Wolf Him Up

Patrick Wolf, hottie extraordinaire, whom I profiled one post ago has a new music video named Vulture. One where he gets practically naked. Go ahead and drool - but you damn well better appreciate the music too!

xoJR

Hungry like the (Patrick) Wolf

In his last post, Plus One Steven compared the brilliance and hard work of music God Tori Amos to his own drive to be his own boss. I too would one day like to be my own boss. I'd also like to rule the world... I figure one will naturally follow the other.

But the second I read about Tori, I started thinking about music in general - and one particular musician came to mind. One who is New York bound next month.

His name is Patrick Wolf and he is what happens when you take Morrissey and Rufus Wainwright and slam them together, and then have them write indy music in the UK.

I must here thank my friend Krissy, for it is she who introduced me to the wonder of Wolf this past winter. You should all also visit her blog, it's awesome if you dig music of the non-pop variety.

Any way, back to my future husband Patrick. He looks like your standard run of the mill dyed haired twink. But the voice that comes out of his mouth just doesn't match up. It's deep. It's powerful. It's very Morrissey, yet completely unique. He writes his own music and he is currently crowd-funding his next album so he can be totally his own with no studio intervention.

I really respect that.

Here's one of his most popular songs and videos, The Magic Position:



and here's him playing his song "Bluebells" in his lounge:



Like what you're hearing and seeing? You should stop by Patrick Wolf's official YouTube channel.


Oh, and while you're at it, join me, my friends Krissy, Bruce and Ben at Patrick's tiny show this coming May 6 at 10 PM at Le Poisson Rouge. You won't regret it. So buy your cheap-o tickets here!

Oh, and all of his albums are available for purchase on iTunes. So get with it and get The Magic Position, Lycanthropy, and Wind in the Wires.

Like, now.

xoJR

Answering To the Devil

I had a great meeting yesterday with a good friend of mine and former boss who I love to death. When I walked into her office (which is an old converted carriage house from the 1700s), I felt like I was walking into another home. She has become an extension of my family.

During our conversation, she mentioned that she got chills down her spine thinking about ever having to work for someone else again. She wasn't saying she would have to do it, but just saying that in the past, after having gone to work for herself, the very thought of it creeped her out beyond belief. I attested to that observation and said that it also sends chills up and down my spine.

Working for myself has taught me a lot about self-discipline and doing what needs to be done despite the circumstances.

When I worked for past bosses, and even when I worked throughout my HS and College life, I would complain, complain, complain. If it was too early, I wouldn't want to get up for work. If there was a long drive to meet a client, I didn't want to go. And, if I had to work a full M-F week, I would never be able to make it through. Not to say I was a poor employee...I really always had a strong work ethic and got the job done. But I still didn't realize self-discipline.

It wasn't until I started working for myself and having real clients under me that I realized. You see, now there is no one to answer to (aside from clients), which is both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, I don't have a boss to breathe down my neck. At the same time, I have no choice but to do what needs to get done.

Waking up this morning and opening my window to see that it's a cold, dreary, rainy day, my immediate instinct was to not get out of bed and not trek into New York City for a few meetings with clients and friends. INCLUDING, Justin himself, who I will be having drinks with at Therapy. But, immediately, being a businessowner, I told myself to shut up. I am lucky to be able to be in this position, and I love my clients and wouldn't be anywhere without them. So if it means getting on a bus for an hour and getting a little cold and wet, then I will do it.

I will do whatever it takes to make my clients happy and to keep my business going. And I soon learned (months ago) that when you have a business and no one to answer to (and technically, when you do, as well), you ALWAYS do what it takes to make people happy, even if it includes working a full day while running a fever and being sick as a dog. This might, however, be considered "a workaholic." I consider it "getting the job done."

