The Boyf called a little while ago to say his car has broken down. Again. He can't get it to start. I didn't remind him that he was supposed to get it fixed originally months ago, and then said he was going to get it done last week whilst school was out. I wanted to remind him, cause frankly I'm getting bored with having to rummage about under the bonnet to create a temporary solution - even though I look totally hot doing so - or having to push the car to get it started - panting behind a car isn't such a good look on me (unless I'm bent over the boot being taken roughly from behind by a trucker. But that's a whole other story).
Anyway, The Boyf sounded stressed, and was going to be late for a meeting, so I figured I'd just keep my mouth shut.
Whilst I've been writing this he's just called again to say a recovery man has turned up who doesn't seem to know where anything is under the bonnet. He's diagnosed a dodgy fuel pump when it's just a jammed starter motor, but when The Boyf told him such the guy said "Yeah, it might be but I don't know where that is". Helpful.
In other news, I've still not worked out what the tampons are for.
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Monday, June 04, 2007
The Monday Morning BlogBite - "20 Questions"
Has anyone ever played 20 Questions on line? It's here, and it's as dumb as a box of hair. It hasn't managed to guess anything I've thought of within 20 questions, probably because it asks questions which it should already know the answer to.
For example, I thought of Noel Edmonds in the TV section. I told it that I was a person, so it asked whether it was rated G. Er... Then it asked whether I was a daytime TV show. No, you stupid fucking thing, I've already told you I'm a person.
Incredibly it did guess Noel after 23 questions, but then told me which answers I'd incorrectly answered. It had asked me whether I was brave (?) and I'd said "Unknown", but apparently the computer knows best and in fact Noel IS brave.
The funny thing is that it gives a list of similar objects at the end. So, what's similar to Noel Edmonds you ask? Well, apparently Sir Trevor McDonald, Jamie Lynn Spears, Teletubbies, Christina Aguilera and Bob The Builder. Now there's a porno I'd like to see!
Update: I've just tried it on San Francisco. It asked whether I was in California, then whether I was in New York, then whether I was in the Northern Hemisphere, then whether I was in Russia. Aren't the last three questions negated by my yes answer to the first one? Oh, and it later asked whether I was a State, so I said "no", but at the end it told me I was wrong cause SF is a State. Utterly infuriating.
For example, I thought of Noel Edmonds in the TV section. I told it that I was a person, so it asked whether it was rated G. Er... Then it asked whether I was a daytime TV show. No, you stupid fucking thing, I've already told you I'm a person.
Incredibly it did guess Noel after 23 questions, but then told me which answers I'd incorrectly answered. It had asked me whether I was brave (?) and I'd said "Unknown", but apparently the computer knows best and in fact Noel IS brave.
The funny thing is that it gives a list of similar objects at the end. So, what's similar to Noel Edmonds you ask? Well, apparently Sir Trevor McDonald, Jamie Lynn Spears, Teletubbies, Christina Aguilera and Bob The Builder. Now there's a porno I'd like to see!
Update: I've just tried it on San Francisco. It asked whether I was in California, then whether I was in New York, then whether I was in the Northern Hemisphere, then whether I was in Russia. Aren't the last three questions negated by my yes answer to the first one? Oh, and it later asked whether I was a State, so I said "no", but at the end it told me I was wrong cause SF is a State. Utterly infuriating.
Friday, June 01, 2007
The Drug That Likes To Say...
At the weekend I'd managed to insinuate myself on a rather chunky little hairy guy, who became more and more intent on locking his lips with mine as the evening wore on. We ended up dancing whilst locked in an embrace, our hands pawing at each other's sweaty body, our lips kissing neck and shoulders and lips, our fervour and ardour growing more intense.
That is until he started making odd moaning noises. At first I thought he was simply being vocal about his enjoyment, moaning as I gently bit his neck, but the volume increased and seemed to be joined with a gurgling noise, at which point I realised I was having to take more and more of his weight, until suddenly he slumped in my arms.
I looked over his shoulder at The Boyf, who was stood behind with a grin on his face.
The Boyf: "You thought he was in the throes of ecstasy. In fact it was a G-fit"
OMO: "Harumph"
GHB is SO not a good look. Why do people do it?
That is until he started making odd moaning noises. At first I thought he was simply being vocal about his enjoyment, moaning as I gently bit his neck, but the volume increased and seemed to be joined with a gurgling noise, at which point I realised I was having to take more and more of his weight, until suddenly he slumped in my arms.
I looked over his shoulder at The Boyf, who was stood behind with a grin on his face.
The Boyf: "You thought he was in the throes of ecstasy. In fact it was a G-fit"
OMO: "Harumph"
GHB is SO not a good look. Why do people do it?
Thursday, May 31, 2007
OMO At The Movies: "Zodiac"
Going to the movies alot recently, huh? We made the most of Orange Wednesday and dragged along OBM's to our local cinema. What we saved on the 2 for 1 offer we ended up spending on food - OBM#2 managed to get through a hotdog, large popcorn, nachos, drink and a large tub of Ben & Jerry's all by himself. He's a big lad though. I limited myself to only a large tub of Ben & Jerry's, which, true to form, I immediately threw down myself. Luckily OBM#2 also threw ice-cream down him, and then stepped in the nachos tray he left on the floor, catapulting salsa over his trainers and up his legs. We looked like we'd had a food fight. Hmmm, there's a thought....
Sigh.
Anyway, about the film. It's long. Very long. Like 2 hours 40 or something. Have all the Hollywood editors gone on holiday at the moment? Are they all on a beach somewhere laughing at their dastardly plan to bore everyone in the world to death with over-long movies?
It's a pretty good film, especially if you're into a ridiculous amount of details, in a way similar to JFK (although that film didn't hold my attention as well as Zodiac). I'd suggest taking a notepad. The central performances are good, even if Mark Ruffalo seems to be a cross between Columbo and Poncherello from CHiPs. As usual I found myself strangely drawn to Robert Downey Jr (who plays Paul Avery). He's SO not my type, but I SO would.
I'd suggest waiting til it's out on DVD rather than enduring a numb arse down the local Multiplex. Definitely worth a look though.
By the way, this is my 150th post. Who'da thought it?
Sigh.
Anyway, about the film. It's long. Very long. Like 2 hours 40 or something. Have all the Hollywood editors gone on holiday at the moment? Are they all on a beach somewhere laughing at their dastardly plan to bore everyone in the world to death with over-long movies?
It's a pretty good film, especially if you're into a ridiculous amount of details, in a way similar to JFK (although that film didn't hold my attention as well as Zodiac). I'd suggest taking a notepad. The central performances are good, even if Mark Ruffalo seems to be a cross between Columbo and Poncherello from CHiPs. As usual I found myself strangely drawn to Robert Downey Jr (who plays Paul Avery). He's SO not my type, but I SO would.
I'd suggest waiting til it's out on DVD rather than enduring a numb arse down the local Multiplex. Definitely worth a look though.
By the way, this is my 150th post. Who'da thought it?
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
OMO At The Movies: "28 Weeks Later"
I actually went to see this a few weeks ago, but completely forgot to tell you about it and spoil the plot for you. I say "plot" like it has one worth spoiling. I mean, in a nutshell, lots of people get eaten. The end.
So, what happens? Well, it goes a little something like this. Er, this contains the entire plot, so if you don't want it utterly ruined I'd stop reading.
