Hung

Usually, grammar isn't talked about unless you're four or using double negatives. But then I had a talk with a poet and an sports comedy writer. I may not be as grammatically correct as either of them, but I am immature enough to make them laugh.

Dude 1: Don't you hate it when people use the word supposebly?
Dude 2: Ha, ha. Yeah. Or irreguardless.
Me: Um, yeah... (Mental note: don't use either of those words ever again.) What I want to know is how do you know when to use hanged or hung?
Dude 1: An object can be hung while a person is hanged. For example, the painting was hung on the wall ...
Dude 2: Right. And that man was hanged
this morning.
Me: Wait, so I a guy can't be hung?
Dude 1: Right.
Dude 2: Um ...

Collin Farrell is super hung. Groeg has the best commentary on it.

Roller Derby's Comeback

She drops her elbow on the girl in front of her. They both go down — a teammate comes in from behind to stop the fight — and when the jabs start connecting, a dog pile of women in roller skates builds high into the area.

I thought the roller derby would be a lot like wrestling, the winner would be decided beforehand and the match would ultimately be about character building and theatrics. I was wrong. By then end of the first round, I see a broken nose. I see audience members receiving damage by rouge skaters flying out of the ring. I see two players twist their ankles. I see dozen's of falls, elbow drops, punches to ass. Yeah, that's right: punches to the ass. I even see a woman's skate connect to the head of her archrival. Oooo, that hurt! I even see blood.

Welcome to the Roller Derby, and all female league of angry, hostile and very independent women. The Arizona teams are: the Bruisers (in nurse's outfits or course), Furious Truck Stop Waitresses, Iron Curtain (Russian's in Tucson?), and Smash Squad with more teams coming. Other women's leagues have started in New York, Texas, Kansas, California, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Colorado and Wisconsin.

My favorite part is the penalty round where the player with the most errors has to spin the wheel of shame. Tonight, the unlucky woman's spin lands on Rosy Butt Boulevard! The audience is ordered to the center of the ring, the skater is escorted around it and everyone is given the chance to slap her ass as hard as possible. This is one fucked up sport, but I'm all about audience participation.

Gay Bulimia

Gay guys work out too much. Not all of them do, but it seems like bodybuilding is could be akin to gay bulimia. Guys at the gym look in the mirror and you KNOW they see a geeky scrawny pathetic looking dude staring right back at them — there's no other reason to be that muscular! I, on the other hand, love what I see when I look in the mirror; which is why I bought four more mirrors this weekend. Enjoy.

Which Olsen Twin Are You?

Often feeling like two different people, you try to do the right thing, eat the right foods, and market the trendiest products in your Walmart line appropriately titled Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen. You continue to make bad movies that miraculously do well on DVD and currently your popularity is at an all time high.

But this week you've had to make a very difficult choice, either: a) turn yourself into a rehabilitation center where you'll spend thousands of dollars forcing people to make you eat or b) escape to enchanting Tokyo where you'll happily promote your new (and painfully awful) movie New York Minute. Yes, you're an Olsen. And damnit, it's good to be disgustingly rich.

But who are you? Who are you really? You've grown up in the media spotlight and you are worth billions. With the constant pressure to be innocent, perfect, and naturally redheaded - like goddess Lindsy Lohan - how can you truly know who you are?

That's why you must take this simple quiz (but mostly because the last one was so popular and passionately requested).

What did you eat this morning?
Fruit and Egg Beaters ('cause that's low in cholesterol you heard).
Nothing. And since you didn't eat yesterday, you probably shouldn't eat today either.

What kind of boys do you like?
Blond football jocks.
Dark haired boys who's father owns one-third of Dreamworks SKG.

Which of the following best describes the image you see in your mirror?
Flawless.
Lard faced, its-not-my-fault-I-have-an-ass-the-size-of-a-Japanese-bullet-train, I hate you! You look like a heifer! A fat heifer!

