Summer Lovin' Having a Blast

As many of my longtime readers already know, I do not enjoy summertime.

It’s not exactly summer that I don’t enjoy, but rather the heat.

If I had a choice of either freezing to death in Antarctica or being scorched to death in the Mohjave Desert…Antarctica would always win.

Heat for me means anything above 75 degrees.

Comfortable for me means nothing higher than 50.

I know that most people love summer and would much rather be hot than cold, but what can I tell you?

I’m a freak of nature.

Not only does the heat bother me, but I also can’t stand how happy and wired everyone in the city becomes during the summer.

It’s like they just took two hits of Ecstasy and snorted a gram of cocaine simultaneously.

HAPPY! HAPPY! HAPPY!

I prefer cold, gray, drizzly days when I can walk down the street with my umbrella and a cup of Starbucks coffee while tap dancing in large puddles to Singing in the Rain.

Either that, or walking to the grocery store in my flip-flops during a snow blizzard while singing Frosty the Snowman.

I’ve got to admit though, so far the summer heat has not been bad.

And for that I am very grateful.

In fact, this June has been one the coolest June’s I’ve ever been through.

I realize however, that eventually it’s going to get hot and I’ll have to subject you to my once a year kvetch-post about suffering the slings and arrows of outrageous HEAT.

But in the meantime, please know that I’m summer lovin’ and having a blast; eagerly anticipating the day when then the temperature reaches a glorious 102 degrees, and I’m sitting in my apartment eating a nice cold piece of watermelon while spitting seeds out the window; trying to hit pedestrians on the sidewalk who appear to be so FRIGGIN' HAPPY about summer.

I know, just say it…

…I’m a bitch.

Camel Spitting

Good News!

If you’re a human camel, you’ll find that one of the most beneficial “perks” to living in a city is the fact that you can openly and freely spit wherever the hell you want and no one seems to bat an eyelash.

For someone like me however, I find it disgustingly repulsive, barbaric, horrendous, and nauseating.

Not to mention…totally unsanitary.

It's like watching a National Geographic film on the day in the life of a Neanderthal man.

You have no idea how much fun it is to walk the city pavements while having to play “hop-scotch” between the wads of mucous membranes.

My poor Payless shoes cringe every time they hit the sidewalks.

I’ve actually trained myself to walk a straight line; keeping my eyes on the sidewalk for spit-watch.

And it’s not only the men who practice this tribal ritual.

I’ve seen quite a few "delicate lady-camels" spitting while walking down the street. I once saw a woman on the opposite side of the street spit a stream so long…it would have made a camel severely envious. I actually did a double take because I could not believe my eyes.

(I kid you not)

In a one block radius, I once counted nine droppings of phlegm hacks.

It was hideous!

“Excuse me cave people, but have you ever heard of something called a Kleenex?”

I mean even my cat would have the common courtesy to find a secluded corner to spit out a fur ball.

Maybe this putrid act is actually a part of human nature and I somehow have a missing chromosome.

But quite frankly, I don’t get it.

Why would anyone with a functioning brain, think they had the right to freely share their body fluids on a city sidewalk?

Honestly…it totally puzzles me.

Maybe I should start volunteering on my days off by standing on the street corners; handing out complimentary tissues.

Or better yet…

…maybe I should start knitting some cute and festive camel spit-guards…

Wishing you a spit-fire weekend everyone!

Rent

No…

…this is not a post about the Broadway show Rent, but rather a post about my apartment rent.

For seven out of the eight years that I’ve lived in Philadelphia, my habitation has been within this apartment building.

When I first moved in I had a studio apartment on a lower floor and my rent was less than $600.00 a month (heat included). A year later I moved to the same size studio on the 21st floor, but before signing the lease I asked for a two year lease with no rent increase. They gave it to me. So for the next two years I paid exactly the same. In the years that followed, the apartment company raised my rent anywhere from $25-$35.

However, last year during the beginnings of the economy crunch, the greedy little heathens tried to raise my rent $50.00. I immediately went down to the leasing office and reminded them that I had been living here for seven years and was a good tenant who paid the rent on time and took impeccable care of their property. And after a strong persuasion and a fake-threat to vacate, they decreased my increase to $35.00.

*Because as Joan Crawford would say….“Don‘t FUCK with me fellas!”