Dad and Mum hide in house. The infected get in. Dad runs away and leaves Mum to get eaten. Charming. Some week later - 28 in fact - all of the infected have died of starvation so the Americans turn up to start the clean-up and re-population. With lots of guns, as per usual. They create a safe zone, and we are treated to aerial shots of Canary Wharf, which looks like the start of The Apprentice. We spot our home in one of the shots and point at the screen so that the whole audience know where we live.
(This is where I really start to spoil things)
The Dad's two Children are allowed back into the country to be re-united with him (they were away when the outbreak occurred). Dad tells Children that Mum was dead before he ran away. He lies. Children want keep-sake to remember Mum by so venture out of heavily guarded safe zone perimeter (have you noticed that guards NEVER pay enough attention in films) and go to their old home. Mum's there, clearly not as dead as everyone thought. Americans turn up and drag everyone back to base.
Mum turns out to be a carrier of the virus. Dad goes to see her to say sorry for leaving her to get eaten, like you do. She kisses him, he gets the virus and goes on a biting spree. Civilians are herded into a basement (apparently there are 15,000 people in the safe zone, although it looks like only a couple of hundred at most), where Dad breaks in and starts to chow down. The lights conveniently go into "strobe mode" - apparently this basement is normally used as a nightclub - so you don't get to see much of the action. Epileptics in the audience start to froth at the mouth. Civilians break free and flee, chased by a growing number of the infected. Americans decide to just kill everyone and be done with it. Like in Vietnam. A small group of civilians, including the Children, manage to flee into Central London, where they're picked off one by one in the most gory fashion that the film's makers could think up. There are lots of chases, and the Dad turns up in lots of improbably coincidental places. The shakey camera work is starting to make me want to puke. We get to see parts of London looking deserted that we didn't get to see in the first film. "Cabaret" is on in the West End, we note. The Boyf and I have a quick chat about how good it was whilst the characters continue to run around screaming.
Eventually everyone is dead apart from the two Children, who are finally rescued by an American with a helicopter. Apparently they let him into the army after he got out of Oz. And he can walk again! The Boyf hasn't seen Oz so didn't understand this reference at all. They fly to France where the Children, who are obviously carrying the virus, infect the locals. Clearly they've forgotten that they told us that mainland Europe was infected in the first film. For some reason France being infected results in a cheer from certain members of the audience. Those from Bermondsey in all likelihood.
The End.
So, is it any good? Well, what does it matter - I've just told you the entire plot so you don't have to see it.
Actually I did rather enjoy it. It's like the first film only with more killings, has more parts of London looking barren (which we like), and it doesn't turn crap 2/3rds of the way through like the first one did. And it's short, which is an oft-overlooked bonus. Please take note the makers of Spiderman 3, Pirates of the Caribbean et al.
Next up I spoil the plot of "Zodiac". Er...
So, what happens? Well, it goes a little something like this. Er, this contains the entire plot, so if you don't want it utterly ruined I'd stop reading.
Dad and Mum hide in house. The infected get in. Dad runs away and leaves Mum to get eaten. Charming. Some week later - 28 in fact - all of the infected have died of starvation so the Americans turn up to start the clean-up and re-population. With lots of guns, as per usual. They create a safe zone, and we are treated to aerial shots of Canary Wharf, which looks like the start of The Apprentice. We spot our home in one of the shots and point at the screen so that the whole audience know where we live.
(This is where I really start to spoil things)
The Dad's two Children are allowed back into the country to be re-united with him (they were away when the outbreak occurred). Dad tells Children that Mum was dead before he ran away. He lies. Children want keep-sake to remember Mum by so venture out of heavily guarded safe zone perimeter (have you noticed that guards NEVER pay enough attention in films) and go to their old home. Mum's there, clearly not as dead as everyone thought. Americans turn up and drag everyone back to base.
Mum turns out to be a carrier of the virus. Dad goes to see her to say sorry for leaving her to get eaten, like you do. She kisses him, he gets the virus and goes on a biting spree. Civilians are herded into a basement (apparently there are 15,000 people in the safe zone, although it looks like only a couple of hundred at most), where Dad breaks in and starts to chow down. The lights conveniently go into "strobe mode" - apparently this basement is normally used as a nightclub - so you don't get to see much of the action. Epileptics in the audience start to froth at the mouth. Civilians break free and flee, chased by a growing number of the infected. Americans decide to just kill everyone and be done with it. Like in Vietnam. A small group of civilians, including the Children, manage to flee into Central London, where they're picked off one by one in the most gory fashion that the film's makers could think up. There are lots of chases, and the Dad turns up in lots of improbably coincidental places. The shakey camera work is starting to make me want to puke. We get to see parts of London looking deserted that we didn't get to see in the first film. "Cabaret" is on in the West End, we note. The Boyf and I have a quick chat about how good it was whilst the characters continue to run around screaming.
Eventually everyone is dead apart from the two Children, who are finally rescued by an American with a helicopter. Apparently they let him into the army after he got out of Oz. And he can walk again! The Boyf hasn't seen Oz so didn't understand this reference at all. They fly to France where the Children, who are obviously carrying the virus, infect the locals. Clearly they've forgotten that they told us that mainland Europe was infected in the first film. For some reason France being infected results in a cheer from certain members of the audience. Those from Bermondsey in all likelihood.
The End.
So, is it any good? Well, what does it matter - I've just told you the entire plot so you don't have to see it.
Actually I did rather enjoy it. It's like the first film only with more killings, has more parts of London looking barren (which we like), and it doesn't turn crap 2/3rds of the way through like the first one did. And it's short, which is an oft-overlooked bonus. Please take note the makers of Spiderman 3, Pirates of the Caribbean et al.
Next up I spoil the plot of "Zodiac". Er...
Thursday, May 24, 2007
OMO At The Movies: "Spiderman 3"
I finally got around to seeing it, and wished I hadn't bothered.
Here's my review, as informative as ever. I'll try not to spoil anything. Frankly, I don't need to - the movie spoils a perfectly good franchise all on it's own.
Ow! Girder!
Ow! Girder!
Ow! Girder!
Ow! Girder!
Ow! Girder!
Ow! Girder!
Then there was a break where we find out that all French restaurants have to have a comedy Monty Python style Maitre'D, that Peter Parker's somehow managed to squeeze in piano and dance lessons (you think his schedule would be tight enough), and that the CGI is less convincing than the animated Spiderman tv series from the late 60's. Oh, and the audience is subjected to a plot hole big enough to land a plane in. A badly realised CGI plane though it may be.
Then it's back to...
Ow! Girder!
Ow! Girder!
Ow! Girder!
Ow! Girder!
Ow! Girder!
Ow! Girder!
And then we get to the end where the final twists actually negate much of the movie you've just uncomfortably sat through, along with a large chunk of Spiderman 2 to boot.
Can you tell I wasn't impressed?
Here's my review, as informative as ever. I'll try not to spoil anything. Frankly, I don't need to - the movie spoils a perfectly good franchise all on it's own.
Ow! Girder!
Ow! Girder!
Ow! Girder!
Ow! Girder!
Ow! Girder!
Ow! Girder!
Then there was a break where we find out that all French restaurants have to have a comedy Monty Python style Maitre'D, that Peter Parker's somehow managed to squeeze in piano and dance lessons (you think his schedule would be tight enough), and that the CGI is less convincing than the animated Spiderman tv series from the late 60's. Oh, and the audience is subjected to a plot hole big enough to land a plane in. A badly realised CGI plane though it may be.