On your recent appearance of Saturday Night Live, you played a paparazzi working the red carpet. You shouted this to the actress portraying you:
Thank you for smiling! God you're so nice!
You look thin! Eat a sandwich!

Also, on Saturday Night Live you made a commercial for your two new fragrances, Mary Kate and Ashley. Which one best describes the setting in which you should use your scent?
For moonlit walks, romantic diners with men twice your age
For when you're feeling bloated, unattractive, hideously unpretty, or just plain fat

You died your hair. (God help you.) What color is it now?
Blond
Anorexic red

How long does it take you to get ready in the morning?
All I need is 25 minutes to curl my hair and slip on a Prada skirt with a flattering Versace scoop neck top.
At least an hour, it takes me half that time just to fit my thunder thighs into these size 0 jeans.

How many pairs of earrings do you own?
I don't own earrings. I own expensive Jacob the Jeweler original bling.
Three or fewer, I hate wearing jewelry if I know I'm going to binge and purge in a public toilet before any PR work.


You usually picked the first answer. Your name is Ashley Olsen. You're stable because you only have one first name. If you had to hyphen that shit, you'd be no more than a hillbilly. You'll go far because you're good with people even if you ain't all that bright. Congratualtions! You're going go Tokyo. You're boyfriend just dumped you but who the fuck cares? Come fall, you'll be enrolled in NYU anyway. New York guys are so hot.

You usually picked the second answer. Your name is Mary Kate Olsen and you're the ugly one. See you in rehab! Don't forget to write. And eat a sandwich already!

Nip/Tuck Premiere, Season Two

“The world is our oyster and we’re going to chase the bitch with a champagne chaser.” Playboy Dr. Christian Troy (Julian McMahon) says in tonight’s season premiere of Nip/Tuck. Full of gore and violence, the episode also features Aisha Tyler from Friends who seems to be unhappy with her clitoris. But that’s not what got me interested. I’m happy to find that Nip/Tuck will be shown without any commercials thanks to XM Satellite Radio. FX is trying so hard to be in the prime time spotlight. Here’s to a good show that pushes the boundaries of acceptance free from FCC fines. Cheers!

Season one is now available on DVD. Enter to win $10,000, a home makeover, a Hawaii spa retreat for two, or a New York trip for two with shopping money included at the official Nip/Tuck website. Good luck.

Now tell me, what is it that you don’t like about yourself?

Dodgeball

“If you can dodge a wretch, you can dodge a dodge ball.” Absurd? Yes. Totally nut-busting hilarious? Also, yes.

Ben Stiller’s new movie is a true underdog story. More importantly, how many movies does one get to make where one can peg one’s own real-life wife in the head with a dodge ball? Ben cranks one at Christine Taylor and you have to wonder if he hating doing it or relished knocking his beautiful wife in the noggin.

Vince Vaughn is a stud. Vince Vaughn in leather — although odd — is worth the price of admission. Don’t forget to watch for b-list athlete cameos.

If you liked Zoolander, you’ll love Dodgeball. If you hated it, spare yourself the pain. I loved dodgeball as a kid. As an aspiring gymnast, it gave me a socially acceptable atmosphere to practice tumbling, back tucks, and, rolling. I didn’t even try to throw a ball, but dodge as many as I could. Sissy? Of course, and this only led to Xtreme PowerVolleyball — which combines international volleyball rules and Tai Chi Chuan.

What childhood sport would you love to see made into a movie?

Which Simple Life Girl Are You?

Figuring out if you're the Nicole Richie or Paris Hilton of your friends can be difficult. This quiz will help you find out which one you truly are. Keep track of how many A's or B's you have, this will determine if you're the whore or the instigator.

