. Straight people who wouldn’t leave and stupid beautiful bartenders, zero, and Jason the crazy obsessive addict, one.
    And then I see it, or rather I see a blur…parked on the side of the road like some vengeful angel out of a Clint Eastwood movie. My dreaded nemesis, a CHP officer better known as a California Highway Patrol fuck face.
    I blow past him at 91 miles an hour in a 65 mile an hour zone. And for a moment I imagine that I’m driving so fast that he can’t see me. Or maybe he was looking down when I screeched by him driving like a man possessed. Or even better, maybe he was one of those lazy CHP officers and he was sleeping off a donut induced high.
    I mean, really, my exit is just right there, I think maybe if I can get off the exit before he starts chasing me I can lose him in the streets of downtown San Jose.
    Then I see the lights on top of his car light up and I imagine I can hear the powerful roar of his engine as he lurches forward after me. I know I’m busted. I’m such an addict there is no way that I’d risk going to jail for trying to evade a police officer…or maybe I’m such an addict that I won’t risk going to jail and not being able to have my 4 Alarm Hot Wings ever again.
    Even as I start slowing down, I refuse to admit defeat when I am this close to achieving my goal. I am forming a plan in my stupid head as I pull off the road and stare longingly at my exit which is only fifty yards away.
    Surely there is something I can say or do, to or for; this CHP officer that will get me out of what I am sure is a hefty fine and maybe even a loss of my driving privileges.
    I can hear some of you right now saying, ‘you’ll get what you deserve, driving like some insane person on the shoulder of the road, darting on and off exit ramps just to pass cars, speeding past police officers’.
    Don’t you worry, I hear you loud and clear, you think I deserve a ticket.
    Well, fuck you, I don’t. I’m a good person on the inside. It’s the fucking 4 Alarm Hot Wings I tell you.
    The CHP fuck face pulls up behind my stopped car and I’m frantically trying to come with something, anything to tell this guy when he asks why I was driving so recklessly.
    ‘Really officer, I didn’t know how fast I was going’, ‘I’m sorry I was speeding but I have to go to the bathroom so bad I’m afraid I’ll soil myself any moment,’ ‘I heading for the hospital, my uncle was in a bad accident and he wants to see me one last time before he passes,’ ‘I’ll do anything if you let me go…and I mean anything’.
    These are just a few of the better scenarios that flashed in y feeble head as fuck face slowly approaches the passenger side of my car (who by the way is quite happy that I finally stopped pushing it so hard I imagine I can hear my car breathing heavily).
    “Good evening sir, where are you headed tonight in such a hurry?”
    If I ever needed to be quick on my feet, now was that time. I look over at him, squinting because he’s shining a flashlight (that’s not fleshlight you pervs) on what could only be a dumbfounded look on my face. I open my mouth and this is what fell out…
    “I know I was speeding and believe me I’m really really sorry. I’ve never even had so much as a single speeding ticket in all my years driving but my wife is pregnant and she had this stupid late night craving for hot wings from SmokeEaters. I tried to tell her that they close at midnight and there was no way I could drive from San Francisco in thirty minutes.”
    Now as I’m blurting this out in short strangled gasping breaths, I am getting my registration and insurance card from my glove box to give to the fuck face. But I’m not done; I continue spewing forth this shit…
    “But then she started saying that I didn’t love her because I wouldn’t drive to San Jose and how bad of a husband I am because it was really all my fault that she is now fat and that her ankles have swollen up to the size of grapefruits and no one is going to find her attractive again. And that if I really loved her I would do whatever it took to get her hot wings from SmokeEaters. After all it was my sperms fault that she’s pregnant, right? Like I’m the one that forgot to take her birth control pills? Does this look like it’s my idea?”
    “Um…”
    “I know I was speeding but I only have four minutes to make it to SmokeEaters before they close and I’m afraid if I go home without these hot wings my wife is going to hate me for the rest of my life. Is there any way possible that you could follow me to SmokeEaters so I can get her hot wings? Afterwards you can take me to jail or give me a ticket? And believe me, right now I’m not sure which one of those options is more attractive at this moment but anything you could do would be amazing and I’m so sorry but she’s driving me fucking crazy.”
    I finally take a breath and stare at fuck face with what I hope is a broken face.
    No we all know the internet is no place for truth but I swear this CHP officer stare at me for a good minute before he asks this question, ‘how much of what you just told me is true?’
    I grin, “not very much.”
    James and I ended up back at my apartment watching American Dad on Adult Swim. And me being the good host, I offered him a beverage. We settled on cognac and cigars on the patio. I was regaling him with some of my funnier stories from my past exploits and he was filling me in on growing up with a silver spoon in his mouth. Who would’ve known he was so much more than a pretty face. Don’t get me wrong, his face is more than pretty enough but he was easy to talk too.
    I’m not sure when we decided to call it a night but I do know sometime before the sun came up we were standing in my living room staring at my couch. Apparently my leather couch would give him a rash if he slept on it, and there was no way in hell I was going to sleep on my couch when I have a comfy bed to sleep on/in. So I made him a deal…
    “You can sleep in my bed but you have to shower first, you stink like last year’s garbage and tonight’s kitchen grease.”
    Seriously, I didn’t have an ulterior motive for getting him all wet and naked in my room. There really was no freaking way in hell he was sleeping in my bed before scrubbing away the kitchen smell and ball sweat from his working ten hours in a hot kitchen.
    So we took turns showering and after we were fresh faced scrubbed I turned off the lights and crawled into bed next to him. I’m not sure why he asked for a pair of shorts to sleep in, the lights weren’t turned off for more than a minute before those shorts flew across the room and we got all sweaty again.
    But after hearing about the time she caught him in bed with another guy so many times, I thought it was pretty ironic that it wasn’t long before his legs were resting on my shoulders and he was screaming out, ‘fuck me, fuck me harder you son of a bitch’.
  6. Jason Rimbaud
    How’s it going?
    What, not a good enough opening for you? I concur.
    Howdy!
    What, too hickish? Okay.
    What’s up peeps?
    What, too street for you? Check.
    Where’s all my bitches at?
    I could go on but what’s the point. Fuck it.
    So the other day I picked up a little train twink from the train. Well, to be more accurate, I got picked up by a little twink boy the other day on the train.
    My life has been running smooth on all cylinders for the last few weeks. Now that I’m single, I have fallen into a comfortable routine revolving around work and an atom sized social life. I force myself to go out at least once a week with “friends” whether I feel like it or not. This seems to be working as I find myself in a better frame of mind than I have been the last few months.
    What else? I picked up a friend with benefits that has kept my sex life moving forward.
    Question: Is sex usually mind-blowing fresh out of the gate? Or do you find that sex at first is awkward only to improve as you become more familiar or open with your partner?
    Last Friday night on the way home from work, I saw the funniest shit ever and if I wouldn’t have been a direct witness, I would never have believed it. I mean I’ve seen shit like this in a movie but I never thought I’d see it firsthand, live and in Technicolor as they said back in the days.
    Which is such a stupid phrase, is it not? What does it mean, back in the day? And is there a special day they are referring too or are there numerous “back in the days” reference points? And if there are, who keeps track of all those events? Can anyone answer that for me, please?
    It was 11:30 at night, I had just finished a thirteen hour day followed by an hour train ride to my car, followed by a twenty-minute drive home. And before you ask, yes, I was very tired.
    After I exited off 101 Southbound I headed west before making a left turn on a fairly busy street. A street that stays busy even at 11:30 at night. So as I turned left, you can imagine my surprise when I see a 40ish Latino man running down the center of the street. Okay, running might not be the best description; he was shuffling down the center of the street and every few steps one of his feet would stamp down on the pavement. Of course I was curious as to the reason behind this odd behavior so I slowed down as I passed him. And that’s when I saw it…
    A few weeks ago, I met this guy on Grindr…I have since deleted my account as it was fun for a while but I quickly became bored with all the freaks that populate Grindr land…I’ll call him “A” for now so you have a frame of reference. From the moment “A’s” lips touched…err…came into contact…err…sucked my cock, I knew I found something special.
    You see, from the very beginning, sex with “A” was amazing. And each encounter since that first time, it seems to get more and more intense. And quite unlike myselves, with “A”, I am usually the bottom.
    Maybe it’s because he’s older than me…maybe it’s because my expectations were that low when we first met…maybe it’s because it’s just not about the sex with “A”…or maybe it’s because I’m just that good that whomever I decide to fuck gets better just by being with me.
    I would now like to offer a disclaimer: the above statement is made with my tongue firmly pressed up against my cheek. Even I’m not that arrogant…usually.
    I had to report for work a bit earlier than usual due to a 9:30 am meeting the owners called for all the managers, front and back of house. So instead of catching the 10:02 train like I usually do every day, I had to catch the 8:02 train.
    Here’s the part of this tale where I’ll explain I am so frigging happy that I don’t have to do that on a daily basis. If I had to go to work every day crammed inside a metal tube with hundreds of cranky humans sipping on their morning coffee like its crack cocaine, I would probably put a gun to my mouth and get it over with. Though if it weren’t for that early morning meeting, or the fact that train was packed to the brim, then train twink and I might not have ever met. So hurrah and some other stuff.
    Two months ago, I had the opportunity to partake in a killer writing project hosted by Awesome Dude and put together by the wonderful and talented emu known as Camy. And since I’m not sure if the details of that project are public yet, I’ll not say what it is but it’s going to be freaking sweet. Anyway…
    Once upon a time I was a fairly prolific writer on line. And over at Author’s Haunt, I have a handful of short stories, thirty or so poems, and who can discount my Blog, which I use to post in four or five times a month. I’m not sure when I lost the time or the drive to write but I’ve been pretty quiet the last two years or so.
    But all that changed two months ago when I first found out about this writing project. Suddenly the fire was back and I started writing again like a madman. But unlike before, I wasn’t writing poetry or even Blog entries, I was creating original fiction again like I use to back in my youth.
    Unfortunately I didn’t make the deadline for that Awesome writing project, but I’ve been writing my crusty balls off and have over fifty-thousand words written at present. I’m fucking stoked and I can’t wait to get it finished so I can offer my one loyal reader a new story to dislike.
    As I slowed down to stare at the 40ish Latino man, and I swear on my bald head this is true, I realized that he was chasing what I can only assume was a twenty dollar bill that the wind kept just out of his reach. And he was laughing his balls off, as if to say that he couldn’t believe this was happening to him. He would shuffle forward a few steps, stamp his foot down in a poor attempt to capture the wayward bill, only to have the wind push it a few more feet away.
    I damn near crashed my car as I drove past him due to my laughter. It was only after I parked my car that I could’ve kicked myself in the taint for not capturing the whole thing on video to post on YouTube. That would have been the next sensational viral video. But I didn’t capture it on video and there’s still the matter of train twink to convey so I’ll move along.
    Even though sex with “A” is bordering epic…and even though I know he’d like to take it to the next level…I think I’m going to keep it strictly casual for the moment. I threw everything I had into Mark and I’m so not ready to go down that twisted road again anytime soon. But enough about that shithead.
    So I’m sitting in my usual seat on the train, the handicapped sideways so I don’t have to ride backwards seat, and I’m reading a new story by Gay Author’s, Jwolf, called Big Haired Bitches. Have you read it? If not than you should go right now as it’s loads more entertaining than this drivel you’re perusing now. It’s so laugh out loud funny you just might poop yourself.
    Okay, that’s pretty gross, forget I said that.
    So I’m lost in the story and for two stops I don’t even bother to look around the train at the other passengers. But for some reason, at the third stop, I look up when the doors open and in walked this early twenties Asian twink with multicolored hair, skinny jeans, bright pink T-Shirt, and in his hands was a black hoodie. And glasses, this train riding twink was rocking the nerdstar in a way that made things stand up and pay attention.
    In gay years I’m almost 80 and he was so young and so fucking epic hot I broke off eye contact because I didn’t want him to think I was perving on him. Which I so was perving on him. So I turned my head and glanced about the already crowded car to try and cover up my staring.
    At the very next stop, the old smelly lady that was sitting next to me got off the train which left her seat vacant. Even though I’m reading my story I notice out of the corner of my eye a young hip professional looking bitch make a move at the empty seat next to me. But in a move that could’ve been right out of the Matrix, train twink pushed through the crowd that was exiting the train and basically dove into the seat next, lightly crashing into me as he peered at the young hip professional looking bitch with an innocent twinkle in his eye.
