Straight Up and Down

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.
Mission Three: Live without an apartment for a month.
Mission Four: Reconnect.
Mission Five: Re-take the SATs.
Mission Five: Become a PUA (Pick Up Artist) and wing Cali to 5 F-closes.

I cannot remember the last time I had sex with another person. It hurts. Not mentally, although that seems to be an ancillary effect. No, actually it hurts physically to do it. Tried it recently and I had to stop. Couple of different ways, too. I felt like a coed tease, pushing my raven-haired temptress away, and apologetically speaking, "Maybe we could just snuggle."

Just so we're all clear here, I'm a clean guy. I cover and protect all the vital stuff just like the surgeon general requests. But the pain isn't a result of a drip or angry burn in my staff, rather it is a pain in the very core of my being. I have four broken ribs.

I've had them since Christmas, I think. I guess I knew one was broken because of the enormous fucking pain in my side, but I kept playing basketball on Mondays all macho-like. Then about a month ago, I got hit again. Fuck, I wish these guys would call out their picks once in a while. I wouldn't have to be servicing myself in the shower with pre-kfed Britney Scenarios.

But I have been doomed to self-satisfaction and truthfully, I'm getting quite good at it. I hope I don't get so good, like the guys that don't feel the need to go out since they can take care of their own business with Jergins, a box of tissues and a mental footnote. I've been there in my college stoner days and don't want to go back.

Let's switch gears.

I was in SF this weekend with some friends. It was super budget, slept on their futon/aero, ate Emmy's spaghetti, drank free beer and even drove up. SF is a cool place, but after riding the bus/train/rail with the tb-belching masses, it was nice to get back in my car, pop in some Jonestown Massacre and drive down the 5, hoping someday I would have sex with another human again.

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Death in Vegas

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.
Mission Three: Live without an apartment for a month.
Mission Four: Reconnect.
Mission Five: Re-take the SATs.
Mission Five: Become a PUA (Pick Up Artist) and wing Cali to 5 F-closes.

I'm not sure if anyone reads this blog anymore. But if there is one reader left after my hiatus, I only ask one thing. Never let me go to Vegas again. Seriously.

I am still nursing a mental hangover from this weekend. As a victim of peer pressure, I broke nearly every rule in my book. Against my better judgement, I went to a club. And as much as I hate to say it, I actually had fun. Maybe it had something to do with the bottle of Basil Hayden my friend Ms. and I downed before, maybe it was listening to Paris lip sync her single at 4 a.m. with a self-important, overweight Latin guy dancing next to her. Maybe it was how her sister stood there with the mic, not really sure what she was supposed to do. Or maybe it was how I drunkenly split Jim's million-dollar lip while haphazardly ripping off his drink-laden shirt. As much as I hated myself for being there, I loved myself with equal amount. I realized sometimes overpriced clubs are a trainwreck that can be interesting to navigate.

Life is getting back to normal now and I will soon write some things about the weekend. I did a bit of sarging, chatted up a few street-level hookers and did not see one set of tits that I had to pay for. I would say that is a pretty good weekend for Vegas. Friday night was Pure and Sat. was Mix at Mandalay. The latter should have been named "Pure" because it was a Pure sausage. But the lack of pussy at Mandalay gave us a chance to justify the reason we were there. To send "The Beautiful Driz" into matrimony with flava and just the right amount of class a group of L.A. guys can muster.

And the final word to any readers out there. If you go to Vegas and end up at the Circus Circus, you're as big a loser as Rob, Jesse, Jim and The Kid. Even the cabbie thought he was cooler than us. And he quoted Star Wars.

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