I realized this a lot when I saw my favorite musical artist Tori Amos (who I almost scored as a client last summer and hope to represent one day) perform in New York City at Madison Square Garden's theatre. When she went over the city's imposed curfew, stating that she had to get off the stage, she knowingly kept performing for a full 15 minutes after, knowing that she would have to pay an exorbitant penalty per minute. She finished out her whole set and not once did she give a flawed performance of any of the ending encore songs. She kept going, with passion, and has been known to do this at many of the shows. This is because she knows that making her fans happy and giving them a solid, A+ show is worth the money she'd spend to go overtime.

There's a Gathering Storm? That's funny! It's sunny out.

So you're all probably aware of this video put out my NOM (National Organization for Marriage)



What it SHOULD be called is the "National Organization AGAINST Marriage" because that's what they seem to be about.

There's a gathering storm coming? I wasn't aware. Maybe it's just because I live in Southern California, where, as Albert Hammond puts it simply, "never rains."

Do these people live in Seattle? That might explain it.

What I just love about this video is how it has now been turned into a camp classic, with people turning it into remixes using hits like "It's Raining Men" and editing in clips of "The Wizard of Oz," to make total fun of it. (which they really didn't need to do, since it's pretty comical all by itself).

I think these people really need a sense of humor. I am going to prescribe them a dose of this medicine. I think it would cheer them up. Here is a group of people who don't worry about a storm, unless it involves raining borscht, matzoh ball-sized hail and loud thunder produced by guilt-inducing Jewish grandmothers with a flatulence problem. ;)

For your viewing pleasure, I present you with Seth's Bar Mitzvah.



-Steve

When Freezing Cold Twinks Attack (through song!)

In Plus One Steven's first post, he lamented the frigid air that welcomed him to the East Coast the other day. I can feel his pain, having just come back from Florida where I somehow got sunburned in less than 30 seconds, I am definitely feeling the cold of New York City. But, hey! So long as it's not snowing, right!?

Most people (note: me mostly) bitch and moan about the cold. They layer up and whine about it. They squint their eyes against the flying snow and polar bears and cry about it. They spray complaints in every direction as they tie up their huskies to their sleigh to get downtown for happy hour.

But then there are others. Like Mitchell here. I don't know much about him besides:

A) He's totes cute
B) He's talented (he wrote a one-minute musical number, he choreographed it, he got a full company!)
C) He's from Canada
D) He reeeally wanted to get that job as a blogger for the Island Reef

His name is Mitch and I found a link to his video application for the ridiculously ridiculous Island Reef blogger job through a Twitter friend of mine, @DavidPoon (another cute Canadian!) Unfortunately Mitch didn't win the Australian contest, he didn't even place in the Top 16.

I think this is dumb of Australia. He's clearly a talented, popular fella who can persuade a gaggle of Canadians (or is it murder, ey?) to dance up and down some Canadian Main Street with him. And if there's anything Australia could benefit from, it is a sudden influx of gays with sex to have and money to spend (perhaps on sex!)

But yes! Bravo Mitchell. I somehow have your song stuck in my head. I am driven to do a similar video, even without such a reason as you had. I also might be in love with you (give me a few days to sort this warm mushy feeling inside of me... it might just be the harmonies). You took your frigid surroundings and used them to inspire you to create something fantastic.

Plus, it's a pleasure to hear someone sing well after Plus One Alum Clint practically deafened us last week by singing "Popular" from Wicked.

And now I will share it with the rest of you... enjoy!



PS: Who's that crazy snow-throwing girl in the beginning? I want her to be my best friend.

Save yourself! Start a business!

Steven,

I absolutely loved your first post. Your tale of success coming from nothing - of taking risks and them turning to rewards is as close to the American dream as I feel a human can get these days, aside from dying young and being reincarnated, somehow, as Paris Hilton (it's been years since I studied Buddhism, but I'm pretty sure that if you're a good enough person, you can be mid-life reincarnated as a hotel heiress...)