    Now she’s glaring at train twink, so intent is her glare I’m surprised that daggers aren’t shooting out of her cold dead eyes. She shifts her gaze over towards me as if to say I should give up my seat. I fight the urge to stick my tongue out at her so instead I kind of shrug and go back to my story.
    But now I can’t focus on Jwolf’s story because I am wondering what train twink is thinking about this situation and then I start imagining what’s rambling around inside young hip professional looking bitch’s ugly fat head. And before you ask, yes, these random thoughts cross my mind all the time at the most inopportune times.
    When “A” and I are fooling around, I blurt out the most random shit. Sometimes it ruins the mood and other times it just makes us lose our rhythm because we’re laughing so hard. I don’t know why these thoughts pop into my head nor do I understand why I can’t stop them from falling out of my mouth. It is what it is.
    Train twink isn’t sitting next to me for longer than two coke fueled heartbeats before his right leg falls against my left leg. I glance over and he’s slouched down in the seat with his head leaned back against the window, his black hoodie crumpled up in his lap, and it looks like he’s sleeping. Well, at least his eyes are closed.
    As I look at him, I wonder if he’s asleep, or if he’s so tired that he doesn’t realize his leg is pressed up against a stranger or if he even cares.
    Either way I move my leg over an inch or so and start reading my story again, though I am now even more distracted because I keep stealing glances at train twink. Two heartbeats later, his leg moves over and again comes to rest against mine. This time there is a bit more pressure in his “resting”, like he wants me to know he’s doing it on purpose. So I relax my leg and let it fall into his.
    You know I don’t hold anything back here so even though I’m a bit embarrassed to admit this, I’m such a horn dog that this little bit of contact makes me feel all warm and fuzzy bunny slippers. I look over at train twink and though his eyes are still closed, he now has a small knowing smile on his face.
    “A” is a really nice guy, seems stable, has a bit of money, a cool apartment filled with nice things, incredible in the horizontal games we play a few nights a week, and a blast to hang out with. I think I would have a hard time finding someone better.
    And it’s shocking to think we met on a hook-up site like Grindr. Which makes me wonder if he’s still trolling Grindr, I only see him a few times a week, and if he’s as randy as I, he had to be finding fun elsewhere like I am.
    Since I was a little boy, I’ve always been intrigued by the story of Peter Pan. And it’s not that I want to remain a boy forever nor is it because I really believe of Peter Pan is nothing but one long homoerotic tale.
    I think the main reason Peter Pan holds my fascination is what I feel was left out of the story. The idea behind this story is dark, really dark. We have a pirate that is obsessed with “killing” Peter Pan, we have the lost boys that sleep together in a tree content to “play” with each other for the rest of time, magic, fairies, and treasure. It’s a faggot’s delight.
    For going on twenty years I have an idea for a story based on the world and characters of Peter Pan, or at least the world as I have imagined it would have been had this story not been written for kids. In some of my more creative moments I wrote down all these ideas and outlined the story and I must say, I have some really good ideas strung together. And if I didn’t think so strongly against writing fan fiction I might sit down one day and write it all out.
    But that day is far away in the uncertainty of the future.
    Question: Did you stop reading this Blog entry and go read Jwolf’s story Big Haired Bitches like I told you to a few pages ago?
    So train twink and I are sitting there on a crowded train, almost cocooned in a bubble due to all the people standing around us. All I can see is crotches and asses as the train jostles us back and forth. So it almost seems we are alone as train twink and I flirt like two boys who just discovered the wonders that dwell between our legs.
    And the only thing running through my mind as we shyly flirt with one another is I hope the train doesn’t lose power, or the big earthquake everyone is predicting doesn’t happen at this moment, or that the tunnel that goes across the bay doesn’t collapse and the ocean doesn’t come pouring in drowning us all as we press our legs together.
    Sometimes I damn near hyperventilate when I’m riding the train due to the scenarios that my brain weaves. This is so off topic but the story I’m currently writing was outlined, planned, conceived, and even partially written on my daily train ride. Two hours a day leaves a lot of time for tapping out useless words strung together by periods and what have you.
    I look over at train twink and find him staring back at me with a playful grin on his face. He rubs his leg against mine and then looks down at his hoodie covered crotch. Of course my eyes follow and I look down as he lifts up his hoodie just high enough so that I could make out his obviously very excited self. My eyes widened with lust and he laughed, low and raspy like he just woke up after a night of smoking too many cigarettes.
    I’ve lived in the Bay Area for almost six years now and I must say I’ve always had such great luck picking up guys on the train. Maybe it’s the motion of the train as it glides across the tracks. Maybe it’s the train system drugging the passengers in an effort to keep them calm as they pack us in like sardines. Or maybe it’s because I’m dead sexy.
    Though now that I think about it, it’s probably because I’m a total whore and other whores can sense me coming a mile away. Maybe it’s a pheromone I excrete like yesterdays ball sweat. Either way, I’m not dogging a good thing I’m just making a general observation about the gays in my area.
    Remember I’m on this earlier train because I have to go to a meeting that my owners have demanded we attend. And I’m a workaholic that puts my job before my own self interest. But I’m also newly single and…well…I’m a whore who is use to early morning delights. What’s a whore to do?
    Question: What would you do if you were in my position? Would you get train twinks FaceBook info and go to work with the intention of contacting him when you have the time? Or would you blow off the meeting and have some dirty fun under the sheets? What do you think I did?
    “A” keeps me pretty entertained and for the moment I’m content to keep playing with him right now. If this causes me to lose my slut card, then so be it. After all, I’m almost thirty-seven years old. Maybe it’s time I grow up and stop fucking every little thing that crosses my path.
    Fuck that…
  7. Jason Rimbaud
    The Art of Letting Go
    Written By: Jason Rimbaud
    ?You don?t have a fucking clue as to what you want much less what you want from me.?
    Words, words, and more words designed to cause as much damage as possible without resorting to violence. Maybe I regret those words that were blurted out in the middle of a crowded restaurant the other night. You see, I think I might have come to a crossroad in my life and maybe this once, I?m taking the right path.
    Work?where to start with that mess. After Mark and I broke up I did what I?ve always done when I feel lost?I threw myself into work with a frenzy that borders on obsession.
    If I would?ve thrown half the energy I?ve been displaying lately into my relationship with Mark, we might still be together. What?s the saying about hindsight? With hindsight we?re all fucking savants.
    I have baggage, but who among of us doesn?t? Considering my past and the mistakes I?ve made over the last decade of this so called life, I am somewhat amazed that I still maintain a semblance of positive energy. I enjoy my life and still chase my passions with a single-minded determination that breaks down barriers and move mountains; even if it?s only a pebble at a time.
    ?I survived the hazards of my past and I am proud that I am so much better than my father could have ever hoped to be.?
    And I?ll admit it, there are times when the darkness that I suppress in myself overwhelms me and I fall into depression so black my friends are hesitant to leave me alone in a room with sharp objects. I?ve been known to go on weeklong binges, drinking myself into oblivion just to stop the noise in my head and steal a few hours of sleep before waking up and doing it all over again. And then there are times where I have such a lack of self-worth I start believing the shit my father said all those years ago.
    And like all things entailing this journey of life, it?s all a process. And I?m working on it. I can feel my darkness retreating further and further as I work towards the light.
    ?You are the place I stayed too long, I got trapped in your nightmare and I don?t know how to get out.?
    I?ve been accused of giving people small tastes, brief glimpses into my heart where I give just enough information to keep them fooled into thinking I?m something like human.
    My capacity for grand gestures and storybook endings are movie perfect. It?s the next day, when the moment has faded into pleasant memory, is where I have the most trouble. The living day to day in the grind and sameness of life is where I feel the most uncomfortable.
    I cut people off emotionally; giving just enough of myself to keep them interested before I pull back into whatever state of insecurity that rules my thought process It?s like I get them vested in my wellbeing and then I run away because the look in their eyes is too much for me to handle.
    I guess it?s always been hard for me to receive acceptance. Especially from those I am interested in or have a relationship with. It seems I thrive on being the odd man out or at least project that I like being the odd man out. Deep down inside myself I want to be different from the rest of the world even as I strive to become just like everyone/anyone else.
    Without going into a long dissertation about my current mental health, I just wanted to briefly link my thoughts together so I can get a better understanding of my patterns of self-destructive behavior.
    Love, regret, sadness, joy, anger, contentment, and a host of other emotions seemed to have bypassed my genetic makeup.
    One of my employees, F, called me the other day, so distraught he couldn?t string sentences together through his sobs. It seemed his mother, who had been battling cancer for years, passed away the day before and he couldn?t make it in to work that day.
    In my fucked up emotionless head, I?m thinking, ?why the hell can?t you work today if she died yesterday, it?s not like it was a surprise. Besides how long does it take to mourn someone??
    Now before you go and get all high moral road on me and write me nasty emails, I didn?t say that aloud. I said all the right things, take as much time as you need, let me know if we can help you in any way, don?t worry about covering your shift, blah blah blah.
    That is the proper response in that situation but the only reason I said it was because I know I was suppose to say those things. I truly could care less that his mother just died, nor can I fathom why he starts crying at random times three weeks later. This kind of emotional attachment baffles me on every single level.
    I wonder if I?m alone in these behaviors. Is the apathy most humans display genuine or is it nothing more than doing/saying the right thing to fit into social norms? Is it a practice adopted by the world to comfort with false feelings those who ?need? it?
    I?ve always been good at doing and saying whatever I need to get my desired effect. In my professional career, I act a part. I?m polite, engaging, charming, witty, and extroverted in my dealings with the hundreds of guests I see on a daily basis. But at the end of the day, I do it because I have to pay my bills and make myself a life.
    In my personal relationships, I pretend to care. I ask questions of my partner that I don?t care about the answers. I fake sadness when tragedy strikes them or their loved ones. I project happiness with their triumphs, and force tears when I feel it?s needed. Whatever I need to do at that particular time to make them feel better I do it. It doesn?t matter. And for the most part it doesn?t cost me anything.
    But it?s all a charade. I don?t care on a very basic and honest level. Am I alone in this behavior?
    This is how after three long years of obsessing over Mark, I can get up in the middle of dinner and tell him to fuck off without skipping a beat.
    ?You don?t know enough about me to give me what I need.?
    Words, words, and more words that make up my particular brand of truth that day, words that do more harm than good to both parties in question.
    I imagined my words having the desired effect and I think I can see tears forming in his green eyes. And I imagine him being dumbfounded, something that has never happened over the last three years.
    Did I set out on that beautiful southern California night to break Mark?s heart and to end things noisily in a public place? I don?t know. Maybe.
    Someone once wrote and said my Blog?s are too confusing because I tend to jump around with dates and time. So for you my dear reader, let?s go back a few days before the above incident. Back to Gay Pride 2011.
    I had just met this awesome guy and we were really hitting it off. Matter of fact we had dirty gay hotel sex and it was hot. This guy, R, was really into me and I could feel the vibe between us growing. But the very next day after dirty gay hotel sex with R, Mark called and wanted to know if I?d hang out with him and a few friends of his that were visiting from Russia in San Francisco. And much like a crack addict, I jumped at the chance to get all close and personal with my former straight boy crush.
    We had a great time in the city by the bay and we never seemed to have those awkward moments that sometimes creep up with ex-boyfriends. His friends were charming and so straight a little of it rubbed off on me and I actually started thinking about pussy for a quick minute.
    Mark was a bit worried that his childhood friends might not be so accepting of his newfound sexuality. But I must say, if they were bothered by it, they hid it pretty well. All day long we?d play this game, when a hot chick walked past, Mark or I would point her out. When a hot guy would walk by, they?d point him out, loudly.
    I was amazed by the type of guys they kept pointing out. They were all twinks, thin feminine type guys who fit every gay stereotype in the book. Of course it did cross my mind that they weren?t as straight as they projected but that?s neither here nor over there.
    After more than a few drinkie poos, they started asking us questions about our relationship. Like who fucked who, who was more like the girl; you know all the stupid questions clueless straight boys ask. And in a gesture quite out of character for me, I sat back and let Mark field all the questions. I only chimed in when I was asked a direct question.