Then it's back to...
Ow! Girder!
Ow! Girder!
Ow! Girder!
Ow! Girder!
Ow! Girder!
Ow! Girder!
And then we get to the end where the final twists actually negate much of the movie you've just uncomfortably sat through, along with a large chunk of Spiderman 2 to boot.
Can you tell I wasn't impressed?
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Asleep On The Job
So, what did I do at the weekend? Well, I fell asleep at an orgy.
The Boyf's Mum has just come back from a world tour - well, ok, Singapore, Fiji, New Zealand and Los Angeles - so we travelled up to the Midlands on Friday evening to spend the weekend looking at the inevitable photos. We avoided her Friday evening though, and then again all day on Saturday, during which time the cold I caught some time last week took hold, my sinuses blocked up and my eyes started to stream. Come Saturday night I didn't feel well at all, but The Boyf thought we ought to go out so we headed into Birmingham for a quiet drink in a bar. Unfortunately, said bar was packed and buzzing, but it did make me forget my aching head for a while. The upshot was that The Boyf decided I obviously felt well enough to decamp to a sex club with the group of guys we were talking to, and I couldn't be bothered to protest. I figured we'd spend an hour there, where I'd hide in a corner, and then we could head home and everyone would be happy.
By 4am (!) I was having trouble. I'd propped up a corner of the bar and drunk so much I could barely stand up, which is probably why I was reminded the next day that I'd ended up flopped over the pool table with my jeans round my ankles being rimmed by two guys in turn. Then the bar closed - hurrah! - only for The Boyf to suggest we all go back to a hotel room and shag. Boo! Could I feel any less sexy? So we wandered back to the hotel where we were refused entry (only 2 allowed per room key) - hurrah! - only for The Boyf, who's not easily swayed, to suggest we go to someone's house instead. Boo again! So off we went in cabs to some random guys house, and once there I immediately fell asleep in a chair. They quickly woke me up and ushered me into a bedroom, where I dropped straight off to sleep. The next time I awoke was to heed a call of nature. What confronted me in the other room wasn't a pretty sight. There was lots of nakedness - some of it not all that pleasant - toys and assorted paraphenalia. Someone shouted "He's awake!" and heads turned in my direction. I felt a bit like a Christian that was about to be thrown to the lions, so I mumbled something about needing sleep, and rushed back to the safety of the bedroom. The next time I woke up - still fully dressed I might add - I was surrounded by sleeping naked men. As a young boy this would have been the stuff of much fantasy. When did I lose my innocense? (No need to answer that, thanks. It was 1987 in a cemetary).
Later on, when we were alone, The Boyf said that everyone had been in to see me at some point or another and tried to wake me up, but to no avail. My stock has definitely fallen in Birmingham. I'm going to have to go back and have sex with everyone I meet just to try to claw some of my reputation back.
And then of course we had to head to The Boyf's Mum to be shown the holiday snaps. Deep joy.
Next week your intrepid OMO brings you reviews of various films and club nights he's slept through.
The Boyf's Mum has just come back from a world tour - well, ok, Singapore, Fiji, New Zealand and Los Angeles - so we travelled up to the Midlands on Friday evening to spend the weekend looking at the inevitable photos. We avoided her Friday evening though, and then again all day on Saturday, during which time the cold I caught some time last week took hold, my sinuses blocked up and my eyes started to stream. Come Saturday night I didn't feel well at all, but The Boyf thought we ought to go out so we headed into Birmingham for a quiet drink in a bar. Unfortunately, said bar was packed and buzzing, but it did make me forget my aching head for a while. The upshot was that The Boyf decided I obviously felt well enough to decamp to a sex club with the group of guys we were talking to, and I couldn't be bothered to protest. I figured we'd spend an hour there, where I'd hide in a corner, and then we could head home and everyone would be happy.
By 4am (!) I was having trouble. I'd propped up a corner of the bar and drunk so much I could barely stand up, which is probably why I was reminded the next day that I'd ended up flopped over the pool table with my jeans round my ankles being rimmed by two guys in turn. Then the bar closed - hurrah! - only for The Boyf to suggest we all go back to a hotel room and shag. Boo! Could I feel any less sexy? So we wandered back to the hotel where we were refused entry (only 2 allowed per room key) - hurrah! - only for The Boyf, who's not easily swayed, to suggest we go to someone's house instead. Boo again! So off we went in cabs to some random guys house, and once there I immediately fell asleep in a chair. They quickly woke me up and ushered me into a bedroom, where I dropped straight off to sleep. The next time I awoke was to heed a call of nature. What confronted me in the other room wasn't a pretty sight. There was lots of nakedness - some of it not all that pleasant - toys and assorted paraphenalia. Someone shouted "He's awake!" and heads turned in my direction. I felt a bit like a Christian that was about to be thrown to the lions, so I mumbled something about needing sleep, and rushed back to the safety of the bedroom. The next time I woke up - still fully dressed I might add - I was surrounded by sleeping naked men. As a young boy this would have been the stuff of much fantasy. When did I lose my innocense? (No need to answer that, thanks. It was 1987 in a cemetary).
Later on, when we were alone, The Boyf said that everyone had been in to see me at some point or another and tried to wake me up, but to no avail. My stock has definitely fallen in Birmingham. I'm going to have to go back and have sex with everyone I meet just to try to claw some of my reputation back.
And then of course we had to head to The Boyf's Mum to be shown the holiday snaps. Deep joy.
Next week your intrepid OMO brings you reviews of various films and club nights he's slept through.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
In Which Your OMO Says Something He's Probably Going To Regret Later
I was really upset yesterday morning when I turned on the news to find the Cutty Sark in flames. Greenwich is one of my favourite places, and I love that damn tea clipper. The police suspect arson. Er, like, duh! A wooden ship isn't going to catch alight in the middle of the night on its own. Ok, yeah, there's the chance of an electrical fire (cause someone could easily have left a Pop Tart in the ship's toaster!). Or perhaps the ghost of the old Captain came back drunk from a pub feeling peckish and put the chip pan on before nodding off to sleep. Please! Some little shit thought it would be funny to burn it. Well, I hope they catch him and make him walk the plank, preferably alight so he knows what it feels like. Compassionate, aren't I?
In other news, that Maddy girl is still missing. Has noone ever watched a decent thriller, or ever paid attention to these things in the past? The perpetrator is always the Dad. As an example, as you may have noticed, The Boyf and I have been watching Twin Peaks recently, from start to end. So, The Boyf says to me "Who do you think killed Laura Palmer?", and I'm like "Duh, it's always the Father".
So I reckon they ought to question Maddy's Dad a bit more carefully. Think about it; the family goes for a meal and leaves the kids alone (obviously the Dad's idea, Mums don't think like that). Every 30 minutes one of them goes to check, so when it's the Dad's turn he's already arranged for someone to be outside with a car. He carries Maddy out, who won't be crying cause it's her Dad (thus noone hears anything), and puts her in the car which speeds off with her. He then goes back to the restaurant and says that all the kids are fast asleep, giving the man in the car at least a 30 minute head start before the Mum goes to check, finds Maddy is missing and raises the alarm.