There are pros and cons to living in my area of the city. On one hand it’s incredibly convenient. I’m a short walk away from work and I’m close to all public transportation and shopping. Also, for east coast city living, my rent is still very reasonable.

On the other hand it’s incredibly noisy because the area is congested with nothing by bars and restaurants, so it always sounds like there’s a party going on. My building is also occupied by a large percentage of rowdy college students, so sometimes it closely resembles scenes from the movie Animal House.

Life is not always nirvana. So you must weigh the positives against the negatives and decide which is more important. Right now, for me, it’s the convenience and reasonable rent.

Anyway….

…since my renewal was coming up again I was curious to find out how much my apartment was going to increase this year, so a few weeks ago I went down to the leasing office and asked them. I was told that the increase would probably be no more than $20-$25.

(the word probably made me a little leery)

Once again I reminded the new property manager about my longevity as a tenant and was hoping they would take that into consideration.

Last Thursday I found the renewal lease in my mailbox and was very apprehensive about opening it. I had had a very long week at work and was not in the mood to see that my rent had been increased by an amount that I was going to have to haggle with.

So I place the unopened envelope on my desk and decided that I wouldn’t open it until Monday morning.

(why deal with something today when you can just as easily procrastinate?)

First thing Monday morning, I made myself a cup of coffee. And after I had a nice peaceful caffeine buzz going on I walked over to my desk, opened the envelope, closed my eyes, and then very slowly opened them so I could see the bad news.

I was shvitzing!

But guess what?

They decided NOT to increase my rent at all.

All my love,

Joan Crawford

A Fractured Fairy Tale

Ok…I have a confession to make.

I lied.

I really wasn’t working last week.

What I actually did was have my body surgically augmented.

Yes, that’s right…I had cosmetic surgery done from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.

I know I’ve said that I would NEVER have cosmetic surgery, but a few months ago I won the Pennsylvania State Lottery for seven million dollars. So after I donated six million to my favorite charity, I thought to myself….

“Oh what the hell, Ron…take the remaining million and just do it”

I also thought that once the cosmetic surgery had been completed, I could confidently pursue my life-long dream of touring the world as a professional 53 year old male stripper and then gradually accumulate another seven million dollars in g-string tips.

So last Tuesday I flew to an exclusive cosmetic surgery hospital in Macon, Georgia (where Cher goes) and had myself nipped and tucked, and lifted and lipo-sucked. I also had chest implants and a ten inch penis enhancement.

I informed the doctor that whatever he did, I wanted my body to look completely natural.

He guaranteed that I would be pleased with the results or he would give me a complete refund plus a gift certificate to Pizza Hut.

The entire surgical procedure took only 20 minutes. And it was amazing, because the doctor only used a simple pair of scissors, a desk stapler, a vacuum cleaner, two water balloons, and a hot glue gun.

Last Thursday afternoon after the bandages and staples were removed, I was finally able to look at myself in a full length mirror to see the results.

OMG….I was ECSTATIC!

I thought I had died and been reborn again, Tom Ford.

And I really didn’t care that I no longer looked like myself because I was now a hot beefcake.

When I got back to Philly the first thing I did was have my hair colored and my body tan-sprayed. Saturday afternoon I had some professional photos taken so I could start promoting my new career.

So here you go, folks…

I proudly introduce the new ME….

*This photo is actually a scratch and sniff. So if you gently scratch your computer monitor over my hairy pecks and then sniff your finger...you'll discover what 100% fake beef smells like.

Bon appetit!

Happy Father's Day

I know this post is a bit early, but I’m going to be insanely busy this week with my retail work schedule, therefore, I won’t be posting again until next Monday. However, I will be stopping by to visit everyone’s blogs throughout the week.

And even though I’m very grateful for the additional work hours, I know I’ll just be dying to SLAP THE CRAP out of half the customers by Saturday evening because they won’t be able to make up their friggin' minds about which cologne to get for their fathers or husbands….

…“Should I get him Aramis? Or should I get him Royal Copenhagen?”

And my answer will be, “Neither…because they both smell like a warm piece of horse SHIT!”

So pray for me my blog friends.

I would like to take this opportunity to wish all you wonderful men out there who are fathers (which also includes fathers of pets) a Happy Father’s Day.