And what you are saying here is great advice for anyone who is out there struggling right now. Start your own business! In today's economy, companies and organizations are looking to limit their budgets and tighten their purse strings. If you are working for yourself with little to no overhead you have the ability to undercut the monsters and dinosaurs and make a decent living for yourself.

I am seeing it everywhere:

• An upcoming Plus One of mine, Max, has started a dog and cat walking/ care company.
• My friend Jeremy is offering services of all kinds (sexual: extra fee... but he'll do it if you're cute enough!)
• Plus One Alum Kristin and her sister Stephanie have started Glammunition, an online vintage clothing shop
• A featured twink from last week, Steven Tylor O'Connor got together with a bunch of friends to make a short movie in the hopes of landing $35,000 for their next endeavor.
• Not to be outdone, Plus One Alum, Adam Lehman and his friends (including one of the Joshes from the blog Josh and Josh) put together their own film, got into the New York Times, and premiered it at a hopping party at NYC'S Therapy (which was fantastically organized and thrown by yet another Plus One Alum, David, who also pens the award-winning gay sex tell-all blog, Manchattan)
  

Yes, every friend of mine who has some modicum of talent in some sort of service or creative area is heading over to the Craigslist gigs, MediaBistro, and eLance.com to offer their services at a fraction of what other agencies and firms are charging. And many of these folks still have day jobs!

It's smart and savvy for our current economy. Offer a cheaper, just as high-quality service, and watch your income soar.

Oh, and Steven, what do you say about representing me and Justin Plus One? Can you get me some press? Nothing crazy - I think the cover of the New York Times for 7 days in a row, and a 45 minute feature on all of the broadcast morning, afternoon, and evening shows will do just fine.

Doable? I'm sure it is!

xoJR

A NJ transplant living in LA but now visiting NJ...

Hi All!

So, let me thaw off from this frigid weather. (What is really frigid to me, being that I am now living in the great City of Angels, is probably quite warm for all of you other East Coast residents. But I'm used to walking outside in a teeshirt, or a hoodie, and now am back to wearing a winter coat, and the whole kitten caboodle.) But, I am originally from Freehold Boro, NJ, the hometown of "The Boss."

Justin has been wonderful about inviting me to be this week's guest blogger. I am honored and thrilled. Thank you so much, Justin!

My name is Steve Le Vine, and the main reason why Justin believed I would be of interest to all of you is because of what I do for a living. Now, let me preface this by saying that I love what I do, but there are many other facets to my personality and my life, which I will just scrape the surface of this week.

I am the president of grapeVine PR, deemed "perhaps the first firm to specifically serve gay and gay-friendly actors, writers and musicians" by The Advocate, in 2007. But, let me go even further to describe my company, which as weird as it sounds, I consider my baby. Not only does grapeVine specialize in gay and gay-friendly actors, writers and musicians, but a whole array of interesting and innovative entrepreneurs, businesses and organizations.

I have been blessed to represent visionaries like transsexual mogul Amanda Lepore, musical artists like Ari Gold and Charlie, revolutionary photographers like Justin Monroe, Dylan Rosser, and Joe Oppedisano; artists within the TV/film realm, like Jack Mackenroth of Project Runway, Rob Williams and Rodney Johnson, co-founders of Guest House Films, Out 100 filmmaker Casper Andreas and Darryl Stephens of LOGO's Noah's Arc; internet comedian Deven Green ("Welcome to My Home" parody); and businesses like Steel Gym, face to face nyc, and Pink Banana Media. In addition, we provide supplementary support for The Trevor Project, the ONLY 24/7 hotline for suicidal LGBT youth. The company was founded with a couple of missions.

The first being that I had observed that one of the biggest engines of attaining more and more equal rights and acceptance of the gay community has usually been more visibility of our community within the media and the public eye. It can be argued that even though a lot of "Will & Grace" portrayed gay individuals in a fairly stereotypical fashion, it also helped us gain more acceptance being that the mainstream public could now see us as people whose lives didn't revolve around promiscuous sex and substance abuse.