Don't get me wrong, I don't think the Dad means any harm. The reward is now £2.5million. So a third party calls up to say where she is, she's found safe and well and is returned to the parents, and behind the scenes the Dad gets his cut of the reward money (I'd want 75%). I know they're doctors or something but they obviously need the money. Have you seen those t-shirts and shorts the Dad's been wearing on tv?
Now you see why I don't usually comment on anything in the news.
In other news, that Maddy girl is still missing. Has noone ever watched a decent thriller, or ever paid attention to these things in the past? The perpetrator is always the Dad. As an example, as you may have noticed, The Boyf and I have been watching Twin Peaks recently, from start to end. So, The Boyf says to me "Who do you think killed Laura Palmer?", and I'm like "Duh, it's always the Father".
So I reckon they ought to question Maddy's Dad a bit more carefully. Think about it; the family goes for a meal and leaves the kids alone (obviously the Dad's idea, Mums don't think like that). Every 30 minutes one of them goes to check, so when it's the Dad's turn he's already arranged for someone to be outside with a car. He carries Maddy out, who won't be crying cause it's her Dad (thus noone hears anything), and puts her in the car which speeds off with her. He then goes back to the restaurant and says that all the kids are fast asleep, giving the man in the car at least a 30 minute head start before the Mum goes to check, finds Maddy is missing and raises the alarm.
Don't get me wrong, I don't think the Dad means any harm. The reward is now £2.5million. So a third party calls up to say where she is, she's found safe and well and is returned to the parents, and behind the scenes the Dad gets his cut of the reward money (I'd want 75%). I know they're doctors or something but they obviously need the money. Have you seen those t-shirts and shorts the Dad's been wearing on tv?
Now you see why I don't usually comment on anything in the news.
Friday, May 18, 2007
It's Booked!
We've finally booked our flights for this years holiday. I'm taking The Boyf to San Francisco in August as he's always wanted to go (he's a big Tales Of The City fan), and I went in 2005 before I met him and loved the place so can't wait to get back and show him around. When I say "I'm taking him" I don't mean, like, in my luggage or something. He's not my pet, although I do wonder whether he shouldn't be quarantined before being let into the US. What I meant was that I booked the flights and surprised him with the tickets. I'm such a great boyfriend sometimes. Only sometimes, mind.
We've still got to sort out our accomodation and then save up our spending money, but with the exchange rate being what it is we'll be acting like millionaires by the time we change our money over. At least we can act like millionaires as long as noone notices we're flying economy. Shhhh! As Pam Ann would say (whilst tapping a champagne flute): *ting, ting, ting* "Listen economy, that's GLAAAAAASS!!!".
So, what are we gonna do when we get there? Well, all the usual I should imagine - get drunk and sleep with the locals. Oh, we'll probably visit Alcatraz too as I didn't manage to squeeze it in last time between all the beer busts and men. I jest of course. Those were the days before I was a cheap tramp - I actually didn't sleep with a single man on my last trip. I know, incredible isn't it? I'll have to make up for it this year.
So, what are we doing this weekend to celebrate the booking of our first proper holiday together? We're going to Birmingham. Sheesh!
We've still got to sort out our accomodation and then save up our spending money, but with the exchange rate being what it is we'll be acting like millionaires by the time we change our money over. At least we can act like millionaires as long as noone notices we're flying economy. Shhhh! As Pam Ann would say (whilst tapping a champagne flute): *ting, ting, ting* "Listen economy, that's GLAAAAAASS!!!".
So, what are we gonna do when we get there? Well, all the usual I should imagine - get drunk and sleep with the locals. Oh, we'll probably visit Alcatraz too as I didn't manage to squeeze it in last time between all the beer busts and men. I jest of course. Those were the days before I was a cheap tramp - I actually didn't sleep with a single man on my last trip. I know, incredible isn't it? I'll have to make up for it this year.
So, what are we doing this weekend to celebrate the booking of our first proper holiday together? We're going to Birmingham. Sheesh!
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Warning! Eurovision Blog Alert!
I'm utterly amazed that even the Irish and the Maltese (I do love the Maltese you know. If any are reading get in touch and we’ll do lunch. Or sex. Your choice) gave us any points at Eurovision, although I have to say that even the dreaded Scooch were no worse than most of the other dross inflicted on my already troubled eardrums (I'd been to see my Mum earlier in the day).
What's made me really laugh is the level of debate that's sprung up about this. Should we pull out? (We pay something like 1/4 of the cost of running Eurovision and then get a proverbial slap round the chops when it comes to the voting). Will any Western European country ever win again? Some twerp suggested we ban countries voting for their neighbours. I mean, how is this worked out? Technically the UK doesn't have an adjoining neighbour, whereas Moldova probably has like 5 or something (sorry, I can't be bothered to look it up). Oh, damn it, the perfectionist Scorpio that I am won't allow me not to know which countries adjoin Moldova. Hang on, I'm gonna have to look at a map...
(insert "on hold" music here)
Right, Moldova is only bordered by two countries; Ukraine and Romania. I should have used Slovakia as my example, it being bordered by the Czech Republic, Poland, Ukraine, Romania, Hungary and Austria.
Sorry, where was I?
Oh yeah, I'm just amazed that The Boyf and I decided to stay in on Saturday night and watch it. Ok, I’m not THAT amazed – it was my suggestion after all. We were on our own too, although I did have both of OBM's on the phone throughout to appraise songs and outfits. Naturally they voted for Ukraine (the bacofoil-wrapped drag queen with the star on his head), whereas I'd found myself cavorting around our living room trailing a chiffon headscarf to the tribal drumming of the Bulgarian entry, so thought it might be worth the price of a text vote. When my phone bill comes in and I realise it cost me a fiver I'm not going to be impressed though.
In the end it was won by a Serbain lesbian. Who knew lesbianity was even legal over there? She looked like a "Who Ate All The Pies?" version of k.d. lang without the vocal ability, which, when you think about it, kind of equates to Meatloaf. And I don’t care what you read elsewhere, the song was dull, dull, dull.
Anyway, after all that excitement (!) The Boyf and I decided to go out. Yes, it was nearly midnight, and by the time we'd both showered, trimmed beards and decided what we were going to wear it was about 1am. At that time of the morning the easiest bet is XXL, and it wasn't too bad even though they had a Best of Eurovision CD on repeat in the back bar.
We had a dance, I got ignored by the South African again, and we went back home at 4am feeling better for getting out for a couple of hours.
What's made me really laugh is the level of debate that's sprung up about this. Should we pull out? (We pay something like 1/4 of the cost of running Eurovision and then get a proverbial slap round the chops when it comes to the voting). Will any Western European country ever win again? Some twerp suggested we ban countries voting for their neighbours. I mean, how is this worked out? Technically the UK doesn't have an adjoining neighbour, whereas Moldova probably has like 5 or something (sorry, I can't be bothered to look it up). Oh, damn it, the perfectionist Scorpio that I am won't allow me not to know which countries adjoin Moldova. Hang on, I'm gonna have to look at a map...
Right, Moldova is only bordered by two countries; Ukraine and Romania. I should have used Slovakia as my example, it being bordered by the Czech Republic, Poland, Ukraine, Romania, Hungary and Austria.
Sorry, where was I?