    Mark impressed me that night. Listening to him talk about ?us? made me realize just how close our lives had become and how much I allowed the crazy Russian inside my neurotic mind. The more they talked together and the drunker I become, I started questioning our decision to end our relationship.
    I mean we were good together, and the sex was so epic if we ever allowed others to view it they just might implode and become eunuchs because they?d know they?d never reach that level of intimate violence we perfected.
    By the end of the night, Mark and I spent more time staring into one another?s eyes than we did listening to his straight friends try to pick up chicks in a gay bar. Seriously, that nights adventures alone is worth it?s very own Blog Entry because by the end of that night we were at an emergency room until two in the morning while one of the chicks got bandaged up after she was clipped by a taxi cab. But that story will have to wait for another day.
    ?Life is what happens while you stare up into the future looking for that perfect sum of one.?
    The next afternoon I woke in Mark?s arms, hung-over and covered with last night?s pleasure. For a few moments I lay there, content to listen to the soft snoring that escaped his lips and reveling in the feeling of his heartbeat through my hand. With each brush of my hand across his chest, every kiss I softly planted on his neck, I sighed inwardly like a little girl who just finished reading the Twilight Sage and had decided which team she would champion.
    ?Contentment is a place where you find yourself after you given up on trying to control every aspect of your life.?
    It took a moment for me to figure out why I had this overwhelming feeling of contentment as I lay there with my arms wrapped around my little Russian. Connection?plain and simple. We had this connection that a mere one night stand couldn?t hope to ever duplicate.
    No matter what had transpired between Mark and I, all the hateful things we had said to one another, the way we used sex as a weapon of control, the callous way we approached our relationship with selfish intentions, none of that mattered because we had this undeniable connection from the moment we met that couldn?t be severed no matter the circumstances.
    I?ve always thought connections were the single most important thing in a relationship. After the lust fades and the love becomes easy and predictable, the only thing that keeps two people walking in the same direction is their emotional connection. How intertwined have they become during their journey?
    Love is what happens when lust goes horribly wrong. And being connected is what happens when everything falls into place and you forget about love and lust and focus solely on making a life together. Let?s face it, you will lose your looks, your hair will turn gray or fall out, and the little things that you find so cute once upon a time will slowly drive you crazy after years of repetition. What do you have left after that?connection.
    That?s why a few days later Mark and I went on a little trip to Southern California. Maybe we forgot about the hurt we caused one another, maybe it was just easier to work on us that it was to find another ?us?, or maybe because deep down inside neither one of us could admit that we failed at something.
    Mark and I were good at sex, we were good at planning the future, but we weren?t so good existing in the moment.
    Mark is stubborn and will never relent once he gets something in his head. And it would drive me crazy. He?d ask my opinion about something, and for hours and sometimes over days we?d discuss it, look at it from every angle and then he?d go out and do exactly what he originally decided to do even before we even spoke. It didn?t matter what my reaction would be, he?d stumble on seemingly without a clue. He hates to be wrong and never admits when he is.
    I?m emotionally distant on my good days, during my bad days, I?m downright icy. I don?t like to chat about my day, I?m not that good at sharing my feelings other than anger, and it would drive him crazy. He?d badger me about what happened that day, he?d pry into my relationship with my brother, and when I?d get angry he accuse me of not loving him and not letting him inside. I hate to be wrong and never admit when I am.
    ?You can?t go on pretending that I don?t matter to you, I know I do. You?re just too fucking stupid to admit it.?
    After all the words that were said a few days ago, after the dust settled down and we returned back to our homes and lives, I now realize that just having a connection isn?t enough. Mark was right. I am too fucking stupid to admit that he matters to me. Emotionally I?m still tender and raw around the edges and maybe my progress isn?t as far along as I thought?or hoped.
    But I was also right when I likened him to a place I stayed too long. Love shouldn?t/isn?t that difficult, and if it is, then it?s not right. So what we were connected. Do we stay together when we are drowning and dragging each other down? Or do we severe the connection so that we both have a fighting chance at happiness?
    ?I?ve kind of been seeing someone.?
    Mark is staring at me in his own unique way that made/makes me feel like I was the only human on this fucking planet. I looked at him, as if to say, really. More words, more platitudes, more selfish impulses designed to force the issue we always seem to avoid.
    He met this guy at school and for the last month they?ve been seeing a lot of each other. He also tells me he really likes this guy. And as usual Mark babblings, he tells me more information about this guy than I ever wanted to know.
    I don?t know what to say, what to do, or even how to act. It was his idea to take this trip together; he?s the one that needed to spend some time with me without any distractions. This was day three of a three day trip and we had been like newlyweds the entire time. I was fucking pissed.
    Mark was the one person that really got me. He made me feel like I could have a shot at having a normal relationship. And right in the middle of my delusion, he?s ?kind of? seeing someone. Why the hell did he even invite me to the city with him and his friends? Why did he spend the night with me? Why did he always pop back into my life right when I was beginning to heal?
    ?I love you and I want you to be happy and you?re not. I see it in your eyes; I can?t make you happy no matter what I do. And it?s killing me.?
    And that?s the kicker, isn?t? I wasn?t happy and he knew it. No matter that every time I thought about him a goofy smile broke out on my face. Or that I thought about him more than I thought about myself.
    I thought back to all the times we shared over the years and I saw us happy and laughing, enjoying the togetherness. Was I angry? Hurt? Confused? Yes and probably more emotions that would be pointless to list. Because in the end, words, words, words, don?t mount up to a possum?s ass.
    ?I don?t know how to end this?
    In my head I?m screaming that we shouldn?t be looking for a way to end ?us?, we should be striving to save our future. And then like some bizarre movie montage, images of our life began floating in my head. Scenes of Mark and I in bed, at dinner, sitting next to each other watching TV, endless combinations of our relationship and on the surface we looked peaceful, serene, and happy. But then I looked harder, like someone turned the focus screw and everything changed. I started seeing the fighting, the bickering, and the dirtiness that was under the allure of connection. We hadn?t been happy together in a long time and it was like somebody shined the light on the exit and the path ahead of me became clear for the first time in three years.
    ?Sometimes if you love something enough, you have to set it free.?
    I?ve heard that statement many times in my life but it wasn?t until I was sitting across from him that I finally understood it. As long as I kept indulging our madness, I was preventing both of us at moving on.
    ?I really don?t know what to do to make you happy.?
    For years I wondered if I was so jaded that I didn?t have emotions towards others. Or that I wasn?t like other humans and that I was somewhat flawed. Over the course of this Blog entry, I think I?ve answered my own questions.
    I actually never said those words in that restaurant. You see, Mark wasn?t happy. He hadn?t been happy with me for a long time but felt torn between his love for me and his love for a better life. And hearing those words from him tore me apart.
    ?You don?t have fucking clue as to what you want much less what you want from me.?
    That night I found out that I am selfless. I never told Mark that he was breaking my heart. And when I told him that we shouldn?t see each other anymore because we?d only end up killing whatever good feelings we had for one another, I think I meant it. I looked him right in the eye and lied but you never know.
    For the first time in my life, I didn?t tell someone what he wanted to hear to further my own agenda. My motives were honest, even if I was dishonest in my delivery. So maybe I?m not as jaded as I like to think I am.
    Maybe?
  8. Jason Rimbaud
    5:00AM...M wakes me up by straddling my back and whispering in my ear that he wants me to go running with him
    5:15AM...M and I walk out the front door to freezing wet air and head off toward the upcoming sunrise
    6:15AM...We walk back inside the house and head toward the shower, we don't make it
    6:17AM...M rewards me for running with him
    7:04AM...We get in the shower and I thank him for rewarding me
    7:43AM...We sit down for breakfast. M gets 2 eggs over easy with coffee and I get a bagel with OJ
    7:55AM...M heads off to class and I do the dishes
    8:20AM...I get in my car and drive to Millbrae to catch B.A.R.T. train to San Francisco
    8:45AM...Get on B.A.R.T. and start checking and replying to work related emails
    9:00AM...M sends text and says he's misses me
    9:25AM...Get to the restaurant and begin checking the overnight voicemail
    9:46AM...Recieve call finalizing cocktail party plans for 6 PM that night for 50 guests
    10:00AM...Recieve phone call from a busser who claims he can't come to work
    10:01AM...Tell busser to come or else...he claims he tried calling me all morning but I didn't pick up
    10:02AM...I call bullshit on his claim as I had been awake since five AM
    10:17AM...Send M a text that says...Grrr
    10:30AM...Greet and Brief the lunch staff about the days events and specials
    11:00AM...Open for lunch and deal with a server "suddenly" becoming ill
    11:01AM...Sent server home and I'm not happy as we are booked quite heavily for lunch
    11:17AM...Busser shows up to work late we are 17 minutes behind schedule
    12:00PM...Order a Chicken Cobb Salad for lunch, can't wait
    12:15PM...Homeless crack-head tries to steal food off a table sitting on the patio
    12:16PM...Feel a bit better after yelling at the crack-head
    1:30PM...Finally get a chance to eat...Chicken Cobb Salad is wilted but tasty
    2:00PM...Receive email about last minute changes regarding cocktail party
    2:01PM...Push time up to 5PM and change the menu with Chef for cocktail party
    2:13PM...M texts he'll be staying at his apartment tonight but he loves me
    2:30PM...Was told that "sick" server left to meet one of our chefs for some afternoon delight
    2:31PM...Not happy with server or the chef, can't wait until tomorrow's meeting
    3:00PM...Sit down with a wine rep and have a tasting for new Pinot Noirs
    3:30PM...Surpervise the setting up for the cocktail party and decorate the room
    4:00PM...Greet and meet the night shift and brief them on the cocktail party and the night's business
    5:00PM...Guests arrive for the cocktail party and the fun begins
    5:30PM...Restaurant is full and I jump behind the bar to help bartender make drinks
    6:45PM...Finally get a chance to leave the bar and smoke a much needed cigarette
    6:45PM...Text M just to say hi
    7:30PM...I yell at a server because she forgot to ring the entr?es for a table of five...for twenty minutes
    8:00PM...To console the table I buy them a round of drinks and dessert, I think it worked as they left happy
    8:07PM...M texts that he's going to bed and that he loves me
    8:15PM...D and I begin doing physical end of month inventory on wine, beer, booze
    10:00PM...I do all the book keeping for the day's business and send the servers home after a job well done
    10:30PM...D and I finish physical inventory and I turn off the lights and lock the doors and head toward B.A.R.T.
    10:52PM...Get on train and text M that I love him and goodnight, he doesn't respond
    11:29PM...Arrive in Millbrae and walk to my car
    11:35PM...After waiting for my car to warm up I start driving home to San Mateo
    11:55PM...I walk in my door and see a note on the counter from M
    11:55PM...M figured I wouldn't get to eat dinner so he left me a slice of pizza in the fridge
    11:56PM...Forgo the pizza and head up the stairs stripping out of my clothes as I head to the shower
    12:05AM...Walk into my bedroom and realize that M is curled up with my pillow snoring softly
    12:06AM...Stare at M asleep and realize that I can't imagine life without him
    12:07AM...I pounce on M and life is perfect
    1:00AM...M says he couldn't sleep alone and figured he'd surprise me
    1:02AM...M whispers goodnight and moments later he starts snoring softly
    1:04AM...I shift to a more comfortable position and set my alarm for 5 AM
    1:05AM...I grab my laptop and start typing what will become this Blog Entry
    1:31AM...I post this Blog Entry and snuggle up to M's back and drift off to sleep...happy and content
  9. Jason Rimbaud
    The other day I was walking to the B.A.R.T. (Bay Area Rapid Transit), which is another name for the local Subway system, it was late, sometime around 11:PM, when I was approached by three youths, they couldn't have been older than twenty. Even though I was listening to my I-Pod, I am aware of my surrounding, and when they stopped in front of me, barring my way to walk, I took out one of the ear buds, and looked at them blankly.
    The tallest one, which still didn't come up to my shoulder, told me in his broken accent, "This is my block, if you want to continue then we have to do a pocket check."
    Now I'm not completely hip with all the new lingo that is floating around the world, but being as I have spent some time on the streets in my youth, I immediately knew that this young youth was basically saying that since I was on his block, then he was going to take everything that was in my pockets.