The public now could see that we were not a threat, but people just like them. And even though we're far from total equal rights, our community definitely took a leap forward during and after that show, and other individuals coming out of the closet, like Ellen DeGeneres, Suze Orman, Neil Patrick Harris and many others. By helping to provide a platform within the media for talented and inspiring gay artists and entrepreneurs, we are looking to provide more visibility for our community. A great article that goes more into depth was written by my business partner, Stephen J. Lucin, and can be read here, "The New Face of Gay."

We also work with mainstream businesses looking to target the $712B LGBT community (according to Witeck-Combs Communications). Whereas most PR firms may have contacts with only some of the national gay publications, such as OUT, The Advocate, etc., we are able to provide a niche focus, with contacts at hundreds of local, regional, national and international publications, blogs, and alternative/social, web 2.0 media. We also help to secure LGBT clients mainstream media coverage, which we have successfully been able to garner.

The funny thing is that if you were to ask me three years ago if I would ever start my own business, I would have laughed in your face. In fact, I used to always say that I never knew that I could do it, because it seemed like an outlandish idea. I always said "I would never know where to start." But, working as an intern for a remarkable woman, Sylvia Allen, right out of college, it accidentally happened. I had taken on a freelance project, representing an independent female recording artist and helping to promote her new album.

For formality, I created GrapeVine Promotions and decided to register it. But after she went on hiatus, so did my company. However, my entrepreneurial spirit never did. I started working for a major real estate PR firm, and commuting back and forth every day in two hours of traffic each way. And then it happened. On a cold, rainy March day in 2007, I received an e-mail back from the lead actor of Another Gay Movie, responding to an inquiry for a publicist. We started working together, and then I joined forces with Stephen, who was living in LA and had also started a PR company.

We joined up and decided on this niche focus, and then started representing more clients and securing more press for ourselves. We both took a lot of risks to get the company off the ground, and would work feverishly in our spare time, while also maintaining a FT job with the real estate firm. Finally, it happened. I was set free and could devote all of my time to grapeVine. It's been a ride ever since, of which I feel blessed to be a part of.

I have always believed that maintaining integrity, honesty and a positive work ethic was always the right path. For me, it's not a money issue. Monetary wealth is of course a plus to running your own business, but what makes me the happiest is to love what I do, to have a passion for it and to make a difference, so that when I leave this world, I will not have just (as Sylvia Allen puts it quite well) "stuck my finger into the ocean, and pulled it out" only to see no change.

I thank you all for joining me on my path, and for joining me this week on JustinPlusOne.com. Thank you!

Best, Steve

Meet Steven Le Vine!

Welcome back everyone to Justin Plus One. I'd like to thank you for sticking it out with me (assuming you did) last week.

In professional wrestling, when a wrestler admits that it's all pre-planned and the injuries are accidental, it is known as breaking kayfabe. Nowadays it's a lot more prevalent (especially with owner Vincent Kennedy McMahon going as far as to rebrand the WWE as "Sports Entertainment").

Okay, now you know I'm a wrestling dork, but this is for a reason...

Last week was a grand experiment with my Plus One Clint. To answer your questions, no I wasn't actually beaten up. No I didn't give him the blog for real. And yes, much like Ann Coulter, I must give credit to Clint for sticking to his douchey guns despite the hate mail he received playing his part.

Anyway, this week I am happy to bring Justin Plus One back to its standard format, and with a fantastic fellow coming to us all the way from the West Coast.

Okay, well for the next week or two he is in NJ visiting, but I assure you that has nothing to do with me or this blog. No, it was his own personal choice (seriously, I would never ask someone to give up that sun just to blog - I swear!)

The man in question is one Steven Le Vine - owner of grapeVine (a PR company he created) out in California. He has represented some of the greatest gay and lesbian folks on the planet, and has done a ton of good work for gay rights throughout his career.