Oh yeah, I'm just amazed that The Boyf and I decided to stay in on Saturday night and watch it. Ok, I’m not THAT amazed – it was my suggestion after all. We were on our own too, although I did have both of OBM's on the phone throughout to appraise songs and outfits. Naturally they voted for Ukraine (the bacofoil-wrapped drag queen with the star on his head), whereas I'd found myself cavorting around our living room trailing a chiffon headscarf to the tribal drumming of the Bulgarian entry, so thought it might be worth the price of a text vote. When my phone bill comes in and I realise it cost me a fiver I'm not going to be impressed though.
In the end it was won by a Serbain lesbian. Who knew lesbianity was even legal over there? She looked like a "Who Ate All The Pies?" version of k.d. lang without the vocal ability, which, when you think about it, kind of equates to Meatloaf. And I don’t care what you read elsewhere, the song was dull, dull, dull.
Anyway, after all that excitement (!) The Boyf and I decided to go out. Yes, it was nearly midnight, and by the time we'd both showered, trimmed beards and decided what we were going to wear it was about 1am. At that time of the morning the easiest bet is XXL, and it wasn't too bad even though they had a Best of Eurovision CD on repeat in the back bar.
We had a dance, I got ignored by the South African again, and we went back home at 4am feeling better for getting out for a couple of hours.
Monday, May 14, 2007
The Monday Morning BlogBite - My Tarot
Inspired by one of my favourite blogs (The Farmboyz' Perge Modo) I took the "Which Tarot Card Are You?" test this morning, and this is the result. I even put 'Mellow' as my answer to one of the questions. Last Friday I also found out that my birthday falls on "National Occult Day". The Boyf is not surprised by any of this having noticed how scared animals are of me, and the fact that we can't go to a garden centre cause all the flowers die. Mother's Day is always a problem.
You are The Devil
Materiality. Material Force. Material temptation; sometimes obsession
The Devil is often a great card for business success; hard work and ambition.
Perhaps the most misunderstood of all the major arcana, the Devil is not really "Satan" at all, but Pan the half-goat nature god and/or Dionysius. These are gods of pleasure and abandon, of wild behavior and unbridled desires. This is a card about ambitions; it is also synonymous with temptation and addiction. On the flip side, however, the card can be a warning to someone who is too restrained, someone who never allows themselves to get passionate or messy or wild - or ambitious. This, too, is a form of enslavement. As a person, the Devil can stand for a man of money or erotic power, aggressive, controlling, or just persuasive. This is not to say a bad man, but certainly a powerful man who is hard to resist. The important thing is to remember that any chain is freely worn. In most cases, you are enslaved only because you allow it.
What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Skank Alert!
One of my team - a girl from Essex, naturally - has just admitted that she likes to make pasta and then put gravy on it. When the derision started she stuck up for herself by saying that she puts tinned sweetcorn in it too. Oh, that's ok then!
I called her a skank, and now she's not talking to me.
Note to self; never take my team out for a meal.
I called her a skank, and now she's not talking to me.
Note to self; never take my team out for a meal.
Shy or Arrogant?
I must admit that I'm suffering from a bit of writer's block, which I'm actually kinda pleased about. I mean, who knew that I'd write enough to get a blockage?
The problem is that I decided early on not to comment on anything that's going on in the world. So may others do it so much better than I could, so what's the point in me joining in? The problem is that it only leaves my own life to comment on, and as you've noticed my life seems to simply involve going to bars, getting drunk and sleeping with men. Nothing wrong with that, but there's only so much you can say about it.
So, what now? Do I try to add some form of social commentary? Do I delve into politics? Or do I stick with what I'm good at - sleeping around and telling you the gory details? Answers on a postcard please...
In the meantime let me tell you about something that annoyed me at the weekend.
Now, at 5 feet 8 I'm kinda short, and hairy. I'm not slim, or overly fat, or very well muscled; rather, I'm just a bit chunky. So I fall into a camp (ahem) somewhere between Bears and MuscleBears. Most of my friends are pretty well built though, so I tend to hang around with guys who, under other circumstances, I would find rather intimidating (and I must admit to finding most of my friends rather sexy). As a result of who I hang out with I get to meet some pretty hot guys and - this is where the annoying bit comes in - I largely get ignored by them. It's like I just don't show up on their radar, like I'm flying too low or something.
A case in point; there's a certain guy, a South African, who's reasonably well known on the London MuscleBear scene and who The Boyf once had a little tryst with. They shagged, basically. As a result if we see him out The Boyf always goes over to say Hi. The first couple of times The Boyf made a point of introducing me - "You know my boyfriend, right?" - and the South African would kind of grunt and nod in my direction, and afterwards The Boyf and I would always disagree on whether he was shy or just plain arrogant.
So, how can you tell, if someone is a little stand-offish, whether they're shy or arrogant?
Last weekend we bumped into the South African in the RVT. The Boyf gave him a cheery "Hi!" as he walked past and got one back, and a hug. The South African looked me straight in the eyes so I gave him a big cheery "Hello!". And you know what he did? Looked me square in the eyes then turned his back on me.
As far as I'm concerned he's burned his final bridge with me. The Boyf's all like "Oh give him another chance. He's just shy. Maybe he didn't recognise you", and I'm all like "He DID recognise me. He's been introduced to me umpteen times over the last couple of years. He's just an arrogant twat".
So I've devised my revenge. I'm gonna get really muscley and he's gonna want to speak to me. And I shall take great delight in completely ignoring him.
Possibly.
The problem is that I decided early on not to comment on anything that's going on in the world. So may others do it so much better than I could, so what's the point in me joining in? The problem is that it only leaves my own life to comment on, and as you've noticed my life seems to simply involve going to bars, getting drunk and sleeping with men. Nothing wrong with that, but there's only so much you can say about it.
So, what now? Do I try to add some form of social commentary? Do I delve into politics? Or do I stick with what I'm good at - sleeping around and telling you the gory details? Answers on a postcard please...
In the meantime let me tell you about something that annoyed me at the weekend.
Now, at 5 feet 8 I'm kinda short, and hairy. I'm not slim, or overly fat, or very well muscled; rather, I'm just a bit chunky. So I fall into a camp (ahem) somewhere between Bears and MuscleBears. Most of my friends are pretty well built though, so I tend to hang around with guys who, under other circumstances, I would find rather intimidating (and I must admit to finding most of my friends rather sexy). As a result of who I hang out with I get to meet some pretty hot guys and - this is where the annoying bit comes in - I largely get ignored by them. It's like I just don't show up on their radar, like I'm flying too low or something.
A case in point; there's a certain guy, a South African, who's reasonably well known on the London MuscleBear scene and who The Boyf once had a little tryst with. They shagged, basically. As a result if we see him out The Boyf always goes over to say Hi. The first couple of times The Boyf made a point of introducing me - "You know my boyfriend, right?" - and the South African would kind of grunt and nod in my direction, and afterwards The Boyf and I would always disagree on whether he was shy or just plain arrogant.
So, how can you tell, if someone is a little stand-offish, whether they're shy or arrogant?
Last weekend we bumped into the South African in the RVT. The Boyf gave him a cheery "Hi!" as he walked past and got one back, and a hug. The South African looked me straight in the eyes so I gave him a big cheery "Hello
As far as I'm concerned he's burned his final bridge with me. The Boyf's all like "Oh give him another chance. He's just shy. Maybe he didn't recognise you", and I'm all like "He DID recognise me. He's been introduced to me umpteen times over the last couple of years. He's just an arrogant twat".