    On Saturday, I was witnessed to another crime. This time it was a crack-head looking dude that was hanging around my restaurant's patio. Being that I am rather cynical, the moment I laid eyes on this dirty man, I knew that he was up to no good.
    I watched him for a few minutes, I first thought that he was going to try and steal something off our patio, maybe drinks from a table, or cash after someone paid for their check. I guess if you've been in the restaurant business as long as I have, then over time you start to develop a keen instinct when something isn't quite right. I'm not sure what it is, but just from the body language, I can usually tell when a guest is going to try and skip out on his check, or when a skittish looking crack-head is going to try something shady.
    This time, instead of the crack-head fucking me over, he walked over to the bike-rack that is located right in front of my restaurant, and after producing a pair of chain-cutters, he cuts the bike lock and then quickly jumps on the bike and pedals away.
    Two moments later, the dude who's bicycles the crack-head just stolen, walked outside of my restaurant.
    Now I don't know why those people who have a love of bicycling insist on wearing spandex. It's like something inside them drives them to wear the tightest garments known to humans, a way to showcase the goods so to speak. I like nothing better than to see a guy's goods. But should I really be able to tell what religion a particular human adheres too? Because no one looks good in spandex...not even Lance Armstrong. There comes a time when the garments you wear outshine the sport you have taken up to pursue.
    Cycling is one of those sports. And while I'm speaking on the subject of spandex, why is it those of us humans that are weight challenged are most of the ones that abuse spandex.
    Not even when I was at my best, spandex was never an option. Fuck all, I love riding my bike, but I have never once in all my life, thought I would be a better cyclist by wearing those stupid outfits. Do I really need to see if a cyclist has hemorrhoids or not? I don't think so.
    So the dude that just had his bicycle stolen, who was abusing spandex by the way, took off running after the crack-head who was pedaling his stolen transportation as fast as his half-failed lungs could propel him.
    I would probably make a considerable wager that by the time that very hour had elapse, crack-head had sold that bike and was already high from the profits. But try explaining that concept to spandex wearing wacko, especially after getting the privilege of watching him run down Embarcadero. In a way, it was very entertaining.
    He was circumcised by the way...so maybe spandex might be good for something. At least I knew I shouldn't be shouting out Jewish slurs toward him.
    Not sure if any of you are familiar with Absinthe or the sordid history of this wonderful green liqueur. But my hero, Arthur Rimbaud, and his older French lover, drank this almost exclusively. And a few months ago, I found out that this once outlawed drink was now available in America. Apparently, the powers that be have decided that the terror campaign that was once waged against this wonderful drink was a boatload of shit, they have now agreed that it's a harmless spirit that is no worse than a bottle of Vodka.
    As I type this, I am now drinking this particular beverage, and I must say, I am quite addicted already.
    It's more than a homage to my favorite poet and mentor, though I must admit I was first intrigued by this drink because of my love of Arthur Rimbaud, but as I sampled this intoxicating adult beverage, I am now completely encapsulated under it's spell.
    It's 68% alcohol, and a wonderful green color. Which is why Arthur Rimbaud and his contemporaries called this magical drink, the green fairy. They even went as far as to name this drink the poet's third eye. Now I haven't written poetry in quite a while but I understand why it's nickname is the third eye.
    As I am now drinking this wonderful beverage, and have been for a few hours, I feel so inspired. Is this inspiration due to Absinthe, is it due to my connection to Arthur Rimbaud, or is it due to my own misgivings and a desperate need to have a connection with a poet that completely saved my life in my teens?
    It really doesn't matter, I have given up writing poetry in any way. Matter of fact, I haven't written a new poetry piece in quite some time. I have two pieces that I have written and re-written a dozen times trying to get it right, that one day I will post online and will be the last two pieces of poetry that I will ever write. Even two years ago when I first started these pieces, I knew that they would be the last two pieces of poetry I would ever write.
    Maybe I am scared, maybe that's why I haven't been "able" to complete these pieces even after two years. Or maybe the reason I started writing poetry is obsolete now and I can't let go of the past. Either way, I am two pieces away of being Jason Rimbaud, the poet.
    Not that Absinthe has any bearing on this decision. I am simply following this train of thought to it's bitter end. I am so close to never writing poetry again and in a way it scares the living shit out of me. For so many years, Jason Rimbaud had been mainly known for his poetry. Yeah I've written a Blog that a few people have found amusing over the years, but I can pretty much assure that when asked who the hell is Jason Rimbaud, most people, if they even heard of me, would say he's that poet that has written a lot of pieces a few years ago.
    What have I written lately?
    So I was in the middle of a block and three thugs were demanding that I give them a pocket check. Being that I am not a silly little fag and that I am pretty much a fag that is accused of being straight by even those that know me truly well, I did what was completely in my nature.
    I took out my ear-bud, looked them over one by one, and said in my most centered voice, "It's going to take more than the three of you."
    I then put the ear-bud back inside my ear and promptly ignored the three fuck-heads that were standing in front of me. After a few moments, they retreated to either bother someone else or make their way back to their home.
    It really doesn't matter what they did, because in the end, bullies are nothing more than beings that feed off of fear, if you show them no fear, then they have no power. Make of this what you will...I have already made of this situation what I will...the rest is up to you.
    Jason
  10. Jason Rimbaud
    I've been on vacation for the last five days and I must say, I haven't done anything of importance. Okay, that's not really true, I have done things. Yet none of these things were things I had been needing to do.
    On Sunday, while on the train going home to start my five day vacation, I wrote this in my notes section of my handy dandy I-Phone...'Starting tomorrow, I'll be having five days off work, not really sure what I'll be doing or where I'll be going but it's time to find a warm hole and stick my dick inside it.'
    Lofty ideals huh...don't judge me, it's not my fault. I blame television.
    On Monday, I had a plan to go to San Jose to get Hot Wings from my favorite place, Smoke Eaters.
    I would like to take this time to admit to a problem...nay an addiction that I have been struggling with for ten years. The taste of a really spicy Hot Wing sauce is like nectar of the gods to me. This is a straight up addiction no fly by night flirtation. So much so am I addicted to this sauce, I could probably mainline the sauce on a daily basis. I even go as far as to dip my finger in the sauce and lick it off while I drink beer. I guess I love the way it burns my mouth and lips. Though I must admit, the next day, while doing certain daily activities it burns like I'm stuck inside the seventh level of hell.
    So I had this idea to go to San Jose and get Hot Wings from Smoke Eaters and then go back home with a case of beer and maybe a new video game and veg out in front of my big screen high definition TV. So on the way, I stop off at the local GameStop to see if there is a new game that might stir my interest. And boy, did I find more than I bargained for...
    Splinter Cell, the latest one, I was very interested in purchasing so I sauntered up to the counter to this delicious geek that was standing there in all his nerdy glory and asked if this game was satisfying. Apparently, he loved the game because he started talking a mile and minute, his hands wavering in weird motions and he was practically bouncing off the walls.
    He was a typical looking geek, long hair, scruffy beard that couldn't grow in all the way, dressed like a fashion reject from a bad eighties movie with a Spiderman T-Shirt that was two sizes too small for his lanky frame. I'll say it, sex on wheels.
    It's four o-clock in the afternoon, I'm on vacation, and I'm randy as goat. While he's going on and on about this game, I couldn't help but to laugh. I say, "You seem pretty excited about this game."
    "I am."
    "I usually don't get this excited outside of sex, how about you?" I say/asked, flashing him my most seductive smile.
    For a moment, he looks at me, then he smiles shyly and looks around before saying, "I get even more excited about sex."
    "What time do you get off?"
    "Five o-clock."
    "Fancy an after work blow job?" I ask bluntly. After all, I only have five days and I don't have time to beat around the bush. Plus I really wanted to eat my Hot Wings from my favorite place in San Jose and drink some beer.
    It was so cute, he looked down at his feet and turned his head, not bothering to look me in the eye. He mumbles, "I'm not gay."
    "It's okay, my mouth is gay enough for the both of us."
    Geek always taste better when it's straight geek.
    On Tuesday, I had to do laundry and wanted to give the apartment a good cleaning over. Wolfie had been on my ass lately about the streaks and dust on the TV so for a few hours, I lost myself in the mundane chores of keeping house. About seven o-clock, I worked up a mighty thirst so I showered quickly and headed off to the bar to find myself a dumpster.
    Figuring I would make this vacation's theme, Straight Week, I decided to only try and seduce straight boys.
    For the last few weeks, there is this little hottie straightie that hangs out at my local neighborhood straight bar, and we have been giving each other the eye. Or to be truthful, I have been giving him the eye and he's been giving me the eye when he thinks I'm not looking. That night I decide that I'm not just going to look from afar, I decide that he's going to be my dumpster for the night.
    Turns out his name is Brad and he wasn't completely straight. He goes to some college, he's getting his undergrad in some subject. I know, when he was talking I really was paying attention.
    As he sat on the stool beside me, I couldn't help but notice his bulge, it was so enticing and mysterious. He's okay looking, probably about a "5" with no visible spots. I buy him a drink, make some dirty chit and some flirtatious chat before I say let's go back to my place.
    "I don't need anything else to drink."
    "Me neither." I say, rubbing my hand across his prominent bulge.
    Undergrad students who try to be straight tastes better than your average gay undergrad. Must be something about their pheromones.
    Sometime last week, I was riding on the train on my way to work when I noticed this young couple sitting a few seats away from me. I would guess they were around sixteen or seventeen and they were making out pretty heavily like only kids can do in public. The girl was cute, curvy and had red hair. The boy was your typical EMO, dressed in black and wearing skinny jeans that couldn't be any tighter unless he just painted them on. But what stood out about this couple, after fifteen minutes of heavy petting, the boy was in a very aroused state. You have to love skinny jeans.
    The boy looked to be embarrassed about his predicament, trying to place his arm in his lap, his hands, anything so as his erection wouldn't be seen by either the passengers or even his make out partner. I believe the girl was oblivious as to his state and as I watched this for a few minutes, I couldn't help but to laugh. Here was this boy trying hard to hide his cock and yet he still wanted to make out with his girlfriend who's hands had started to roam about his body.
    As my stop was approaching, I folded up the paper I had been reading and as I walked past them to exit the train, I dropped the paper in his lap and smiled at him. He quickly placed it in the proper place and gave me a look that said he was more than grateful for my act of generosity. I walked off the train feeling like I had done my good deed for the month.
    On the way home, the very same day, I watched two people fucking on the train. It was surreal, I was on one end of the train car and they were on the other end. They saw me but they didn't care that I was watching. She was sitting on his lap and from the moans they were making, they were having a ball. So I did what any person would do in my situation, I took a picture. So much for my belief in Karma. Whatever good I did with the boy by giving him a paper, it didn't come back to me in the least.
    The topper to this little tale, she suddenly jumped off his lap and then her head disappeared and the guy almost screamed out in ecstasy. So I started clapping. They didn't even have the shame to look embarrassed. I guess I lost my Bay Area Rapid Transit cherry.
  11. Jason Rimbaud
    The beginning?well that isn?t really the right place to start this particular tale. No not there, that would take more time then I could ask any sane person to suffer through. So instead of the beginning, I think I?ll start in the middle.
    I?ve never had much luck with relationships. For all my slutty ways, I?ve only ever been in three long term relationships. And for those of you that might not know, I?ll define the phrase ?long term relationship?.
    For me, long term relationship is defined, anything that last more than a week.
    What? I tell the truth, even if it?s ugly. It just so happens that most of my truths are a bit dirty.
    Last go back for a bit and I?ll tell you another dirty truth. My first long term relationship was with a boy named, Jason. You might remember this almost straight boy that held my heart in his hand so tightly. After all, I did agree to be his best man a few years later when he got married to this chick he met in a bar.
    Jason was also the same boy that showed up at my apartment the night before his wedding for a final taste of the love that dare not speak its name.
    (For those of you that are/might be interested in knowing more about this boy, check out my Blog at Awesome Dude for an entry called, I?ll Never Wear Boxers Again.)
    I guess it was his way of thanking me for not telling his soon to be wife about our ?special bond? and the four years we spent together.
    And if I am to be speaking truths right now, I must be honest. That sacrifice of silence nearly destroyed me. Jason never knew just how much I loved him. I know this as fact, because each time we slept together, I made sure to say what we were doing, was nothing more than fun. Two close friends helping each other out.