1. Your daily hour of shopping ends with a credit card bill sent to daddy for the following amount:
   1. $12,760.02
   2. $2,986.68
2. When giving fashion advice to a friend you say:
   1. Those would be great to hitchhike in if we run out of gas!
   2. Will you please model your chaps for us? Just the chaps, with nothing under them.
3. How would your humble group of millionaire friends describe you?
   1. The narcissistic pretty one.
   2. The fun one with the amazing personality.
4. Your fashion faux-paux for the week is wearing:
   1. Mermaid regalia. The bra makes your boobs look big.
   2. A Juicy couture track suit. It's super comfortable.
5. Just before going to bed you say this to your best friend:
   1. Good night, bitch.
   2. Good night, bitch.
6. You're already famous for being famous. Which of the following best describes your current career track?
   1. Most censored butt crack on television and avid poop scooper.
   2. Professional fundraiser through street walking/grass-roots organizing
7. Your phrase of the day is:
   1. That's hot.
   2. That's sexy.
8. What's your dog's name?
   1. Tinkerbell
   2. Honey

Mostly A's: You're hot, you know it and you flaunt it. Daddy has tons of money, you don't worry about much except how people will react to your new outfit. It's a good thing you capitalize on your outer beauty now, it might not last forever. Plus, your friends look to you to find a place to hang out at night. You're fashion addicted personality is the perfect Paris Hilton match.

Mostly B's: You're friends rely on your smarts to get them through tough times. The only downside is that you need a pretty friend to put you in the spotlight. Your outgoing personality and seemingly endless supply of catch phrases makes you the Nicole Richie of your group.

The Rental Car That Fought Back

There’s a gas smell coming from my air conditioning. Poor little Beepers (that’s my car), he seems to be leaking both engine coolant and gas. Luckily, my service rep at the VW shop will often give me a deal to help out with costly repairs. This time I’m really going to need it, the repair bill alone should be $600-700 for the fuel tank.

Phone conversation with my rep at 4pm:
VW: Your insurance guys won’t be in, it’s 6pm on the East coast.
Me: Okay.
VW: You wanna come down here and get a rental car?
Me: I have an event tomorrow—I’ll need som’um ...
VW: I’ll pay for it.
Me: Well, shit. If you’re gonna pay for it, I’ll be there in an hour. How long you there tonight, Kathy?
VW: I leave at 6pm.
Me: I’ll be there at 5pm.

She has my papers waiting when I get there. I walk over to the rental place and I’m excited to see a cute guy working. I’m also a little turned on when the dude tries to speak Spanish with the car wash Latinos bringing in the car keys. “How many cars are there? uh ... quantos cars are there?” he says. Que cute, no?

But then he offers me a Cavalier. Kill me now.

The car already knows I hate it even before I start driving. I don’t buy the extra insurance cute rental guy tries to sell me— that probably makes me suspicious in the car’s eyes. But, it drives well enough and I’m excited to see that I like four of the six presets on the car’s radio: r&b, rock, hip-hop, and dance stantion. We might get along after all, I think to myself as I bump Justin Timberlake’s “Cry Me A River.”

When I get home I swing open the door with quite a bit of force (you have to do that in my VW just to open the damn thing) ...

... and it slams right back into my head. Bastard.

Our big gay family

I’m shocked to discover that traveling with gay men is much like traveling with a traditional modern family. There’s the mom, eldest daughter, middle daughter, youngest daughter, and of course the cousin that’s always over for dinner.

The eldest sister is Amir. He’s got the body everyone wants. He’s got the cute boyfriend that everybody wants. He’s got the lips everyone wants to kiss. He’s got the car everyone wants to be ride in. But his hair ain’t real — not with those extreme highlights and extensions. Somehow, he doesn’t seem to know how beautiful he is and probably sees himself as less than perfect. He can communicate with everyone and anyone because the dude knows like four languages and he’s the first one you notice in our family because he’s also one of the tallest. You don’t want to fuck with him either. Just by looking at you he can make you cry or run away. It’s ironic too that his name means first-born because he will always be our oldest sister.