So I've devised my revenge. I'm gonna get really muscley and he's gonna want to speak to me. And I shall take great delight in completely ignoring him.
Possibly.
Friday, May 04, 2007
A Little Sombre
Yesterday I attended my first gay funeral, rather incredibly. I guess I'm of the generation just behind the first AIDS generation, and as such I've been fortunate enough, because of the advances in medication, not to lose friends to the disease. But yesterday, as around 150 guys I knew filed into the chapel, I started to have an idea of what it must have felt like in those bad old days when peer-groups were literally decreasing in number by the week, when groups of friends were decimated.
The funeral was an odd experience. Most of us are only used to seeing each other in bars and clubs, possibly not looking our best, so it was strange seeing us all in suits and ties looking very respectable. And looking very similar too - a sea of dark suits, cropped hair and beards, we made quite an impression walking through parts of London in large groups, our numbers swelling the closer we got to the chapel, a little clone army out in the Spring sunshine.
Of course afterwards we went to a bar and got drunk, and then our little army split into groups to go our separate ways. Our way (The Boyf and I, plus OMB#1 & 2 and assorted others) was to a rib restaurant to eat loads of meat, then go back to OBM's place to drink some more and reminisce.
All I keep hoping is that this isn't just the start. That there will be no more deaths in my peer-group for a good long while. And I keep thinking that this little army of ours shouldn't be waiting for a death to come together like we did. There were so many things said about our dead friend in his eulogy that I never realised about him, fascinating things that I wished I'd asked him about. And now the chance has passed. We deserve to get to know one another better than we do.
Have a good weekend, Dear Reader.
The funeral was an odd experience. Most of us are only used to seeing each other in bars and clubs, possibly not looking our best, so it was strange seeing us all in suits and ties looking very respectable. And looking very similar too - a sea of dark suits, cropped hair and beards, we made quite an impression walking through parts of London in large groups, our numbers swelling the closer we got to the chapel, a little clone army out in the Spring sunshine.
Of course afterwards we went to a bar and got drunk, and then our little army split into groups to go our separate ways. Our way (The Boyf and I, plus OMB#1 & 2 and assorted others) was to a rib restaurant to eat loads of meat, then go back to OBM's place to drink some more and reminisce.
All I keep hoping is that this isn't just the start. That there will be no more deaths in my peer-group for a good long while. And I keep thinking that this little army of ours shouldn't be waiting for a death to come together like we did. There were so many things said about our dead friend in his eulogy that I never realised about him, fascinating things that I wished I'd asked him about. And now the chance has passed. We deserve to get to know one another better than we do.
Have a good weekend, Dear Reader.
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
G-Rated Round-Up
You may well have noticed, Dear Reader, that for the last couple of weeks I've not felt the need come Tuesday to detail my sex life. There's a simple reason for this - I don't have a sex life. Actually, that's not quite true, but I've not had any new conquests and I don't want to bore you with details about sleeping with people you've already heard of. I mean, how dull is that???
So today I thought I'd just share a couple of photos with you that I've taken on our recent travels.
Here's a picture of a baby ray, taken in Brighton SeaLife Centre, taken at a jaunty angle. He was ever so cute. Looked a bit like an embryonic human (with gills) trapped in a duvet cover.
Here's a picture of Warwick Castle, taken from The Mound (the original part of the Castle built by William The Conqueror in 1068). Almost everyone you can see are French. Not sure what else to say about that really.
And here's a photo of a building that isn't St Paul's Cathedral, taken last Sunday. I know, not terribly informative am I? Well, let's just say that this building is in Greenwich and has something to do with the military. I'll find out more and come back to you.
So there you go. Some lovely photos to show your Mum.
So today I thought I'd just share a couple of photos with you that I've taken on our recent travels.
Here's a picture of a baby ray, taken in Brighton SeaLife Centre, taken at a jaunty angle. He was ever so cute. Looked a bit like an embryonic human (with gills) trapped in a duvet cover.Here's a picture of Warwick Castle, taken from The Mound (the original part of the Castle built by William The Conqueror in 1068). Almost everyone you can see are French. Not sure what else to say about that really.And here's a photo of a building that isn't St Paul's Cathedral, taken last Sunday. I know, not terribly informative am I? Well, let's just say that this building is in Greenwich and has something to do with the military. I'll find out more and come back to you.So there you go. Some lovely photos to show your Mum.
Monday, April 30, 2007
Sugababe Slap Shock!
My afternoon has been rocked (mildly) by the news that the newest of The Sugababes (your OMO's girl group of choice) has been accused of assaulting a girl in a club. Amelle apparently spent the night in a cell following "an incident" involving an 18 year old girl. Possibly the girl happened to mention that the recent Girls Aloud vs Sugababes single was complete pony, even if it was for charity.
Well, we always thought it was Munter (sorry, Mutya) who was the stroppy one, and that The 'Babes were in danger of whimping out now that she'd left. Looks like the next Girls Aloud vs Sugababes collaboration will be in a ring with Cheryl Cole and Amelle Berrabah slapping 7 bells of crap out of each other. Can't wait...
Well, we always thought it was Munter (sorry, Mutya) who was the stroppy one, and that The 'Babes were in danger of whimping out now that she'd left. Looks like the next Girls Aloud vs Sugababes collaboration will be in a ring with Cheryl Cole and Amelle Berrabah slapping 7 bells of crap out of each other. Can't wait...
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Fishy Smells All Round
As I'm sure you noticed, Dear Reader, it was the London Marathon on Sunday, and the runners come right past where The Boyf and I live without even bothering to ask us whether we mind. In the same way that you can lose interest in a hot guy the moment he seems interested, living on the marathon route means we've no interest in watching it. It's just too easy. Plus the marathon creates havoc with London's transport system. So we got up early on Sunday (after a Saturday night at home!) and headed down to Brighton to soak up the chilled atmosphere and stupidly hot weather we're having, and were joined by The Drag Queen, looking her usual glamorous self.
The Boyf knew how much I'd want to visit the SeaLife Centre so we dragged The DQ in to look at the fish and allow me the chance to display my mild autistic tendencies by naming each species and giving interesting facts about them without looking at the info' next to each tank. However it appeared that The DQ was causing some problems. Her glitter body-powder, brilliant green glitter-eyeshadow, huge red lips, and the crystal chandelier that had been put into service as her necklace were scaring certain of the fish, whilst others attempted to mate with her through the glass. When the octopus attempted to climb from it's tank we decided enough was enough and headed out and to the beach. The nudist beach, in fact...
There was no way we were going to go nude with The DQ around, but the nudist beach is populated by the gays, obviously, so The Boyf and I can get away with cuddling in public. I was just admiring a particularly large pair of balls belonging to a guy laying behind me, when I noticed a black guy walking along the beach towards us. He had long flowing dreadlocks, and even from a distance his tiny thong was obviously straining to contain something rather massive. I alerted The Boyf and The DQ and we all watched as he passed us and then laid his towel down about 20 feet away. We watched with baited breath as he bent over and pulled down his thong, and when he stood up there was a collective gasp from the amassed sunbathers. He was H-U-G-E. The DQ clutched her chandelier to her bosom, and I think I may have fainted for a moment. We looked around. Everyone was shifting uncomfortably on their towels, a feeling of mass-insecurity sweeping the beach. Most people decided that they ought to lay on their fronts for a while, or even put shorts on. I thanked my lucky stars I was already partially dressed. Mr King Dong did a little pirouette, just to make sure everyone had seen his third arm, and then laid down on his towel, on his back naturally, and slowly the whispers died down and the beach returned to normal.
