I love happy endings!

I used to live with 3 straight guys from Little Rock, Arkansas.  We lived in harmony, for the most part, for 2 years in Brooklyn, New York.  Right before I moved out I discovered that one of them thought I was transgendered.

I had just lost 100 pounds and given up smoking, it was a good time in my life.  One afternoon we were just chatting about nothing special, when he said, “You know, you’ve lost so much weight, aren’t you concerned with losing your chest?  Isn’t that a little counter productive?”

Confused, I responded, “Well, it’s just natural,  I can’t really help it.”

“You must have spent a bunch already to get the body you want!  How much have you spent?”

“Not much really,  about $70 on shoes, running shorts are cheap at Target.”

“Have you set a date for the surgery?  You look like you’re almost ready for it!”

“Actually, the doctor says it might happen naturally to me.  I’m so young, sometimes the body will just come together.”

“That’s not possible, biologically it just wouldn’t happen,” he said, very defiantly.  We went back and forth for a while, him telling me it wasn’t possible, me trying to prove to him that my doctor said it was.

“The body can adapt to the excess skin,” I said, putting my foot down on the subject.

“But you can’t grow a vagina!”

WTF?!?! “What… vagina?…. what are you talking about?”

“I’m cool with you wanting to be a woman, but you should know, your body cannot just change naturally.”

Apparently he had misunderstood my enjoyment of the movie Boys Don’t Cry to mean that I wanted to be a woman.  For two years he thought I was transitioning into a woman.  Two years… transitioning… into a woman.  Ugh.

I’ve never accepted my adult body.  When I get out of the shower and catch a glimpse of my manhood I ask God, “Really?”

As a child penis’s looked so much bigger on grown ups.  Come to think of it, as an adult penis’s look bigger on everyone else too.

Paul Newman has cancer, it’s so incredibly sad.  Watch Cat on a Hot Tin Roof or Cool Hand Luke, they will change your life.

The NY Post published the above photo of the frail Newman.  Wouldn’t anybody look frail next to that guy? They could have easily cropped Captain Tubbo out of the pic.

I’m a city boy, I love the energy, excitement and thrills of living in populous areas filled with interesting characters.  But city life sometimes requires creativity in order to blend functionality and convenience into your existence.

My problem: I run to the gym to amplify the total work out gained, but my gym requires a towel (and doesn’t provide one, WTF?!?).  I need to run with as few items as possible, what am I to do?  Solution: I purchased a very cute and functional towel that serves as a head wrap (very Lawrence of Arabia), AND a towel at the gym.

I wear this urban functional towel to the gym for the first time the other day.  Sweaty from my run, I remove the towel from my head and whipe the perspiration away as I walk into the weight run.

“Where’s your towel,” a rent-a-cop security lady at the gym asks me in a Rosie Perez like, sassy way.  Excited to show her how fantastically functional this towel is, I proceed to explain the many perks of this $40 gem I stumbled upon.

“You and I both know that’s not a towel,” she says, sass in full force, hand on waist, a snap and twist couldn’t be far off.

“Don’t presume to know what I know,” I tell her, getting irritated that Blanca, that’s what I named her in my head, couldn’t understand the greatness of the towel.

Words were exchanged, things got heated, and I demanded to see the manager.  The moments that passed were awkward and frustrating, how could she question me, who was SHE to question ME?

Up the stairs came a man that could have performed as the body double for the big black guy in The Green Mile.  He wore a badge that read “Manager,” and I swear I noticed the lights flicker.  With a deep breath I asked myself, “Is this going to be my hate crime?”

“I don’t have time for this,” I protested, looking up at the urban Jolly Green Giant.  “You have wasted my time, I have meetings, important things.  Goodbye!”

I literally ran home, defeated and ashamed.  And I’m out $40 on a shit towel!

I’ve arrived!  Now what?

For the next two weeks in Los Angeles I’m without a car.  So I’ve been scooting around town on my trusty little bike.  I’m still thinking up a name for him.  I do love him so, he’s one of those Dahon collapsable bikes.  He will never get me laid though.

Surprisingly I’ve seen a lot more public urination in Los Angeles then I did in New York City.  Maybe it’s the water?

I’m stress eating. I’ve watched three movies. I have to poop. I do not have toilet paper. This, ladies and gentleman, is what it’s like to wait for the FedEx man (or lady) to arrive.

I’m terrified they won’t show up. They gave a huge window of time, 8AM to 8PM. That really isn’t a window, more like a massive hole caused by a wrecking ball. It’s after 4PM, will they make it in time? I swear, it’s like I’m living a bloated episode of “24.”

I leave for LA tomorrow morning. What will it bring? I dunno. Hopefully lots of stage time, new friends and maybe a date or two.

One of the inconveniences of living in the high-tech age: you no longer have newspapers in the home. They served such a handy purpose when you find yourself without toilet paper.

In this corner, formerly successful television personality who, for reasons I cannot explain, has quite an effect on me, Katie Couric.

And in this corner, obnoxious host of a second rate evening political news show, Keith Olbermann.

First Couric hinted at Olbermann’s ridiculous rants in the past few months against Hillary Clinton, and the uncalled for and little recognized sexism that he and others in the media pushed against Clinton.

Now Olbermann is on the attack.

Let’s be honest folks, it’s pretty obvious that Clinton suffered from pronounced sexism from the media. From nutcrackers being sold in her image at airports, to men with signs saying, “Iron My Shirt,” at her events, all of these things went unnoticed by the media. If somebody were selling Barack Obama watermelon’s or holding racist signs at his rallies, do you really think that wouldn’t make the front page of the New York Times?

I like Couric, even though I do not consider her a great journalist. She’s a personality, and a fun one. Olbermann is a great journalist as well, but is shrill and obnoxious and works in dramatics rather then in rational arguments.

But I do enjoy a good feud. I hope Couric does a special YouTube video mocking him. Possibly a “Countdown” of sorts, highlighting the many ways Olbermann sucks.

Read more here.

I witnessed something amazing last night, Patti LuPone in Gypsy.  Seriously people, I was blown away by the story, the show, the performances.  Shockingly I had very little understanding of the musical, I had never seen the movie version and only knew a couple of the songs.  Just amazing.

Seeing Patti LuPone live is like witnessing Jesus turn water into wine.  There, I said it!  She has this quality, this average lady quality, that just explodes when she opens her mouth, revealing this powerful piece of machinery called her voice.  That shit is well oiled and should be boxed up and sold for millions.    If she asked me to tattoo her name on my butt, I would.

Color me thrilled! Go see this show if you’re coming to New York City this summer.  The cheap seats are great (it’s at the St. James, so there isn’t really a bad seat in the house).