Then there’s Justice. He believes himself to be an only child even though he’s the only adopted one. He’s the fun trendy one everyone wants to be around. He’s got more energy than a flock of cheerleaders and more talent for sports than anyone ought to have. He’s a jock in every sense of the word, he’s good at every sport he gets involved with but somehow manages not to rub in the fact that we all suck in comparison. He’s ghetto fabulous and constantly makes us laugh. We love Justice, he’s the center of universe to us so logically, it makes sense that he’s the middle sister.

There’s Brock, the cousin. He’s in the military, tough, and angry (don’t ignore his bleeding head, you’ll regret it later). He’s constantly driving to the ends of the Earth for us ‘cause he lives like nowhere near anything. He’s got the jeep you can break into with a pair of scissors and the fact that no one does speaks volumes to how cool he is. He can fix anything if given the right tools. He can fix anything from a squeaky car to an armored battle tank. Just don’t forget his name, if you forget and ask him more than four times in a night, he’ll never let it go.

Then there’s me. I ask if everyone is okay, I make sure everyone feels welcome and invited. It’s for this reason that I seem so popular, it’s my empathy that lets me notice everyone’s mood and state of mind so I can deal with them. I’m the responsible one of the group even if I don’t see myself as that way, ‘cause that’s like so domesticated and I don’t want to be no tied down bitch-whipped chicken head. I’m the one who checks to make sure all the doors are locked but I’m always looking for new things to do and exploring things outside my universe. I’m crafty and well connected. I’m the mom; and I hate that. I completely despise it — I want to be cool. I want to be the fierce, pregnant, out of wedlock teenage Latina mom who insists on having my baby alone. Fuck the father, I’m pretty sure he’d be gone if he knew I was rock’n jelly. Besides, I like being a whore every now and then dancing at the Pussycat club.

Oh, and when we travel, don’t use my loofa. I hate that. I brought my own fuck’n shampoo, my own goddamned body wash; I even brought extra pillows and a comforter just in case anyone needed them, which they did. I don’t even use a pillow at home. I don’t move in my sleep, I stay on my side of the bed because I’m used to waiting for my baby’s daddy to join me at night, knowing full well that he’s never coming home since he left me for a younger version of myself. In the morning I wake up before everyone else so I can have some quiet time alone with my homemade buttermilk cornbread muffins I stole yesterday from autie Cocos.

Queer As Folk Babylon Tour cancelled in Flagstaff Arizona

We're at the Wendy's dive-up window in Flagstaff, Arizona. Hours before we had just seen 80's icon Tiffany perform at Flagstaff's Pride in the Pines. Five urbanite gay men sit in the car contempating their worst nightmare: being trapped in a small town with nothing to do. Gasp! So we eat.

AUTHENTIC MEXICAN FOOD IS MADE FROM LARD

I’m fond of heart smart food, especially anything wrapped in a tortilla. Chipotle is a dream come true. People complain that the food there isn’t authentic enough to be Mexican food and so they won't even eat there. I agree that it isn't authentic but who wants their arteries to collapse? How can anyone hate a heart-smart burrito the size of Vin Diesel’s forearm filled with chicken, black beans, rice, and sour cream that you can order online and pick up in ten minutes? Certainly not this young Latino.

But occasionally I go to Oaxaca (pronounced oh-HA-kah with special throat phlegm clearing emphasis on the syllable ‘HA’), best Mexican restaurant in Phoenix aside from Barrio Cafe. But why is it that in order to be “authentic” EVERYTHING must be made from lard? I think I’ve even heard a Chicano folk tale where God creats the first man out of leftover solidified grease from a Folgers tin can located above Jesus’s heavenly stove.

Giving thanks to Jesus’s cooking, I leave Oaxaca with a full stomach. My face seems oilier than when I arrived. Looking in a mirror I notice that I have an ugly pimple on my forehead. I really hate popping pimples, and I hate people who try to pop them for me. That's like — so gross. This one’s already somewhat popped so I help it along, much to my discomfort and aesthetic ethics.