    I was so worried, petrified actually, about scaring him away, never daring to show my true feelings out of fear that he would run to the hills.
    That fear was founded on too many fucking conversations we had over the years. Often, usually the morning after our sex was particularly passionate, he would tell me that he wasn?t gay, and that his one wish in this journey we call life was to find a wife and have a family.
    At first I thought, scratch that, I hoped, it was nothing but bravado mixed with self denial. So I would downplay my feelings, hoping to give him room and the time to sort out his emotions.
    I remember there was a time about a year into whatever we were doing, that he was dating this chick from two towns over. Every single Friday night, after he got off work, he would drive forty-five minutes to her and be gone all weekend only to return to me Sunday night.
    What a fucked up pair we made back then, Monday thru Thursday, we lived together, ate together, laughed together, got drunk together, and slept together. And then Friday night he would leave.
    And every fucking time, I would swear that when he returned, I would tell him exactly how I felt. Sadly, I never really seemed to muster the courage.
    This went on for about four months. And trust me; they were the longest four months of my life.
    It was horrible, on the surface I had everything I ever wanted, never mind the small fact that I had to keep it all a secret and ignore that in front of our friends, I got to hear about this chick and how happy he was spending each weekend with her.
    It was taking a toll, I started drinking heavily again and that turned into treating him like shit, basically behaving like a jealous school girl who can?t understand that her English teacher is already happily married and has no intention of leaving his wife for a spoiled little girl. For a time, I really believed that our friendship was heading towards destruction.
    But then it happened. It was a Friday night, and just like always, he was packing his bag, preparing for his weekend of straightness, when I walked into his bedroom and sat on the bed. After a few moments of me watching him pack, he asked if I needed something.
    ?I love you, you know.?
    That was the first time I ever said those words to someone other than my fucked up family.
    He closed his bag, his back towards me and replied, ?I know.?
    I got up and walked out of the apartment. A few hours later, after many drinks and a sloppy blowjob from some random guy from the club, I return home to an empty apartment. It was the first time I ever fucked someone for the sole purpose of trying to feel alive.
    No matter how much I drank or how many blowjobs I got, I couldn?t fill the emptiness that consumed me.
    Sometimes, even when completely hammered, our minds can suddenly have a single lucid thought that shifts everything into place and the world becomes shockingly clear.
    Sitting on my empty bed, clutching his pillow to my chest, and through the self-loathing and Vodka haze, I knew that I could no longer go on fooling myself. Jason and I would never be truly together and I would be better off moving on.
    I didn?t even care that one of us would have to move out of our apartment, all I knew is I couldn?t do it anymore.
    Sometime around 3 am I passed out, fully intending to end it with Jason the moment he returned Sunday night. Around 3:45, I was rudely awoken by someone shaking me. And much to my surprise, it was Jason. He crawled into bed and pulled me close. He kissed my cheek and when I tried to talk, he put his finger against my lips and told me to go back to sleep.
    And in the morning, we woke wrapped in each others arms. And in that moment, I was truly happy.
    Sadly that moment didn?t last long because Jason started whispering in my ear as he held me tight. He told me that he loved me but wasn?t in love with me. He also apologized for leading me on. He said he knew that I wanted more from him but since I never came out and said it, he chose to ignore it because being with me filled a void and he hated to be lonely. He had decided for the sake of our friendship, that we had to stop sleeping together.
    And it worked, for a time, but whatever it was between us, was to powerful and a few months later we started the whole thing again and it lasted another two years before I moved to a different city in a different state on the opposite end of the country to get away from him.
    I guess Jason knew me better than any other human on this planet and I think that night in my bed was the only time he was completely honest with me and to this fucking day, I still believe it was a load of shit.
    Sad, I know, but how I wish for those confusing times again. Anything would be better than the last three weeks.
  12. Jason Rimbaud
    I guess I'm in love with my I-Phone. There I've said it...publically and everything.
    With all the applications you can download, I'm surprised it's not listed as one of the worlds greatest something or other. Let's face it, it beats the shit out of the Grand Canyon. (Sorry Des)
    Though now that I think about it, the I-Phone should come with an ugly people spotting application for those of us that take a drink from time to time.
    It would've came in handy for me last night. I'm not saying the little twink that shared my bed was a two but he was definitely a two. *shudders*
    I was accused of not making sense the other day at work...to which I replied, "When I'm this dead sexy, I don't have to make fucking sense."
    There is a server at the restaurant I now call home, let's call him "D", who isn't really that good of a server. But the guests love him and he has a good heart so I keep him around. But after screwing up for the thousandth time the other night, I look over at the bartender and say, "Good thing "D" is attractive, because his smarts isn't going to take him anywhere."
    Why isn't Florida called, 'God's Waiting Room'?
    Since I got clean and sober, I'm finding it harder and harder to remain slim, I know, the drugs were killing me and my behavior was erratic at best. But at least I was thin. So what if I was bald, at least I was thin. Now, I'm still bald and at what my friends call a healthy weight...which is code for fat ass. And to make matters worse, the hair that I'm losing on top of my head is now showing up in the craziest places.
    Why would your ears ever need hair? For that matter, why would your back, blissfully free of hair for thirty-three years suddenly sprout what I can only describe as fur.
    And before you all freak out, I do a bit of manscaping to keep the Sasquatch on my back under control. But it's all a bother really.
    And yet instead of going to the gym, I'm sitting here typing this drivel while drinking a beer after I just ate half a pizza. Maybe I deserve this fat ass staring back at me from the mirror.
    I guess I really don't want to be perfect anymore. Damn-it all, I am quite happy. Maybe that's all I really need.
    Jason
  13. Jason Rimbaud
    I was in a bar earlier tonight and this black guy I have never met before comes over and says, I quote, "For a white boy, you have mad flavor."
    I'm not really sure what "mad flavor" is, but I gots it.
    So why would this stranger come over and say things I don't really understand? I guess I should start at the beginning. Well, not that far back, I don't think even my loyal reader would stick around to read this Blog Entry if I started at the beginning. So lets start from a beginning.
    I got pulled over the other night on the , way home from work. Apparently my left brake light was shorted out and where its not really illegal it does give the police a good reason to pull someone over at one AM in the morning so they can check and see if that someone has been drinking before getting behind the wheel of their little car. Doesn't that make you all warm and fuzzy bunny slippers?
    And unfortunately for me, I reeked of booze.
    And before you go all high moral road on me...I was not drinking. Matter of fact I hadn't had a drink in over a week at the time of this incident. Though if I were to be in this situation as I type this, I would be hammered. But the good news, I'm not driving a car right now. And even better news, I probably couldn't find my car right now.
    The pig...err...I mean police officer says, "Do you know why I stopped you?"
    "Not really."
    "Your left brake light is out." Then he leans in closer to my open window and says, "Have you been drinking?"
    "No."
    The bully in blue uniform goes, "License and registration please."
    This is the part of the story where I tell both of my readers (I know...I'm gaining readership) that as of this moment, I currently have an expired drivers license.
    Don't look at me like that, it's not that I did it on purpose. I'm no criminal.
    It's not like I get carded anymore, so I haven't looked at my license since I got the damn thing five years ago. So I have been driving illegally since my birthday back in January. I'm such a rebel. *insert devil horn hands*
    After taking a look at my expired driver's license, and the kick-ass picture, the donut eating machine says, "Can you step out of the car please?"
    We had a really busy day at work, so busy that I had to jump behind the bar, in a suit I might add, and help the bartender sling drinks for two hours. And do you know how hard it is to sling drinks wearing a suit and tie? Pretty fucking hard, matter of fact, so hard that I ended up spilling a few drinks all over myself.
    Cut back to the car at one AM, not only does this pig think I'm drinking and driving, he thinks I'm a dick with no respect for the law. There goes that warm and fuzzy bunny slippers feeling.
    I step out of the car, quite gingerly I might add. Work has been crazy busy and I'm not as young as I once was, my feet hurt, I think I tore a back muscle hefting around a keg of beer, so stepping out of the car isn't really true. I hauled myself out of the car, a bit unsteady on my feet. Sadly this didn't help me look stone cold sober either. "I swear, I haven't been drinking."
    Again the officer looked into my eyes and said, "I don't believe you. You smell like you've been drinking and you don't look that steady on your feet."
    I am a smart ass, but even I know when to keep my big fat mouth shut. So instead of saying, 'well you're eyes look glazed does that mean you've been eating donuts' I simply let the thought die inside my head.
    While I'm on the subject, why does every single police officer in the world have the same haircut? It's always shaved close on the side of the head and then on top they have this really bad crew cut. Seriously, next time you seen a cop, look at the haircut, they all match.
    So the patrolman sends me on a series of stupid tests designed to do nothing or tell nothing either than make your heart pump harder so any alcohol that's in your stomach reaches your bloodstream faster to give the cops a higher blood alcohol content reading. I had to walk a straight line, which is very difficult when your feet have swelled up the size of melons. I had stand on one leg and count to twenty with my head tilted back, touch my nose without looking, and my personal favorite, saying the alphabet back wards.
    Which ironically, I have absolutely no problem doing right now drunk as hell.
    After about twenty minutes of this useless shit, the dick head says he has reasonable doubt that I am indeed under the influence and demands that I take a Breathalyzer test.
    In the meantime, while the first cop was frowning at me for my blatant disregard of the law, two more police officers show up. I'm on the side of the road, about two blocks from my house, and three cops are gathered around, all who frown when cop number one says I am driving without a license and my brake light is broken. From the look on their collective faces, I am scum. Matter of fact I am wondering when one of those crazy S.O.B.'s is going to pop a cap in my ass.
    You have seen the footage about that BART cop last New Year's Eve who had that black guy on the ground, three of them holding him down, and the BART cop pulls his gun and shoots him in the back. That happened not that far away from where I live in the Bay Area. Check the footage on Tube if you haven't seen it yet.
    I can almost feel the pleasure oozing out of the cops, they think without a doubt that I am drunk, and I'm only a Breathalyzer test away from them making a shit ton of money and probably a bonus for busting a DUI.
    Did you know that? Police departments have a running contest each month, where the police officer with the most DUI's get a cash bonus. And you wonder why real crime is rampant in the world? The cops are all staking out bars trying to bust little Suzy who had one shot of Yagermister and two warm draft Coors Light instead of stopping violent crime like rapists and murders. You go Barney Fife.
    So they give me this little tube and I blow into it. And much like I knew it would, the results show I have zero blood alcohol content. The cop looks at the machine, and then back at me, and says, "There must be a malfunction."
    He takes me to another police cruiser and a different machine where I repeat my blowing. I wonder if I had been drinking, and failed the machine blowing thing, I wonder if they would allow me to go to another cruiser and blow again.
    Anyway, the results said again, ZERO. And now they aren't happy at all. It's now after two thirty AM, catching another drunk driver is all but impossible since all the bars are now closed and everyone is safely home. All the police gather around the machine and finally admit that not only have I not been drinking but I am completely sober.
    And do you know what, they don't apologize for wasting my time. The cop looks at me and says, "I could make it that you lose your license for a year, enough time has passed. How would you like that? Driving is not a right, it is a privilege for those Americans that follow the rules."
    I really didn't know what to say to that. This cop is so mad at me that I'm not drunk, something he should be happy that I don't drink and drive, but he's in my face, his face is red and his veins are sticking out. For a moment I think I'm in the twilight zone or something. Why is he so mad at me?
    I wanted to scream back at him, but I didn't, because I'm intelligent. So instead, I stand there, not saying anything unless he asks me a direct question, while he writes me up a ticket for an expired drivers license and another warning fix-it ticket for my brake light, and a warning that the next time he seems me on the road, I better have a current driver's license.
    So what did we learn...
    That cops get really mad if you smell like alcohol but haven't really been drinking and that I can't pass a sobriety test while completely sober. And apparently, I'm so gay that I can't change a brake light on my car without cutting my hand and ripping out the carpet lining in my truck.
    Thank god for my neighbor who had pity on me and changed the light for me. So I bought him a beer at the local bar and proceeded to get so drunk, and tell my story to anyone who wanted to listen.
    And while at the bar, after another telling of this story which started to get more and more blown out of context, this black guy comes over and give me a hug, and says, "For a white boy, you have mad flavor."