I found a poem on the Internet that I would like to share with you which is intended for a child to give to their father.

But it‘s so innocently adorable…I couldn’t resist.

So, I give you….

My Daddy Is The Greatest

My daddy is the greatest;

The best dad there ever was.

He always brings me lots of joy;

He’s my very own Santa Claus.

My daddy can do anything;

He’s smart as smart can be.

I love to walk and hold his hand

To show he belongs to me.

I love my daddy!

By Karl Fuchs

Happy Father's Day Everyone!

Wishing you love on this very special day.

Note: I also found a Father's Day story that was written by a man, who through caring for his special needs son was taught about the meaning of love. If you have some time this week, please stop by and read it. It will really touch your heart. Learning From Love

Note 2: If you enjoy watching movies, please click on the movie recommendation title on my sidebar to read the synopsis. I just recently viewed this film and it was an incredible 90 minute journey.

Gay Marriage and Equality

Let me start by saying that this is not a political post about the legalization of gay marriage, but rather to express my feelings on equality.

Please understand that because I am a gay man, I hear things from gay people that others may not.

There are a large majority of gay people who want same-sex marriage legalized because they somehow believe it will prove to the rest of the world that they are EQUAL. It has nothing to do with gay rights, but rather about being GAY.

Equality is not the government graciously deciding to validated homosexuality through legalizing gay marriage.

True equality is when you know in your heart that you are no different than anyone else. And if someone doesn’t already feel that, then the legalization of gay marriage won’t make them or the rest of the world feel it.

I have never felt unequal as a homosexual. And please know that I’ve had just as many challenges growing up in my youth as the next gay person, so I know what it’s like to be rejected and verbally abused out of fear. But I’ve learned a long time ago to embrace the totality of who I am; allowing the world to think how they wish.

Quite frankly, I’m tired of gay marriage being use as a means for many homosexuals insisting that the rest of the world accept them solely for being gay. Because while they’re insisting that gay be accepted, they are also saying that gay is unacceptable.

I believe that everyone should have the right to be legally married, however, I think it should be for the right reason.

Not just a way to prove to the world that I am gay…and equal.

Because I am.

Have a wonderful weekend everyone!

All the World's a Stage

Every once in a while I like to share photos of some of the characters I’ve portrayed during my time in the theater.

I’ve been very blessed to have worked with directors who gave me the opportunity to play a wide variety of characters; alongside some of the most incredibly talented actors.

So without further ado, allow me introduce you to a cast of characters.

Curtain up!…..

The play was called A Flea in her Ear. It was a brilliant French farce in which the cast was razor-sharp. I portrayed a hot-tempered, insanely jealous Spaniard who ran around with a loaded pistol in all three acts, trying to kill the man who was cheating with his wife (no worries…the gun had blanks).

One of my all-time favorite musicals Godspell. This was one of those shows that I NEVER wanted to end. The cast bonded like no other cast I’d been with. The girl you see standing next to me is an incredibly gifted actress - she went on to become one of the writers for Saturday Night Live.

This is one of my more serious performances in a play called The Normal Heart. I portrayed Ned Weeks, a man fighting to get the city of New York to provide funding for Aids research. My character was based on the real life of gay activist Larry Kramer. This shot was taken during rehearsal. The gentleman sharing this photo portrayed my partner Felix. At the end of the play he dies from HIV complications.

This was perhaps one of my LEAST favorite shows Angels Fall. I portrayed Zappy, a young professional tennis player who was being “kept” by an older woman. The script SUCKED. It was winded, boring, and had no point. My only saving grace was that my good friend Laurel was also in the cast, so we were able to support one another through HELL.

A photo taken during the song Money from the chilling musical Cabaret. I portrayed the Emcee. I had waited sixteen years to play this role, so it was a dream come true.

The reason why I look like a mental patient in this photo is because I WAS. I portrayed Petrone, who was a fucked up saxophone player who took too many drugs. It was a strange one-act play by Sam Sheppard called Suicide in B Flat. My good friend Laurel (on my right) was also in the show.

This photo is a repeat for some of my longtime readers. My secret fantasy to portray a woman in the musical Cinderella. Here you see me as the Wicked Stepmother with my delightfully evil daughters. After this show was over I cried….because I didn’t want to give the dress back!