Todd then asks me what I have on my face. I say it’s a pimple and think nothing more of it. What I don’t know is that the blood is oozing out in all directions creating a faux-bullet wound on my forehead.

Lesson of the day: Do NOT pop your pimples.

THE COMPLETE FAGGOTS GUIDE: BECOMING A WHORE AND NOT LOSING YOUR FRIENDS IN THE PROCESS

Writing blogs and not posting them for a while has given me insight into who I am and where I’ve come from in the past year. I didn’t think I would change that much and maybe I really didn’t. But I’ve been responding to my surroundings in much different ways and I think I know why.

Change #1: Body
When Merce and I started working out, I hoped I’d get bigger, but I wasn’t expecting my ego to grow along with my biceps. I now have 11 inch arms and an 8 mile long ego. My ego also came equipped (upgraded?) with a homing device that alerts me to any cute guys in range (ages 18-29, of course). Cool as it is, I can’t turn it off! I stare at men, violate them in my mind, and occasionally get their phone numbers. Men who perpetually cruise are weird. I used to hate those guys.

Change #2: Mind
Knowing I have a good body has increased my self-confidence. I used to be the thin (or fat depending on how far back you go) geeky Latino boy with large cuneiform shaped eyebrows. And look at me now – I know I look good and that makes me a bonafide little shit. I used to hate those guys.

Change #3: Spirit
My social life has completely change. I’ve developed irrational fears like getting fat, having a 5 o’clock shadow, disliking pop music, and turning 30. I used to hate those guys! More importantly, I’ve neglected my friends. Tricks come and go, but friends are much harder to find … especially online. Luckily, I’ve been hard at work developing these guidelines for all to follow.

So I present to you now:


The Complete Faggots guide to becoming a whore and not losing your friends in the process.

Rule #1:
Friends come first.
When offered the chance of really amazing sex with the high school looking jock you’ve always dreamed about or seeing Lindsey Lohan’s new movie ALWAYS choose your friends and the movie. A year from now you’ll find a younger jock who will be more than willing be your wide receiver.


Rule #2:
Friends come first.
If you’re on a trip with your friends, let’s say — oh, I don’t know — to Madonna’s concert and the MGM Grand hotel in Las Vegas and you meet a cute boy in lobby do not offer to walk him to his room. You’ll never leave, you’ll miss the concert, and your friends will disown you or fly home without you. Furthermore, if you run into said blue-eyed hottie with amazing side burns, butt-flattering pants and cute Diesel shoes from the lobby down by the pool, do not ditch your friends for a few hours for the best sex you’ll ever have. Your friends will know what you were up to by the glow on your face and the smell of lube radiating from your body. Trust me on this one.

Rule #3:
Friends come first.
Noticing the pattern, yet? Every one has a really hot friend that your complete circle of friends (and their much older gay brother) wants to bang. You pull the guy act with him and make him laugh, but never give any indication that you want him or even find him attractive (the friend, not your brother). You become the alpha male of the group and that’s when he notices you. "You’re not like other guys," he’ll say. Wrong! You’re exactly like other guys, your friends are just honest enough to play the part of drooling faggots. Do not fuck him (twice) and hide it from you friends. He may leave the group entirely and never come back, fearing that he can never face the first guy he fucked. Your friends will wonder what happened to him. You’ll know of course, you’ll have images of the virgin in you mind, as you say, "He was fun, though."

Rule #4:
I comes before U.
This should actually be discussed beforehand. And it's really not a rule so much as it’s an option (and an alphanumeric principle).

Rule #5:
Friends can come second but not very often.
You have got to have some kind of sex life, because then you’ll have nothing to laugh about with your friends. I’m really good at this rule. I’ve broken all the rest numerous times, but I’m trying to be a better friend and get his one right. When it’s my birthday and I want to celebrate it at Six Flags in California, it’ll much more fun with the guys then if I go by myself and meet gorgeous boys with shining pecs, muscular thighs and beautiful brown eyes all on my own. Right?