In addition, Steven is a totally awesome (and super smart n sexy) fellow and I am beyond honored to have him share the J+1 stage with me. I've said more than enough for now, allow me to allow him to introduce himself to you!

xoJR

My Name:
Steven Le Vine

My Location:
Los Angeles, CA & Freehold, NJ

My Site/ Sites:
GrapeVine PR ,
GrapeVine on Twitter ,
Facebook

What I might post about:
The Public Relations and Entertainment industries and how they work within the context of gay culture

What I love:
music, traveling, sushi, super hot showers, Tiki culture, connecting with people on a positive level, nightlife, real people, checking out new restaurants, the boardwalk, visiting family and friends, pop art, Runyon Canyon, shopping, reading blogs/magazines, and people who can make me laugh until my gut hurts.

What I hate:
manipulative, phony, lazy and cynical people. Or, people who impose their religious dogma on others. Oh, and bad hair days and slow drivers.

My Last Word:
I grew up in the blue-collar town of Freehold Boro, N. J., also known as Bruce Springsteen’s hometown. In fact, we both went to the same High School. Over the past couple of years, I’ve grown to love my town very much and the people who live in. But, I currently live most of the time in L.A., and I love it here in a different way.

I have always been driven, but not in the conventional way. I always had to make my mark on everything in my own way. This really came into play about two years ago when I started my company, grapeVine PR, which I also consider my baby. I had been working in the PR industry straight out of college, but I always loved the entertainment world, and being gay, well it was instinctual. Being an entrepreneur was, and is, also instinctual, and it drove me out of the offices of others and into my own. All of these helped create the “perfect storm,” and in the end caused me to help found one of the first PR agencies in the world dedicated to gay and gay-friendly celebrities, businesses and organizations.

When I wake up every morning, I know that I love what I do, rather than dread waking up. It drives me to succeed, because I have the passion to do it and make a difference. Seeing that the most important thing to ever get us equal rights or to be more accepted as a community has always seemed to be having more visual presence in the media and showing that we aren’t much different from our heterosexual counterparts. By giving a platform and presence to many more interesting, talented and wonderful LGBT folks, the idea would be that it would help us over time gain more and more rights as a community. And I am on a mission to prove that!

No Clints

Sorry buddy, you won't be back. And here's why:





Now I just need to find another guy named Clint...

So long.

Farewell.

Auf wiedersehen.



Goodbye!

But I will be back.

Plus One Fail

My darling Clint, please forgive me for not changing the blog back over today, but, after all that swimming and giving my brother directions to your apartment, I decided to spend 14 hours at the Magic Kingdom today.

Giant turkey legs, crushes on the twink playing Peter Pan, and crying jags during repeat viewings of their two parades (wherein I realized my crush on Peter Pan) later, I have returned to restore Justin Plus One to its former glory.

And now Clint, let me show you something to prove to you why you need me, and I don't need you. Below you'll find a screengrab of the Google metrics from this week on Justin Plus One.

Notice the intriguing, Splash-Mountain-esque slant from the high point on Monday to the low point today. If that were a log flume, I'd be screaming and having a blast. And you'd be all wet.

Clearly, as you can see, you've fallen out of favor with the general readership of the blog. Clint Plus None indeed, that accounts for your lack of audience as well. Even the vicious hate comments for you seem to have ceased. I guess the world has moved on, yeah?

So consider yourself booted, good sir. Na na na na, na na na na, hey hey hey... you get the idea.

Don't let the door hitcha, mmkay?

Oh, and a PS to all my readers - if you need an address for mail bomb delivery, just send me a Facebook message.

x's and o's
JR

I'm not dead yet.

What the fuck is this? You're back? Great, so you've decided to attempt a coup on your own blog. Congrats. Only you've forgotten one thing--I'm still here. My name's still on the header. And, stupidly, you have failed to kick me off.

