Friendship

Mission 1. Hook up with someone as old as my mom (54)and as young as my sister (20) in a month.
Mission 2. Live a completely gay lifestyle (without the gay sex) for a month.

My missions are living, breathing, sizzling, shedding, humping, lusty animals. And I truly appreciate the comments I get from my blog friends because they offer an outside perspective that guides me through my missions and beyond. If you’re somewhat of an obtuse man like myself, something can be right in front of your face and you won’t see it. Except for tits, of course. Guys never miss tits.

Libby thinks I need a “fag hag.” I guess that is the gay equivalent of a Wing Woman, well almost. I do have a friend named Tracey who fits all of the qualifications, except she is pretty smokin' and has a little “Rob Lowe on the brain”(can you blame her?). It’s a very tempestuous relationship with a slight 80’s teen movie flair. I have never had my way with her, but I know she's always a drunk-dial away. But I wouldn't go there because it would destroy the dynamic of our relationship. And that is more important to Rob Lowe that dropping a meaningless load on a pair of fake boobs nestled in Agent Provocateur. Don't you love my sensitive side?

Last night, I realized just how fucked up this city is when it comes to transportation. A big-rig jackknife on the 405 freeway screwed over almost the entire city. I could not budge in traffic, so I called a nearby friend to get a beer and wait out the mess.

I headed over to Father’s Office in Santa Monica. No, it is not a gay-fetish bar as it's name could easily imply. Actually, it was more of a straight-bar sausage party yesterday (tons of guys) which was fine by me. I was in character, so the least female distractions I encountered, the better.

After a brief test of my “gaydar,” I spotted four blips on my screen. I thought it was interesting that gay people go to straight bars all the time, but most straight people are afraid to even mention the name of a gay bar.

Let me digress for a second. I try to limit the amount of friends who know about this blog. The tier-two friend I was with at the bar, Greg, falls into that "clueless about it"category. So he had no idea I was now living the gay lifestyle or last month, hunting cougar. It was better that way. He did make a comment that my shirt was “gay” though, but he always makes comments like that. By the way, he was right. That shirt is gay as fuck. In fact, it’s the gayest shirt I own (and it was bought prior to this mission). Yikes!

So I thought I would try a test. Daniel told me about this bar, the Friendship, in Santa Monica, near the beach. It is an old-school queen bar with a ton of Hollywood history and folklore attached. It is king kitsch and has a crazy nautical theme. The question had to be asked.

"Hey Greg, want to do something different?"

He was already on his third 10% alcohol beer, so he agreed. By the way, the only thing greater than the sausage at Father’s Office last night was the beer selection. The best in L.A.

I talked him into going to The Friendship, under the guise that it was a “historical” bar in Santa Monica where Marilyn is rumored to have delivered an illegitimate child. He bit. We went.

From there I entered uncharted territory. We were two straight guys (one wearing a gay shirt) in a gay bar without my gay guru, Daniel. Did Rob and Greg survive the advances of grey-haired queens in aloha shirts? Did they leave in a Miata? Tune in tomorrow to find out.