We'd taken magazines with us to read on the beach, and true to form they said everything about us. I had "Evo", a car magazine, because it had a test of the new blah blah blah (you're not really interested anyway). The DQ had "Grazia", for this week's celeb gossip and hot fashions. And The Boyf had "The Pink Paper", because he's uncontrollably gay. Suddenly the stillness of the beach was interrupted (again) by The Boyf exclaiming "Oh look who it is in The Pink Paper!". On Page 1 was a photo of The Boyf, with a referral to Page 13. On Page 13 there were two photos of The Boyf, taken in a bar we'd been to a couple of week before. Apparently I'd been elbowed out of shot in both photos. Either that or I was off doing something more interesting in another part of the bar (like the toilets). The Boyf proceeded to go into his famous faux "Large Ego Mode", proclaiming that he couldn't go anywhere without being photographed, and that he was tired of his face staring back at him from the pages of magazines. "I'm on two separate pages of The Pink Paper", he exclaimed with a hand held palm-backwards on his forehead, "Oh, why can't they let me go out in peace!" in a voice loud enough to make sure all the gays on the beach knew how famous he was.
OMO (sniggering): "Oh look, they've quoted you too"
Above The Boyf's photo was a question, and below it his answer. The (rather bizarre) question was: "If you were a Care Bear what logo would you have on your chest?". The Boyf's answer: "A tadpole, as in sperm".
The Boyf: "I SO didn't say that! I've been mis-quoted! Everyone's gonna think I'm an airhead now!"
OMO: "Constant paparazzi interference and now you're being mis-quoted in the press. Ah, the price of celebrity"
The Boyf: "But... but... actually I may have said that. I was pretty drunk. Oh shit!"
The DQ and I shared a smirk and went back to our magazines, The Boyf's ego clearly already deflating nicely.
We finished the day off having a few drinks in a bar and then having a lovely meal in a little restaurant, finally catching the train home for some much-needed sleep.
The Boyf knew how much I'd want to visit the SeaLife Centre so we dragged The DQ in to look at the fish and allow me the chance to display my mild autistic tendencies by naming each species and giving interesting facts about them without looking at the info' next to each tank. However it appeared that The DQ was causing some problems. Her glitter body-powder, brilliant green glitter-eyeshadow, huge red lips, and the crystal chandelier that had been put into service as her necklace were scaring certain of the fish, whilst others attempted to mate with her through the glass. When the octopus attempted to climb from it's tank we decided enough was enough and headed out and to the beach. The nudist beach, in fact...
There was no way we were going to go nude with The DQ around, but the nudist beach is populated by the gays, obviously, so The Boyf and I can get away with cuddling in public. I was just admiring a particularly large pair of balls belonging to a guy laying behind me, when I noticed a black guy walking along the beach towards us. He had long flowing dreadlocks, and even from a distance his tiny thong was obviously straining to contain something rather massive. I alerted The Boyf and The DQ and we all watched as he passed us and then laid his towel down about 20 feet away. We watched with baited breath as he bent over and pulled down his thong, and when he stood up there was a collective gasp from the amassed sunbathers. He was H-U-G-E. The DQ clutched her chandelier to her bosom, and I think I may have fainted for a moment. We looked around. Everyone was shifting uncomfortably on their towels, a feeling of mass-insecurity sweeping the beach. Most people decided that they ought to lay on their fronts for a while, or even put shorts on. I thanked my lucky stars I was already partially dressed. Mr King Dong did a little pirouette, just to make sure everyone had seen his third arm, and then laid down on his towel, on his back naturally, and slowly the whispers died down and the beach returned to normal.
We'd taken magazines with us to read on the beach, and true to form they said everything about us. I had "Evo", a car magazine, because it had a test of the new blah blah blah (you're not really interested anyway). The DQ had "Grazia", for this week's celeb gossip and hot fashions. And The Boyf had "The Pink Paper", because he's uncontrollably gay. Suddenly the stillness of the beach was interrupted (again) by The Boyf exclaiming "Oh look who it is in The Pink Paper!". On Page 1 was a photo of The Boyf, with a referral to Page 13. On Page 13 there were two photos of The Boyf, taken in a bar we'd been to a couple of week before. Apparently I'd been elbowed out of shot in both photos. Either that or I was off doing something more interesting in another part of the bar (like the toilets). The Boyf proceeded to go into his famous faux "Large Ego Mode", proclaiming that he couldn't go anywhere without being photographed, and that he was tired of his face staring back at him from the pages of magazines. "I'm on two separate pages of The Pink Paper", he exclaimed with a hand held palm-backwards on his forehead, "Oh, why can't they let me go out in peace!" in a voice loud enough to make sure all the gays on the beach knew how famous he was.
OMO (sniggering): "Oh look, they've quoted you too"
Above The Boyf's photo was a question, and below it his answer. The (rather bizarre) question was: "If you were a Care Bear what logo would you have on your chest?". The Boyf's answer: "A tadpole, as in sperm".
The Boyf: "I SO didn't say that! I've been mis-quoted! Everyone's gonna think I'm an airhead now!"
OMO: "Constant paparazzi interference and now you're being mis-quoted in the press. Ah, the price of celebrity"
The Boyf: "But... but... actually I may have said that. I was pretty drunk. Oh shit!"
The DQ and I shared a smirk and went back to our magazines, The Boyf's ego clearly already deflating nicely.
We finished the day off having a few drinks in a bar and then having a lovely meal in a little restaurant, finally catching the train home for some much-needed sleep.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
I Know Something
Last night I finally found out who killed Laura Palmer.
Yes, it's only taken me 17 years since "Twin Peaks" first aired to get to the part where the murderer is revealed, although I had already worked it out from the evidence provided.
The Boyf and OBM#1 are H-U-G-E "Twin Peaks" fans. I seem to recall that when it was on TV I was out alot. It coincided with me discovering gay cruising areas, and there wasn't really any competition between watching TV or getting a bit of cock in those days. Nowadays it's probably the other way around. Ah, the joys of (nearly) middle-age. Anyway, what with Series 2 finally coming out on DVD The Boyf has made me sit down to watch it all. It's pretty good too. Much better than some of the cock I had whilst it was originally on tv. Oh well, you live and learn...
Yes, it's only taken me 17 years since "Twin Peaks" first aired to get to the part where the murderer is revealed, although I had already worked it out from the evidence provided.
The Boyf and OBM#1 are H-U-G-E "Twin Peaks" fans. I seem to recall that when it was on TV I was out alot. It coincided with me discovering gay cruising areas, and there wasn't really any competition between watching TV or getting a bit of cock in those days. Nowadays it's probably the other way around. Ah, the joys of (nearly) middle-age. Anyway, what with Series 2 finally coming out on DVD The Boyf has made me sit down to watch it all. It's pretty good too. Much better than some of the cock I had whilst it was originally on tv. Oh well, you live and learn...
Friday, April 20, 2007
Your Lazy OMO
Yeah, I know, I've been a lazy little OMO this week where my blog is concerned. Again. I'm having a "funny week", Dear Reader. Last Saturday was the first anniversary of my Dad passing away, and on this day last year was his funeral. So this week has been a little sombre for me. Not that you'd tell - I'm still trying to snog every man who doesn't run away fast enough. Unfortunately most of them do. Hey-ho!