Instead, you've decided, Donald Trump-style, to fire me from your pool? Perhaps you were trying to engage me in some sort of visual ipecac (mission accomplished, by the way), but I see no point in your video other than pointless, childish taunting. Justin, I am still better than you. And now I shall list them. BECAUSE I EXCEL AT LISTS.

-I am younger. And I always will be. This is something you will never beat me at.
-I am taller. Even if I am crippled and have to be in a wheelchair for the rest of my life, I will still be longer. Again, something I am awesome at. I excel at being tall. And you do not.
-I am clearly smarter. I think by the way I have one-upped you all week should evidence that.
-My penis is larger. I'm sorry, but while you were sleeping, I checked.
-I am of pure German stock. Your blood is tainted. I am sorry, again, but you fail here.
-I speak 23 languages fluently. Even if I didn't, you wouldn't know the difference. You don't even speak English well, so how would you know?
-I am not fired.
-You are still in exile.

Now, let's get to the business of henchmen. This blog is still Clint Plus None, so I can't have guest bloggers. But I CAN have henchmen who help me post. If you are interested in the position, please post below. And please do not be stupid. I cannot have stupid people on my blog.

You are the weakest Clint... good bye!

Hello Clint my love. I see that you've missed me. I'd say that I missed you too, but, well, that would be a lie. I certainly must admit that I've had a blast watching you blather and flounder and lather and grouper all around "Clint Plus None" yesterday.

And now I (and my brother and future Plus One Jared) have a special message for you.

Everyone sing along with me now!

Na-na-na-na

Na-na-na-na

HEY HEY HEY...

What the hell was that

No, seriously. What in the fuck is that?

This is Clint Plus NONE now. How the fuck did Justin get his access back?

Fine, you know what? If he's going to play that game, I have ammunition of my own.



Justin, you will always be the guy who says smelcome to my fox in a parachute.

The End is Nigh

Oh you don't even know.



xoJR

Rupert Everett sure managed to piss everyone off

Today, I talked about how Justin has destroyed the appeal of Florida. I have also laid down the law as your new blog-overlord.

Now I shall get down to business and talk about something that really concerns us all: gay marriage. Or rather, I will talk about how Rupert Everett managed to piss just about everyone off.

And by everyone, I mean the gays.

In a recent interview by The Daily Beast, Everett discusses gay marriage and his disagreement with it. I have a few questions regarding this.

First--Mr. Everett, you say that you are open-minded, but then you are best friends with Madonna. This is stupid. Why would you ever befriend her? Did you not realize that everything she touches turns to death? She has left a string of promising young musicians, models, artists, and actors in her wake after having sucked them dry like a psychic vampire. You may blame coming out as career suicide, but your actual career suicide was starring in that stupid movie where you got her pregnant. Christ, you don't have to be that drunk to think that Madonna's man-arms are actually the warm embrace of a muscled stud, but still. She still has a vag and tit-bags.

Okay that question wasn't about gay marriage. Next question.

Mr. Everett, you say that gays should not try to replicate the straight middle class, but then you look like you have been doing a lot of meth recently. Is this the case? I fully expect that not everyone ages gracefully, but you have really gone to shit. You have plummeted from somewhat attractive to terrifying wrinkled pedophile uncle in the space of three or four short years. Why is that?

Again I guess that question went a little off-topic.

Mr. Everett, you disagree with gays using IVF, but you haven't done anything significantly artistic in a very long time. Why the hell should we care about your opinion to begin with? Speaking of IVF, it seems to me like someone needs to get a little sperm inside them, and it is not me. Perhaps that's why you are so bitchy.

I guess I am not in a mood to ask Rupert Everett questions so much as make fun of him. Without Justin here, I have to direct my rage somewhere. I almost...miss the dumb, greasy bastard.

Until tomorrow!

Justin has destroyed Florida's inherent goodness

As you all know, Justin is hiding from me in Florida, and I have taken over. I'm sure you can already tell an increase in quality.