The End!

Are Hickeys Back in Fashion?

I have a question for you….

… “When was the last time you saw someone donning a hickey?

The reason why I ask is because Saturday afternoon while I was in Traders Joes, I saw an adult employee walk by me with a hickey on his neck the size of Texas.

(and it definitely was a hickey, not a birthmark)

The last time I ever saw one on someone was probably back in high school, but evidently hickeys are back in vogue.

Who knew?

I personally have never had any experience with hickeys, because I think their heinous. Who the hell wants to look like they’ve been savagely bitten by a leech?

However, back when I was a Senior in high school I did try to giving myself one on the forearm just to see if I was capable.

Anyway….

After seeing a hickey on this guy, I started thinking strange things like:

Where did hickey-making come from?

Who actually made the first hickey and then thought to call it a hickey?

Why did someone even want to make a hickey to begin with?

And is there deep symbolism in a hickey?

Curiosity got the best of me, so I googled the Internet for almost an hour just to see if I could find any answers.

I didn’t.

But what I did find was a website that gave the definition of a hickey and some helpful tips on how to get rid of them in case your going to a fancy dinner party and are embarrassed to walk in with a “love bite” on your neck.

I kind of always thought that hickeys were perhaps a way of marking your territory - a way for us to show the world that we're dating someone and that they belong to us because we've BRANDED them with are mouth.

Like, “Hey dude…don’t mess with the merchandise, because she’s/he’s ALL mine!”

Or maybe….just maybe…

…hickeys were something that began way back in the pre-historic caveman days before paint supplies were available, as serious art form….

Please Bear With Me

Please don’t call the Sigmund Freud Hotline after you read this….

For as long as I can remember, I’ve always maintained a childlike belief that stuffed animals are living and breathing entities.

By that I mean, I think of them as having internal organs and emotional feelings.

For instance…

I remember the day when I decided to purchase my very first GUND Teddy Bear to had to my collection. And if any of you have ever touched or held a Gund, you know what I mean when I say how wonderfully soft and cuddly they are.

Let me interject here by saying that I don’t have a HUGE teddy bear collection, nor do I concoct imaginary tea parties with lacy napkins; serving them scones with lemon curd. However, I do enjoy looking at them and occasionally cannot resist kissing them on their fuzzy little heads.

The day I bought my first Gund, was the day I realized I was perhaps a tad eccentric.

After the stupid-ass cashier in the gift shop finished ringing my sale, she proceeded to COLDLY grab my teddy bear by the feet and fling him into the shopping bag so that his head was at the bottom and his little legs were sticking out of the top.

I GASPED!

And without even thinking I looked at her and said, “For god's sake…all the blood will rush to his head and he won’t be able to BREATH in there like that.”

I immediately grabbed the bag from her and gently took the teddy bear by his feet, flipping him right-side up so that his head would be at opening of the bag.

The cashier just stared at me with a please-get-this-lunatic-out-of-the-store look on her face and said….

“Aaaaalrighty, now….thank for your purchase, Sir. NEXT IN LINE, PLEASE!”

I walked away from her; whispering to the teddy bear, “You poor little thing.”


And another for instance….

One day while I was at work, I just so happen to spot a stuffed baby tiger lying on the hard tile floor in my department. It still had the price tag on, so I knew it had probably been dropped by a shopper who was planning to purchase it from our toy department on the third floor.

The minute I saw it I ran over and picked it up like a tigress protecting one of her injured cubs.

I told one of my sales associates that I needed to leave the floor immediately so I could return the tiger to it’s family.

And the funny thing is, that while I was riding the escalator I was cradling it lovely and scratching it under it’s chin.

WTF???

Perhaps I need psychiatric intervention.

Or perhaps I’m really a teddy bear...with a little boy inside.

Have a Beary nice weekend everyone!

Don't Cry For Me Argentina

I would like to share this post to tell you about my favorite Broadway musical, and to also tell you about the time I wanted to kicked myself in the ass.

I should probably start by saying that although I enjoy humor and comedy, when it comes to my taste in musical theater, I’m not one for sugary, jolly, and happy-ending shows in which leprechauns are singing about rainbows, or cowboys are dancing ballet in an Oklahoma corn field.