  14. Jason Rimbaud
    It's been almost two months since I started my new bright and shiny job in San Francisco...you know the one I'm talking about. The job that was suppose to give me more time to myself, time I could use to write.
    Well that dream was held up and then smashed to pieces right before my very eyes. I won't make NaNo this year, matter of fact I failed miserably. Oh don't you worry you crazy kids, I'll punish myself accordingly later.
    I had such high hopes and plans, but life keeps fucking me up lately. I get up and go to work, barely having time to wash my body much less touch myself in dirty ways. I still know what my dick looks like, I just haven't beaten it for a while. (and it might owe me money by now)
    I want to tell you about the guy I caught jerking off outside my restaurant window a few weeks ago, but I can't. Because I'm working to fucking much to take the time to relay the tale. I want to tell you about the old queen that sat down at my restaurant and got so drunk he pissed himself sitting in his chair in my restaurant, but I can't, I have to go to work early tomorrow morning and just don't have the strength to tell you about.
    Or the guy I got arrested because he tried to walk out on a $124 check without paying. Or how I walked across the street and caught him in another bar before dragging his broke ass back to my restaurant where I called the police. Not to mention that he owed the other restaurant for the drinks he consumed on their premises before I drug him out by his ear.
    And then there was this guy on the train that was so hot I decided to make out with between Daly City stop and Colman street station. So hot and heavy this make out session was, by the time he got off on his stop, I was standing there with a solid rock erection showing proudly for the rest of the passengers to stare out while I tried to wipe off the stupid grin on my face.
    And then later on in the grocery store when I was doing my weekly shopping, and my mind drifted back to that hot make-out session with this hot guy that I popped another boner all of a sudden and when I turned around, this lovely old lady was standing there, staring at my bulging pants with a horrified look on her face. (though I'm sure she has seen a penis erect before, I don't know why she was so offended)
    Do you have any idea how "hard" it is to do the weekly grocery shopping with a burning erection leading the way? I bet you don't, because I'm sure I'm the only one that is afflicted with man's greatest reflex.
    Fuck me, I'm way to sleepy and maybe a bit drunk to tell you about my last two months. So I'm sure I'll just take more pictures to send to random friends and go to bed. Sleep tight you crazy kids, I know I'll be sleeping restlessly.
    Jason
  15. Jason Rimbaud
    Have you ever heard the expression dipping your pen in the company ink? If you have, then you know that?s what they call it when you sleep with someone you work with. And since most of you know about my little fling with Mark, my semi-straight co-worker who I had a year long crazy affair with, you also know I?ve been to that movie already and by the end of it all I ended up firing him for stealing from my hip up-scale restaurant.
    You would think I had already learned my fucking lesson.
    And I guess you could say I had learned my lesson?or at least I learned my lesson six months ago. But apparently I forgot that lesson a few weeks ago.
    And this instance happened before I got my new job, a job I start this coming Monday. Where, by the way, instead of working for 65 hours a week, I?ll be working only 40 hours a week.
    So a few weeks ago, a whole bunch of us from work went to Ruby Sky, San Francisco?s biggest nightclub, for an AID?s benefit. We met in the city around 4pm, figuring we?d have dinner together and hang out drinking and such until the show started.
    Because I?m somewhat of a snob, I choose not to stay in the Motel 6 like everyone else. I instead choose to stay at a fine boutique hotel called the Palomore, about six blocks away from the nightclub.
    I decided to go all out and book a large suite with a Fuji-style tub and a large stone shower with glass doors and a king size bed. I must admit, the room was pretty fucking sweet.
    And one of my simple joys, whenever I get a few days off, I like to go somewhere and get a nice hotel room. It?s one of my little quirks that make?s me feel all warm fuzzy bunny slippers.
    For some reason, all my co-workers wanted to see this room; apparently they had never stayed in a room that costs $400 dollars a night. One of my co-workers, let?s call him Alex, declared that if I didn?t hook up with anyone that night, then he wanted to come back to my room and get in the Fuji-Tub.
    I know me, and just how big of a slut I am, I told him it was fine to come back to my room, if I didn?t hook up with anyone at the nightclub. I forgot about the exchange, and we went to dinner.
    So to give you a good picture of how much is a whole bunch, we asked for a table for six, four girls and two guys. Everyone at the table knew that I was gay; the four girls were a mix of single, taken, and married. But what we didn?t know was anything about Alex.
    Quick back story on Alex: Alex is twenty-six, straight blond hair, not very tall but quite slender, and is extremely private. He?s worked at the hip up-scale restaurant for six months or so and this was going to be my first time hanging out with him outside of work. And the girls, though they hung out with him before, said he was fun but a bit shy and never spoke about personal issues.
    Once at the restaurant, we all decided to forgo ordering individual entr?e?s and instead ordered a shit-ton of starters to share. Alex and I had our eye on the steak appetizer; matter of fact, we both ordered one. I guess you could say we love to eat meat. God that was a bad horrible pun?I?m sorry.
    Anyhoo, we had pretty much consumed everything and all that was left was one piece of this scrumptious steak starter. Alex and I both went for the last piece, our forks stabbing into the marinated cow at the same time. For a moment we sat there, staring at each other, our arms steady and unflinching.
    ?My fork was here first.? Alex says.
    ?I?d have to argue against that.? I reply.
    ?A Mexican standoff, how cosmopolitan.? He says before whistling the famous opening of The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly.
    ?Well, I just happen to have my gun handy.? I state, grinning like the cat that ate the cannery.
    ?Better watch out, I?d hate for your gun to go off to soon.? This from Alex, who had leaned forward to get closer to me, his eyes sparkling.
    ?And that would disappoint you?? I quip, leaning forward as well.
    Alex shrugs, ?I?m use to disappointment. You?ve been my manager for six months.?
    So after dinner, we head to Ruby Sky. The place was packed, a mixture of drag queens, breeders, twink?s, over the hill queers, leather boys, bears, and of course me. As I looked around the club, I saw an open spot at the corner of the bar right next to the dance floor. I staked my spot and settled in for a night of drinking and flirting.
    I was pretty much the purse watcher; I stayed at the bar while everyone else danced their collective asses off. And since I always tip heavy, my drinks were made faster and quite a bit stronger than everyone else?s. Matter of fact, by the end of the night, the bartender wasn?t even charging me for drinks anymore.
    At the end of the night, right before the bartender gives us the last shot, he asks, ?Are you guys driving??
    Alex yells out, ?After all the fucking shots you gave us and all the drinks we had, you ask us now if we?re driving??
    ?Yeah, shouldn?t you have asked us that question a few hours ago?? I ask, laughing very drunkenly.
    We toasted the bartender and Alex and I helped the very drunk ladies out of the club and into a cab, the six of us piled in the backseat in an orgy of giggles and groping.
    Once we got back to their hotel, one of the girls was getting a bit sick so I carried her into the room and right into the bathroom where she spent the next several hours hugging the toilet. The other three girls were very drunk as well, and they had reached the stage of annoying. Plus they pulled out the pot pipe, and that was my cue to leave. I said my goodbye?s and walked out of the room and down the hallway and into the street where I looked for a cab.
    ?Hey, Jason, wait for me.? Alex says, running out of the hotel after me, his bag thrown over one shoulder.
    I grin and say, ?Too scared to stay in a room filled with drunken girls.?
    ?The drunk girls are right up my alley but I?m not a fan of pot.? Alex says, shrugging. ?And you did promise.?
    ?Yeah I did.?
    We get back to the Hotel Palomore and after a very quiet elevator ride, I open the door. We enter the room and Alex rushes right into the bathroom. I remember that I have a mini bar in the room and I yell out, ?Do you want another drink??
    He pokes his head out of the bathroom and looks at me funny and asks, ?Don?t you think I?m drunk enough??
    ?That?s really not up to me is it?? I say while I make myself a vodka and orange juice, not really caring how much that little bottle of vodka was probably going to cost me along with the bottle of orange juice.
    Alex disappears back into the bathroom and I suddenly hear water running. I walk in the bathroom and lean against the door, grinning. He reminded me of a little kid, filled with wonder and excitement. He was pressing all the buttons and making little squeals when he found out what that particular button did. He turns and looks at me with a huge grin, ?This is so fucking cool.?
    He?s cute, something I never thought about before. It must be the vodka because I?m not doing this again I think. But it does occur to me that Alex is the guy I hired to replace Mark. Kind of creepy?
    Alex takes off his shirt and puts it on the toilet seat and then drops his pants. He stands there, his arms wrapped around his body, staring as the tub fills with water. He looks at me, and asks, ?You going to get in??
    Granted this tub is large enough for two comfortably, hell we could squeeze in three if there was a party. But I found it a bit strange that he would want me to join him in his soak. But I was drunk and said, ?Sure.?
    I take off my shirt and pants and then finish my drink. The tub is filled about half-way so I tell him I?m going out to the balcony for a smoke. Five minutes later I stumble back inside. One lamp in the bedroom is turned on, the lowest setting and all the lights in the bathroom are off.
    I ask, ?Why no lights?? I can see him in the tub, the water almost to his neck.
    He replies, ?The lights were hurting my eyes.?
    I shrug and climb in my side of the tub. And I must admit it felt good after a long night of drunkenness. I leaned back and enjoyed the soothing bubbles.
    After a few minutes, Alex says, ?I think I?m ready for another drink.?
    ?You decided you aren?t drunk enough?? I ask closing my eyes and letting the water take over.
    ?Something like that.?
    ?The vodka is over by the TV; make me another one as well.?
    He stands up to get out of the tub and his boxers damn near slide off his skinny frame, showing me a good portion of his left cheek. So I say, ?Nice ass.?
    He climbs out and looks at me, his boxers still down under his cheek, and says, ?You can?t really say that, you only saw half of my ass.?
    ?I?m assuming the other half looks pretty much like this half. I can put two and two together.?
    ?Not even the slightest.? He says as he turns around and pulls down the other side and tucks it under his cheeks. And I have to agree with him, his right cheek looks nothing like his left cheek.
    There is a tattoo that reminds me of a masquerade mask, the one that was used in the movie, The Crow. I leaned forward to get a better look in the half-light and say, ?Nice.?
    ?My ass or the tattoo??
    I lean back and shut my eyes, and say, ?Take your pick.?
    ?Then I choose both.?
    ?So be it.?
    After a few minutes he returns with the drinks and climbs back inside the tub. It had been driving me crazy so I asked, ?Why the tattoo on your ass??
    ?Why not??
    I look at him, cocking my head to one side. He laughs and takes a drink, then he sinks down until only his mouth, nose, and eyes were above water. He then asks, ?So what happened tonight??
    ?Not sure I understand the question.?
    ?I guess you?re just a pretty face then.?
    ?At least both of my cheeks match.?
    ?Okay, so we know you don?t have a tattoo on your ass, what about your carpet??
    I open my eyes and stare at him, or what I can see of him, and ask, ?Are you asking me if my carpet matches the drapes??
    He sits up and says bluntly, ?Yes, does your pubes match your hair color??
    ?Um, I?m bald. So that question really doesn?t count, unless you?re asking if I shave my pubes.?
    He started laughing so hard his head went under the water for a moment and he quickly popped back up spitting out water. I say, ?That?ll teach you.?
    He glares at me and then says again, ?So what happened tonight? Why didn?t you find someone? Aren?t you supposed to be a huge slut??
    ?I was actually having fun with you crazy guys, I just didn?t want to think about it.?
    ?Are maybe you just wanted me to come over and get into your Fuji-Tub??
    ?Are you flirting with me, Alex?? I ask, suddenly very interested in our bizarre conversation.
    He laughs and lets his body float up to the surface and says, ?Maybe.?
    Even though it?s dark in the bathroom, I can still make out the nice bulging front of his boxers. He was not excited by any means; it was almost like he was showing me the goods, giving me assurance that should things get interesting between us, I would be more than satisfied with what he would be bringing to the party.
    I grab his floating legs and pull him close to me, my lips finding his. He kisses me back, and I know from that kiss that I wasn?t going to be disappointed. I wasn?t his first guy kiss.
    Several hours later, after messing up the bed a few times, he?s asleep next to me and I?m staring at the ceiling wondering what the fuck just happened. I look over and see his backpack on the chair. The same backpack where a few hours ago he pulled out condoms and lube. I start laughing, I?ve just been seduced by a younger man. I almost feel taken advantage of?but instead I go to sleep.