Unfortunately, Justin is so terrible that he has destroyed all that is good and cool and not shitty about Florida. Allow me now to malign the state in as many ways as I can over my lunch break.



Florida was founded by Spaniards. They hated it so much that they practically gave it to the US. It's our 27th state, which is just another way of saying below 50th percentile. There's a lot of people who live there, but they're all at least 60 and edging ever closer to death. The population of Florida is expected to collapse after 2015, when the final retirees die out. All that will remain is cockroaches, hillbillies, and the frozen head of Walt Disney.

A lot of people say you should go to Florida because they have beaches. Well I suppose if you like getting shot at by a bunch of white trash or snowbird guidos from Jersey (like Justin) then you should go to Florida and enjoy the beaches. I am pretty sure that the bulletproof vest is going to ruin your tan though.

Miami is awful. It is about the size of a postage stamp with no public transit but tons of 4-lane roads. Awesome city planning, dudes and dudettes.

The following people are from Florida:

Don Johnson
Eva Mendes
Ricky Martin
Janet Reno
Jose Canseco [for you gay people out there, he plays sports, and he is not hot. stop asking]
Dave Barry
Brett Ratner, director of those wretched Rush Hour films
Blake Ross, co-founder of Firefox [that is a web browser that is not Safari, again for all you homos]
Gallagher
Hulk Hogan
and both Nick and Aaron Carter

If this is not a list that will keep you from Florida, then move there already. Clearly you love mediocrity, and Justin.

PS. Kyan from Queer Eye for the Straight Guy is from there and I will be dispatching helicopters within the hour to retrieve his parents and family. Bombing commences shortly thereafter.



Effin' hot.

The new boss is laying down the rules

Well! It looks like Justin finally conceded defeat and left for Florida. And good for him! We are all far better off. I hope that you all like your new boss, because you're stuck with me. If you don't like it, you can lump it. I am going to go over some new ground rules. Listen up.

First, to read this blog, you have to vote for Steven Tylor O'Connor's video, as we have mentioned in the past.

Second, you must be shirtless while reading this blog. There are no exceptions to this rule, unless you are ugly or female or both. In that case, please leave your shirt on.

Third, you must enjoy the following things, or else you must leave immediately:

Arrested Development
Moulin Rouge!
Achewood
Jack Daniels
steak
Muse
Rock Band 2


I think that's everything.

Right, and I demand a virgin sacrifice. And soon. Hurry up here, people.

PS. Please check out this awesome series of videos that are making serious rounds on the internet. These are auditions from an anti-gay marriage ad! And they are terrible.




Audition 12 is kinda hot. I like redheads.

What Have I Done?

It's 4 o'clock in the morning and I haven't slept a wink. My neighbors are banging on my door, as if there's anything I can do to help them get back to sleep. I've stopped answering their angry assaults on my door and am instead in the bathroom by the shower.

Outside, three floors down, Clint is standing outside of my apartment building. And he's singing. At the top of his lungs. The entire cast recording of Wicked. He finished "For Good" at 2am, and then went right back into "No One Mourns the Wicked."

Apparently his singing of "Popular"


in response to my montage of "Clint is an asshole" interviews was just the beginning.

To explain to you the sound taxes my very abilities as a writer. Imagine a room full of cats hooked up to electrodes. Each of them has an iPod speaker jammed up their asses. They are tied together and someone is slashing at their sensitive areas, as the iPod speakers all blast the same song.

And that was just "Dancing Through Life."

When I brought Clint on as my Plus One, I had many warnings. "Don't do it!" friends cried. "You don't understand how much of a shit-eating prick he is!" "Nobody likes him!" "He's a monster!"

I laughed! Really I did. I regret that now. In The Dark Knight, mobster Salvatore Maroni hires a fringe, psychotic man to do his bidding and help him do away with the Batman. It is Alfred the butler who best explains to Batman that a wild beast has been unleashed, and the world will never be the same.