Ironically, I much prefer a musical that blatantly exposes both the light and dark sides of human nature - and even more so if it’s a musical based on a biography or a piece of history. The shadow side is not always easy to look at, but for some crazy reason...I like looking at it.

I enjoy musicals such as, Sweeny Todd, Sunset Boulevard, Cabaret, and my all-time favorite…Evita.

Evita is a fascinating story based on the life of Eva Peron, First Lady of Argentina, who seduced her way into political power by appealing to the poor and working class. She was loved passionately and hated equally. She spent most of her adulthood fulfilling a personal vendetta. To make a long story short…she took money from the rich to give to the poor, and then took some for herself. She died at a very early age before having the chance to run for vice-president. And in the last scene of the musical on her deathbed, she humbly confesses her motives and asks for forgiveness.

Many years ago I was asked to be in a production of Evita. And after briefly talking to the musical director and hearing some of the music, I declined. At the time, I knew nothing about Eva Peron and it sounded like the show was going to be boring.

*WRONG*

However, I had several friends who were in the cast, so I was excited to attended the open night festivities.

I remember sitting in my seat as the curtain rose on the first scene, which is actually the funeral of Eva Peron. The musical starts at the end of her life, then reverts back to the beginning.

I don’t know whether it was the exquisitely dramatic sound of the orchestra, or the film footage of the real Eva Peron that was projected onto a movie screen, but I sat there totally mesmerized; not able to move.

The second act opens with the famous song Don’t Cry for me Argentina, at which point Eva Peron is at the peak of her political power. The actress who portrayed the role, slowly walked out onto a balcony wearing a magnificent designer gown and was dripping in diamonds.

As the stage lights hit her….she literally sparkled. It was intoxicating.

By the time the finale arrived, I was so engrossed in the story that I found myself not wanting it to end.

And as the curtain descended I remember standing on my feet and clapping so hard I thought my palms would bleed.

It was at that moment I had discovered my favorite Broadway musical and was simultaneously kicking myself in the ASS for not being a part of the show.

And after going backstage and congratulating the cast for their outstanding performances, I walked to my car thinking to myself…

….“Argentina wasn’t the only one CRYING”…

Ronita Peron

"The First Lady of Argentina"

Gum Chewing.....Cow Style

One day last week while I was standing in line at Starbucks, I was suddenly reminded of why I should NEVER chew gum for the rest of my life.

Whenever I chew gum…I truly resemble a cow eating grass.

I mean is it humanly possible to chew gum with your mouth closed, not make noise, and blow bubbles?

Apparently, I can’t seem to do it.

All through the 90’s I was a big-time gum addict. I chewed so much, that it took less than 24 hours to go through one of those Plenti-Packs. I was forever putting a stick in my mouth, chewing it for twenty minutes, spitting it out, and then immediately tossing in another piece.

I was a chain-chewer.

And because I was chewing sugarless gum, I developed a sensitivity to artificial sweeteners, which caused me to have spontaneous intestinal irrigation.

Slowly, I weaned myself off gum and switched to a Cryst-O-Mint Lifesaver addiction.

Now occasionally, I will bum a stick from someone at work, but only when I don’t have a mint handy and my breath smells like a coffee roaster.

The woman who was standing behind me in Starbucks was chewing her gum in such a way that it made me want to turn around like a catholic school nun and RIP it out of her mouth; making her wear it on the tip of her nose for detention.

“Now…GO STAND IN THE CORNER, MISSY!

OMG…I thought I was going to go INSANE!

First of all, she was standing so close to my personal space, I could smell the flavor. And the NOISES that she was making would have tested the patience of Mahatma Gandhi.

She kept taking the gum; spreading it out over her tongue, sucking it IN as it SNAPPED!

Then spreading it out over her tongue again, blowing it OUT as it POPPED!

And in between doing this she kept CRACKING it with her teeth.

SNAP!…POP!…CRACK!

SNAP…POP!…CRACK!

SNAP…POP!…CRACK!

Over and over and over again…

I was getting so irritated that my legs started twitching, my shoulders began to hunch, and my eye balls started spinning around in my head like a slot machine.

As I slowly made my way to barista counter, her gum chewing got more and more rapid and increasingly louder, until her mouth produced what I can only describe as the finale in the 4th of July fireworks display…

God Bless America!