I'd like to tell you more about my Dad sometime. A little anecdote here and there, although I could never begin to convey how brilliant he was. My words will simply fail me. But sometime I'll try.
In the meantime fear not, I shall endeavour to go out this weekend and celebrate being alive. Being vital. My Dad was so full of life that ironically I think that's what killed him. Every day for him was something to be savoured and enjoyed. There was always so much for him to do and never enough time, and finally it proved too much and he exhausted himself. So yes, I'll go out, and like every other day I'll look at the sky or the river or a tree or something and wonder at the beauty of it all, and I'll think about my Dad. And after that I'm gonna go out and get right royally fucked, just so I've got something to tell you about come Tuesday. Hey, it's the OMO way!
Have a wonderful weekend, Dear Reader.
I'd like to tell you more about my Dad sometime. A little anecdote here and there, although I could never begin to convey how brilliant he was. My words will simply fail me. But sometime I'll try.
In the meantime fear not, I shall endeavour to go out this weekend and celebrate being alive. Being vital. My Dad was so full of life that ironically I think that's what killed him. Every day for him was something to be savoured and enjoyed. There was always so much for him to do and never enough time, and finally it proved too much and he exhausted himself. So yes, I'll go out, and like every other day I'll look at the sky or the river or a tree or something and wonder at the beauty of it all, and I'll think about my Dad. And after that I'm gonna go out and get right royally fucked, just so I've got something to tell you about come Tuesday. Hey, it's the OMO way!
Have a wonderful weekend, Dear Reader.
Monday, April 16, 2007
Bringing You Up-To-Date
So, did you miss me?
You did notice I'd not written anything since before Easter?
Hmmm, thought as much.
Well, let me tell you what I've been up to. I'll try to keep this brief...
Easter
We had friends over from New York so did the whole club-thing.
Mugs Stolen By Americans From Cafe Nero on Saturday = 2 (although one broke on the way home)
Mugs Stolen By Americans From Cafe Nero on Sunday = 0 (because they wouldn't give us mugs as "someone keeps stealing them". Ooops!)
Bars/Clubs Visited = 7 (The King's Arms (3/10), Comptons (5/10), Chunks (6/10), Megawoof (5/10), "Resurrection" at Club Colosseum (7/10), RVT (8/10), "Bootylicious" at Area (4/10))
Guys Snogged = 0 (The shame!)
Whiney Americans In Bars = 7
Sexy Go-Go Dancer Who I Utterly Fell In Lust With, And Who Looked Very Interested In Me, Only For Him To Be Whisked Off At The Last Minute By My Mate Who I Now Hate* = 1
Last Week
We took a few days off work and visited The Boyf's family and friends in The Midlands.
Castles Visited = 1 (Warwick. Very beautiful but full of French tourists. I refrained from trying my version of their language on them)
Bars/Clubs Visited = 1 (The Fountain in Birmingham (5/10))
Saunas Visited = 1 (The Greenhouse in Darlaston (6/10))
Guys Blown In Sauna = 2
Saturday
The Boyf and I travelled from the Midlands down to Kent to visit my Mum for the afternoon, then back home to watch Dr Who and go out for a drink.
Bars/Clubs Visited = 2 (The Hoist (NSFW) - nothing going on and they were playing Abba again! (3/10), XXL - cause we didn't fancy going home early (6/10))
Americans Dragged Back To Ours For Sex = 1
Number of Times The American Said "Fuck yeah! You guys are HOT!" in a Southern drawl = Innumerable
Number of Hours Sleep = 2
Sunday
Took advantage of the incredible weather and dragged ourselves to Battersea Park for a picnic with OBM#1 and #2, who'd been up all night shagging.
Number Of Hours Spent Laying On Grass Staring At Each Other Barely Able To Speak= 6
Bottles Of Champagne Consumed = 1 (apparently I'm the only one who believes all picnics must include champers and strawberries)
Hot Men In Shorts = 2
Hot Men In Shorts Who We Wolf-Whistled = 2
Hot Men In Shorts Who Reacted To Whistles = 0. Dammit!
Bars/Clubs Visited = 1 (I have no idea what it was called. We popped in on the way home for a quiet drink (4/10))
Take-Aways Needed To Fill The Hole Left By The Picnic = 1 (Chinese)
And there you go, you're now completely up-to-date.
* Just to let you know that I don't really hate him, and in fact he's been dating the go-go dancer ever since and they're getting along very well, which I'm rather pleased about.
You did notice I'd not written anything since before Easter?
Hmmm, thought as much.
Well, let me tell you what I've been up to. I'll try to keep this brief...
Easter
We had friends over from New York so did the whole club-thing.
Mugs Stolen By Americans From Cafe Nero on Saturday = 2 (although one broke on the way home)
Mugs Stolen By Americans From Cafe Nero on Sunday = 0 (because they wouldn't give us mugs as "someone keeps stealing them". Ooops!)
Bars/Clubs Visited = 7 (The King's Arms (3/10), Comptons (5/10), Chunks (6/10), Megawoof (5/10), "Resurrection" at Club Colosseum (7/10), RVT (8/10), "Bootylicious" at Area (4/10))
Guys Snogged = 0 (The shame!)
Whiney Americans In Bars = 7
Sexy Go-Go Dancer Who I Utterly Fell In Lust With, And Who Looked Very Interested In Me, Only For Him To Be Whisked Off At The Last Minute By My Mate Who I Now Hate* = 1
Last Week
We took a few days off work and visited The Boyf's family and friends in The Midlands.
Castles Visited = 1 (Warwick. Very beautiful but full of French tourists. I refrained from trying my version of their language on them)
Bars/Clubs Visited = 1 (The Fountain in Birmingham (5/10))
Saunas Visited = 1 (The Greenhouse in Darlaston (6/10))
Guys Blown In Sauna = 2
Saturday
The Boyf and I travelled from the Midlands down to Kent to visit my Mum for the afternoon, then back home to watch Dr Who and go out for a drink.
Bars/Clubs Visited = 2 (The Hoist (NSFW) - nothing going on and they were playing Abba again! (3/10), XXL - cause we didn't fancy going home early (6/10))
Americans Dragged Back To Ours For Sex = 1
Number of Times The American Said "Fuck yeah! You guys are HOT!" in a Southern drawl = Innumerable
Number of Hours Sleep = 2
Sunday
Took advantage of the incredible weather and dragged ourselves to Battersea Park for a picnic with OBM#1 and #2, who'd been up all night shagging.
Number Of Hours Spent Laying On Grass Staring At Each Other Barely Able To Speak= 6
Bottles Of Champagne Consumed = 1 (apparently I'm the only one who believes all picnics must include champers and strawberries)
Hot Men In Shorts = 2
Hot Men In Shorts Who We Wolf-Whistled = 2
Hot Men In Shorts Who Reacted To Whistles = 0. Dammit!
Bars/Clubs Visited = 1 (I have no idea what it was called. We popped in on the way home for a quiet drink (4/10))
Take-Aways Needed To Fill The Hole Left By The Picnic = 1 (Chinese)
And there you go, you're now completely up-to-date.
* Just to let you know that I don't really hate him, and in fact he's been dating the go-go dancer ever since and they're getting along very well, which I'm rather pleased about.
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