    So this happened a few weeks ago, we hadn?t a repeat performance. I still don?t know that much about Alex. But now that I no longer work for my hip up-scale restaurant, he had made the offer that he would like to get to know me a bit better. Though after what we did in that hotel room, I don?t know what else he needs to know.
    And if you?re wondering which one of us got to eat that delicious steak starter, we compromised and gave it to one of the girls. Though in the end, I got to eat my steak anyway.
  16. Jason Rimbaud
    So a few days ago, I was on my way home from my hip up-scale restaurant, and I get this frantic call from my friend Daniel. Apparently he was trashed out of his mind and had reached the stage of hungry and didn?t want to drive anywhere. So after a few minutes of his begging and pleading, I agreed to stop at the Taco Bell drive-thru and pick him up some munchies.
    Yeah I know, I?m cool like this.
    Since he didn?t give me a wish list, I figured I would get him a few different things and let him choose his poison.
    I pulled up to the speaker and the order taking guy blurts out, ?Sooner or later they all make a run to the border.?
    This struck me as funny and I say with a hint of a giggle, ?It?s not for me.?
    Order taking guy replies, ?That?s what they all say.?
    ?But unlike those losers, I?m not lying,? I insist.
    Order taking guy says, ?Come on, tell me what you want for forth meal. You know you want it.?
    I give in and say, ?I?ll take a number one and a number two.?
    Order taking guys says, ?That?s one number one and one number two. Anything else??
    ?And two burritos to go.?
    Order taking guys says quickly, ?And two beaner?s to go.?
    For a split second I wondered if I heard him correctly, did he just say two beaner?s to go. And at a Mexican restaurant, and he had a Mexican accent as well.
    But I couldn?t let him have the last laugh, so I fired back, ?Only if they?re hard working beaner's.?
    Order taking guy starts laughing and tells me to pull up to the second window. And once there, he leans out?he?s a Mexican youth probably around twenty or so?and tells me I was the only person to not only catch on to his joke but fired back with a comeback. Apparently he had been working for twelve hours and was bored out of his mind. So for making him laugh, he threw in the ?beaner's? for free.
    But I might be an asshole, because I charged Daniel for the two value meals and the two free burritos. What? Don?t judge me.
    Jason
  17. Jason Rimbaud
    So something happened to me over the last weekend that I've been debating on whether or not I would share with those of you that read this Blog. And it's not because I think the events that transpired that lonely Friday night is of a personal nature and I'm unwilling to share it here to those that read my Blog on the daily.
    Because I think you know that I've been nothing but brutally honest in these entries over the last few years. Whether I'm writing about my past drug addictions, my straight-boy crush Mark and our adventures, or the stupid shit that happens in my daily life, I never once second guessed or deleted a single Blog entry I've written.
    Not to say that I'm proud of each and every entry that made it online in this Blog and the other one over at Awesome Dude. There are more than a few that never should've been posted in the first place. But that's the beauty of Blogging, being raw and uncensored.
    And yes that was a dig at Julien, maybe I want to read your Blog entries more than once, I love reading old Blog entries and the comments.
    But let's move on, and I still love you Julien. *smooches*
    But when I decided to begin this journey of online Blogging, I created a personal standard, a guideline of do's and don'ts that I swore to strictly follow. I promised myself that I would always write candidly and without fear, no matter the subject. And that I would never censor my words no matter the personal cost. And looking back over the last few years, I think I've kept that promise.
    So why would I hesitate about sharing this particular event if I swore to always be honest in my Blog?
    Well, I never swore that I would share everything that happened in my life, I only swore to always tell the truth when I did Blog. After all, no one person's life is so interesting enough to disclose each and every event that happens.
    Can you imagine trying to read a Blog where the author described in great detail each and every little boring thing that happened to him on a given day? After a few entries, you?d find something else to read, if you just didn?t put a gun to your head to stop the boredom.
    It?s the Blogger?s duty to only present the interesting moments and to keep the boring shit safely locked away far from the reader?s eyes.
    So I was talking about last weekend night?or to be more accurate I was talking about thinking about telling you about what happened last weekend. But before that?
    Most of you know that my parents threw me from their house after my father caught me in a compromising position with an older boy when I was sixteen years old. Most of you know that my father died shortly afterwards and that was the last time I ever spoke to my father.
    My relationship with my mother is nonexistent. The last time I saw the breathing cunt that gave me birth was the day she tried to trick/force me to enter Desert Stream Ministries (I think that is the name), a place that specializes in the re-education of homosexuals. That was the day when I stopped hoping that my mother would one day come to accept my sexuality.
    That day, I remember looking into her eyes and I realized that I saw nothing but hatred, disgust. And I saw the blame. I think she blamed me for the heart attach my father head a few short months after he found out his son was a no good rotten cocksucker.
    That was the day I kicked her out of my life. And believe me when I say, I will die a happy man if I never speak to her again for the rest of my life.
    I wouldn?t go as far as to say that my sexuality is necessarily the fault of my parents, or that they somehow conceived a defected child. But I will go on record saying that they did nothing to curb my natural behavior. And in a way, a very big life changing kind of way, they contributed greatly to my innate desire to be in close proximity with other boys.
    ?Oh really?? you might have voiced this question or a different question that is somewhat similar to the one I offer here, upon first reading the above statement, at this particular time, while reading this particular paragraph, of this particular Blog entry. Or you might ask, ?How could a set of parents, so righteous and so in tune with the almighty god ever contribute to a son of theirs being a faggot??
    I?m glad you asked one of these two questions, it will make the rest of this entry more interesting. For those of you that didn?t ask that question, please feel free to exit?now.
    Beware, the worlds longest sentence is coming up.
    When you isolate twenty to thirty, thirteen year old boys, in a camp far away from all contact with the female type species, especially at the time when those boys are just discovering that the thing between their legs has a more important function that releasing bodily waste, only an idiot would be surprised that the boys, or at least a few of those boys, would find an alternative method to release and explore the pent up sexual energy that Mother Nature has so thoughtfully imprinted in our DNA.
    This is a fact. I?ve seen it proved too many times over the years. Hell, I?ve proved it too many times over the years. Don?t believe me, put three, twelve to fourteen year old boys in a room for three days and leave them to their own devices and see what happens. At least two out of the three boys will experiment, sexually, with one another.
    Because all humans have one thing in common, deep inside our genetic make-up, we are hardwired to ensure the continuation of the human species. And if you take that away, we will still try to fulfill that need.
    Sex is something that most American?s shy away from. I think in part because of our ancestor?s fear of women being accepted as an equal. And in part because a majority of American?s believes that sex is a gift of God that is only supposed to be used for procreation. Any other reason that brings you to orgasm is in direct violation of the Bible and therefore deemed to be an abomination.
    This is completely and hysterically fucking funny to me. We all know, just by reading the papers, the religious right are known to have the kinkiest sexual habits of them all. Of course, the bathroom trysts aside, they justify this behavior by decreeing that if these deviant acts are between a husband and a wife then all is fine and perfect. Just don?t let those same acts happen between two people who are unmarried, or ever worse, of the same sex. Because then it?s an abomination unto God and the evildoers should be put to death. Apparently, in the Christian Bible, only a male and a female are allowed to fall in love.
    Why do we know this to be a fact? Because some asshole who lived in the dessert three thousand years ago claimed he was a messenger of God and said so. That?s it. No facts to validate his claim. Apparently, if you live in the dessert for a few years with nothing to eat or drink, except what birds happen to regurgitate in your mouth, then everything you say must be directly from the mouth of God. Who, by the way, hates faggots for some unknown reason. And if there was a reason, he decided not to explain it to the world. He just hates faggots?because.
    Get this, two guys fucking is such a sin that it ranks up there with anyone who eats shellfish. I know, that?s pretty fucking bad. I don?t know why, and I bet your local minister can?t explain it rationally either. And I also bet everything I own, that your minister eats every kind of shellfish even as he denounces homosexuality. The two laws are in the same book, and I think in the same chapter. But shellfish are good so we?ll throw out that law but two guys fucking gives me the creeps so we?ll keep that in.
    It never ceases to amaze me, how any religious fanatic/fuck can pick and choose seemingly at will, which parts of the Holy Book he follows blindly and which parts he?ll casually dismiss.
    If you take even a part of the book as truth, then you must take it all for truth. Once something is an abomination, it?s an abomination forever. And that?s a long fucking time. Just because the custom of the land has changed, and shellfish is no longer deemed unclean by the masses, which is why the early Jew?s were not allowed to eat shellfish and pork in the first place, that doesn?t mean that God?s law has changed.
    It doesn?t matter what man might twist or interpret the words to say, God?s law never changes. It says so in the book, a cannon that was published by a panel of Christians who were ordered by an emperor to create a standardize belief system that could be implemented by physical force on the entire empire. Or to be more realistic, the entire known world at the time.
    Fuck you, it?s your religion, I?m just quoting from the book you decided to live your life by. If you have a problem with what I?m saying/writing, take it up with your god. These are his fictitious words, not mine.
    Whoa, fuck me backwards Batman, I seemed to have digressed into a rant about religion. This is just a habit I frequently do while writing these Blog entries as you who read my Blog well know. And I am tempted to delete every paragraph that doesn?t pertain to the original topic?but.
    I won?t, because believe it or not, life on this planet will not go forward until this delusional belief in an imaginary figure in the sky disappears forever. This goes for Christians, Muslims, Hindu?s, Jew?s, Buddhists, and any other fly by night religion. Notice I didn?t include Scientology, because let?s face it, those fuckers are insane. Even the Buddhists take a step back and say, fuck.
    So I can still choose which parts of my life to share online and which parts to keep private, how do I decide what to share and what not to share? I think for one?s own sanity, the author and the reader, there are certain things that should remain private and things that should be offered up for anyone to experience.
    And that is why I?m currently struggling inside even as I write this sentence. I don?t know if I should continue this line of thought and let my emotions take me where they may or stop typing and go back to work?
  18. Jason Rimbaud
    So the restaurant has been crazy the last few weeks...of course when is it not crazy. In a way, I'm glad people still have disposable income in these tough times and that they still come to my restaurant to spend this disposable income.
    But why the fuck do these people with these disposable incomes think they are so much better than the rest of us and insist on treating us like donkey shit eaters. Fine, we don't make as much money as they do, and we don't drive the same kind of cars or walk in the same circles as these elitists. But that doesn't make us the shit that hangs out on the bottom of your shoes that gets casually wiped away by one of your peeps.
    We work just as hard as they do, sometimes for long periods and without the lavish vacations. We live on shoe-string budgets that wouldn't pay for their yearly car insurance bills.
    I'm sorry you drove all the way down from San Francisco in your gas guzzling SUV and got stuck in traffic for three hours due to a car accident. I'm sorry that when you walked in the door ten minutes before we close and demanded a table for three I told you that we would be needing your order in five minutes as the kitchen will promptly close at 9:30 and all orders must be in before that. I'm sorry we ran out of the halibut ten minutes before we close the restaurant. I'm sorry that at five minutes after ten that you decided to order another entree because you were still hungry. I"m sorry that the kitchen staff had left to go home after working 13 hours to see their already asleep families. I'm sorry that we were so inconsiderate as to close before you were completely finished. I'm sorry that we are nothing but assholes who had forgotten that we only live to serve you.
    And we still don't have kill an asshole day yet in America?
    Jason
  19. Jason Rimbaud
    So, how's it going? Naw, that's stupid. After all, I haven't done anything in this Blog for forever and that's the weakest opening ever.
    Over the last few days, I've been re-reading all these entries and I've come up with better sentences on all of them. So I must come up with something better than, how's it going? I had thought about explaining why I haven't posted anything in forever, but that seems like a cope out and probably no one cares. I also thought about doing some chit and some chat about my life the last few months. But for the life of me, nothing exciting stands out. I get up at 9am, I go to work. I get home around midnight and go to bed. Repeat forever. So that would be boring.
    Maybe I should start this Blog exactly where I left off all those forever moments ago. But then all you'd have to read about is what I wrote in the above sentence.
    Fuck it.
    I'm single, so I have no exciting stories to relate about dirty sheets and closet dwelling twinks.
    I'm a bit balder now, but really, it's not like I can hide it anymore.
    I'm still drug free, but really, did anyone ever truly doubt that?
    I lurk around at Awesome Dude, and can't find anything witty to say, not surprising.
    I read a few of the new flash fictions, commented when they struck a cord, but mostly I remained silent.
    Which is quite disturbing in a way, considering Awesome Dude was and still is my first home. It's where I started Blogging, it's where most of you got to know me through my rambling and continuous digressions. But for a long time, I felt like this Blog was part of the past. It chronicled things in my life that I didn't want to think about anymore. Things that I felt would only drag me down if I continued to let them fester. Hell, this is the place where I left Mark, and good riddance by the way.
    But lately, I felt like I had abandoned a part of me that could be used for my future self.
    I don't know, maybe I'm just lazy and have been focusing on myself and my offline life too much to offer up things here. But then I read something that Cole posted to one of my comments in Flash Fiction, and it got me thinking. A Blog isn't something that chronicles just the past, it's about the now, what's going on right now and who's playing a part in my continuous evolution as a human. I don't think it's fair of me to view these pages as a past I would rather forget. I think I should use these pages as a future I would like to share.
    I won't make promises that I'll do better in the future, I won't say that I'll never take a break from this Blog, because that would be just another bullshit statement to make everyone else feel better. And this Blog has never been about making other's feel better, though after reading some of the things I wrote, I think it made lots of people feel better, if nothing but to show that someone else is a bit dumber.
    So Hi Ho and away we go...again.
    Jason
  20. Jason Rimbaud
    I must say I like the new look of our Blog's as well as the upgrade. It seems to be a step-up though it gives me more work as now I need to change my Blog to match the face lift of the site. But I'm ready, and if I'm not ready I am at least excited to start.
    It's been a while since I lost posted, ignoring my Election night brief entry because that doesn't really count, two months. I've had a lifetime worth of events transpire and its taken me that long and more to sort it all out.
    I hate left-overs, something about half eaten food makes me shake. I've never understood why people eat left-overs, if it was so good then you should have eaten it all and if you couldn't eat it all then you shouldn't have ordered so much food. Much like the way I can't drink out of an open container, I waste so much Orange Juice I really should be brought up on charges of abuse.
    But that's me, left-overs and open containers freak the shit out of me. I've learned to live with it, it's my cross to bear as it were and for the most part it's harmless and doesn't affect anyone else.
    Mark loves left-overs, and for some reason he doesn't eat them, but he loves to bring the containers back to my house and settle them comfortably in my fridge where they sit forgotten and over time to get back at us for leaving them alone in the fridge they begin to mutate into something unrecognizable.
    I beg, I plead, I implore with my logic, I threaten, anything to get him to stop this madness but nothing gets through. I once decreed that he was no longer allowed to open the fridge for any reason and this only empowered him to become extremely lazy. I was then forced, by my own words, to become his bitch and wait on him hand and foot.
    He is of the opinion that he paid for the food, and he won't waste it by leaving it at the restaurant. This would be fine if the fucker would eat the food instead of waiting for it to grow green legs before I finally throw it out.
    Work has been progressing, sometimes rather well and sometimes not. Based on the current economy, people are having less disposable income and instead of going out two or three times a week, they are only going out once a week, sometimes once every two weeks. This has caused the servers to become a bit more stingy with their money as they went from X amount a week to Z amount. Tempers are flaring, arguments are happening between the staff and everyone has a general feeling of stress.
    This makes my job harder, controlling these tempers is like walking a fine line between a volcano and the pits of hell. One wrong misstep and life becomes way to hot to handle.
    A few weeks ago, I was counting the cash in the restaurant, tallying the books for the days business. When I discovered that I had somehow lost two hundred dollars from the opening cash to the closing cash. Seeing how I am directly responsible for the cash, and must pay for any shortages, I opened all the checks for the day and begin backtracking to find where my mistake occurred, hoping that it was an addition error as opposed to me giving either a customer to much change or a server to much tips.
    In this time consuming process, I was going over a server's checkout (for those of you that have never worked retail, a checkout is a list showing each and every transaction a particular server did on that particular day, with detailed accounts of credit cards and cash.) and saw a discrepancy on a credit card slip. The amount of the credit card was $119.45, the guest added in a tip of $10.00, making the total on the slip $129.45. Granted this was a horrible tip, and the guest really should be taken to a square somewhere and flogged. But be that as it may...
    When I looked at the slip, and the compared that transaction with the server's checkout, I noticed that the server had adjusted the credit card tip to $20.00 dollars instead of $10.00 dollars.
    I'm the first person to realize that mistakes happen, you might be tired, you might be joking around and not paying attention, loads of things could happen.
    But this sent up a red flag, and I began to cross check every credit card slip with the checkout for that particular server. On that day alone, I found two other "mistakes". I forgot about the $200 dollars at that moment and started going back and checking each day that server worked. Over the course of a month, I found several mistakes on that server's books, totaling over $150 dollars of stolen tips.
    Love is a wonderful thing, you accept someone's faults, overlook the bad annoying habits, and focus on the feelings that bubble over every time you look at your lover's face. Mark snores, I find this to be cute with him, all of my other roommates I've had I threatened to kill them if they didn't stop snoring, even when they were in another room on a different floor.
    Mark is messy, to the extent that drives me completely crazy. When he gets out of the shower, he doesn't bother to dry any part of his body before stepping on the floor, leaving water spots everywhere. When he's done with the towel, he leaves it on the floor in a ball. We've managed to work around this, I yell at him, he giggles and slowly cleans up after himself, not good enough so I always have to redo it, but we work through it.
    He leaves empty glasses everywhere, along with plates, forks, spoons, not understanding that if you do that, it leave a better chance of ants crawling around everywhere. He can't wash a dish properly to save his life, though it makes me all fuzzy bunny slippers when he tries.
    Love is what makes us overlook these annoying habits, because though he has faults, he more than makes up for it with his grand gestures of romance, his subtle yet loud declarations of love.
    But to be honest, I'm glad we don't live together. I would kill him.
    Being that I'm rather new to my job, I wasn't sure how to handle this situation of a sever stealing. What would happen if a guest realized that the server did this? I'm pretty sure my owner doesn't want her restaurant to gain the reputation of not running an honest establishment.
    I knew I had the server dead to rights, once could be argued away that it was an honest mistake, $150 dollars is a bit harder to explain. If it was a mistake, then that server is pretty fucking stupid and doesn't need to be handling money whatsoever.
    Yet I liked this server, we had worked together for over two years and I trusted him. Plus I know how much this job means to him, he's still in college that he pays for, his car just got painted and redone, plus I'm assuming he has other bills. Losing this job would affect his life in grand ways. I know, sometimes I'm a bit to nice.
    I was confused, I knew this behavior had to stop, but I didn't want to call in my boss just yet because I liked the guy. After a restless night sleep, I decided to confront this server on my own, and gage his reaction when I showed him the evidence hoping that we could come to some kind of agreement without him getting into trouble.
    The next day, I called the server and asked him to come to work early, right after his classes were over.
    A few hours later, he walks into the office smiling, happy as hell, and sits down across from me, "What's up?"
    I take a deep breath, I admit I was a bit nervous but had decided this had to be taken care of. I retrieve just one slip from the night before, hand it to him, and said, "You screwed up, you adjusted the tip wrong."
    He looks at if for a moment, shrugs, and says, "Oops, do you want the ten bucks back right now?"
    "That would be cool," I smile. He gives me the ten dollars and as I begin correcting the mistake in the computer, I ask smiling, "Have many times do you make this mistake?"
    "Come on, you know me better than that." was the reply.
    "So if I check, I won't find any more of these mistakes?"
    "Nope." He says, looking straight in my eye.
    For some reason, I took great offense in this. Here I was trying to keep this quiet so the big bosses won't find out, basically trying to save his job, and he looks me right in the eye and fucking lies to me.
    "That's weird, because I spent most of last night going through your slips and I found many more mistakes. So either you are lying to me, or you're stupid, which is it?" I was past nervous and slipped into anger by this time. "Is there anything you want to tell me, Mark?"
    His smile drained from his face and he stared at me blankly for a moment. I didn't know what to feel or what to say. This was a man that I shared my life with, a man that came out to his mother just to be with me, a man who faced the world and his own insecurities with his head held high. A man that I realized that I didn't even know.
    He started changing his story, saying that times were hard, and he only did that to the guests that didn't tip him accordingly to the service that he provided. He said they deserved what they got because they were cheap.
    I can overlook many things in a relationship, but this was something I couldn't overlook. I pride myself on my moral and work ethic. I do my job to the best of my ability and when I don't get that tip, or when a guest complains, I tightened my belt so to speak and continue on, knowing that in the end it all works out. One table doesn't tip you well but the next table tips you extra, it makes up for it and after all, we can't force people to tip.
    "I have to report this," looking him in the eyes. "If I don't, and my boss finds out, I could lose my job."
    "I won't do this again," he promises. "Just don't tell."
    "I can't, you are committing credit card fraud, that's a felony. If someone says something, we could lose this entire restaurant."
    "You're my boyfriend," he said, his anger apparent. "Can't you just forget about it."
    By this time, we're yelling at each other. He wants me to hide it and I can't. He accuses me that my job is more important to me than my relationship with him. And I guess in a way, it is. Loss of trust is what destroys relationships, and I don't think we could last with me knowing that not only does he steal but he doesn't have remorse or even thinks it wrong.
    Needless to say, I did tell my boss about the incident when he came to work the next day and Mark was gone. I showed him the evidence, my report on the conversation, and told him that I fired Mark.
    My boss is no longer worried that I would allow my relationship with Mark to interfere with my job, he knows how much this cost me, and understands how hard it was to do.
    My fridge no longer has left-overs inside it, I wish my heart didn't either. But time heals all wounds, and looking back, I believe I did the right thing.
    Mark and I haven't spoke a word to each other since that day. I gathered up his stuff that was at my apartment and gave it to a mutual friend to give it to him. It's weird that he was such a huge part of my life and suddenly there is a hole. The last two months have been difficult. I haven't been drinking much lately, I guess I have nothing to celebrate. And yet I've thought less and less of using cocaine. I go days without it entering my head, slowly over time I think it will gradually disappear all together. I guess I owe Mark that, because no matter how it ended, he helped me learn that if I focus on other things, namely my happiness, I wouldn't focus so much on the past. And my future is looking pretty fucking bright.
    I did find the missing $200 dollars, it was an addition error and our books match up perfectly.
    I'm moving at the end of the month, my lease was up and sadly I didn't want to live in a place that reminded me so much of Mark. I have a new place, smaller but with cheaper rent but in this economy, I'd rather live cheaper than resort to stealing.
  21. Jason Rimbaud
    So as of thirty minutes ago, for good or for ill, America voted in Senator Obama by a large resounding margin. Soundly defeating McCain in key Republican states, I think America has spoken clearly and loudly that we need change in America.
    With such a majority, Republicans need to get behind the Presidential Elect and try to heal this country. I think McCain said it best in his concession speech that though they were opponents this morning, McCain will fall behind Obama and work with him to move this country forward.
    Now more than ever, Washington needs to see this election as the people are pissed about the "old boy's club" ruling the nation and to start being a government for the people by the people.
    Like I said, I don't know if America did the right thing tonight, I don't know if I did the right thing by voting for Obama, but apparently a majority of the country felt as I did.
    Obama has a long hard road ahead and I hope he surrounds himself with the right people to give him the right kind of advice to restore the greatness of our nation.
    All my best thoughts are directed to the man that will now decide my fate and that of my country for the next four years.
    Jason
    And it was of some doubt in my mind, but McCain's concession speech proved to me that he is a man of honor, patriotism, and has a great love for this country and if he follows through on his promise to get behind Obama, then he truly is a great American.
  22. Jason Rimbaud
    Not to be out done by Camy and his forgotten hard-drive pieces that he selfishly dribbles out here and there as he "discovers them", I searched through my "hard-drive" and found a poem that "somehow" managed to evade getting posted. Not one of my better pieces, that's probably why I decided to bury it in the layers of shit that covers my computer. But seeing as I haven't posted a new poem in months...
    *shrugs*
    If you have a mind, check it out in the Poetry Forum, it's called Boy With Dancing Eyes. Or don't...because as Wibby is fond of saying...
    Jason
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