Much like the Joker, I don't think Clint has a reason behind his cruelty and evil. No, some people just want to watch the blogs burn.

I have unleashed a monster that cannot be stopped (no, really, he can't - he's up to No Good Deed... fourth time tonight). And so I must leave. I have booked a plane ticket to Florida. The car is meeting me around the corner, and a neighbor has agreed to let me sneak out down their fire escape.

I understand I am abandoning you to this demon. I suggest you run, too. I don't know what he'll do to Justin Plus One when I'm gone. It'll probably be horrible. You won't want to be around. Save yourselves.

And fuck you, Clint. I'll see you in hell. And seriously, you're flat... take a fucking singing lesson or two.

You have incurred my wrath

...through song.

Everybody Hates Clint!

My dear, dear Plus One Clint. I must thank you for breaking into my blogger account today. And I admit, maybe choosing my last cured STD (the one YOU gave me, but let us not give away the FULL backstory as to why we're not getting along) and lubricant as a password was a foolish move. I have now changed it to what my porn name would be (and as we all know there are twenty ways of figuring out one's porn name - good luck figuring out my method!)

While I sat and re-read the things I "said" I had to brainstorm how to respond to your bold and brutal words. I also read your post where you admitted that you are an asshole-american. I'm glad you hold that banner high... because if you held it low, people might try to steal it from you and sodomize you with it.

In the end I decided that my words can only achieve so much. Everything I say you quickly and effectively turn around on me. And that's fine. Because, luckily for me, there are other people on this planet who feel the same way about you that I do. (I mean, check the comments, you're about as popular as the love child birthed from a threeway between Hitler, Bill O'Reilly, and the villain from Disney's Tarzan.)

You may note that I started this post with an image from the popular TV sitcom Everybody Loves Raymond. You may think it's because the title was the inspiration for this post's subject. It is not. I actually chose it because the entire cast and crew of Everybody Loves Raymond also hates you (yes, even the best boy, catering company, and second camera man's assistant).

So! I will remain silent and instead present to you a little montage I created; one inspired by you.

I invite every J+1 reader to enjoy, and to create their own video message for Clint. If you send me the YouTube code, I'll even post it.

xoJR

I have a confession to make.

Justin,

I appreciate your wonderfully honest post. Being born with a genetic disorder that makes you an idiot is not fun to live with. I don't think it's any sort of excuse, and you certainly should not receive special treatment in school or get federal funding! Ronald Reagan would agree.

I do have to wonder why you contradicted your post almost immediately and accused me of hacking your account. How would I ever know that your password is a combination of your favorite lubricant plus the last STD you had cured? I mean, criscosyphilis isn't exactly on the tip of everyone's tongue. Tell me how I would even know that.

Anyway, I do have a confession to make. I have hidden this from all of my friends and really, only my family knows. I am an Asshole-American. All of my family is Asshole, at least on my dad's side. My mom is ethnically Bitch, but she adopted Asshole as her chosen identity when she married my father. We're all Assholes, and it's sad because Assholes face so much discrimination in this country.

Do you know the pain of living your life as an Asshole? I have to hide my true nature to most people. When I see a homeless person, I have to give them change instead of spit in their face, as is the Assholian traditional greeting for the homeless. I am forced to wear cotton instead of baby seal. I have to vote Democrat instead of Libertarian. I have to eat normal food, not smoke, and be nice to the obese, instead of chowing down on traditional Assholian veal (which has the added step of punching the calves in the face before the slaughterhouse), smoking indoors and blowing the smoke at asthma patients, or publicly stoning anyone with a BMI of 21 or more.

Considering that you're such a bleeding-heart liberal who claims to be so fucking open-minded, I don't get why you think it's okay to call people assholes when you know that the term is demeaning to me. Worse yet is shortening asshole to ass; that is the most offensive thing you can possibly say. Plus you claim to be open to other cultures! Why don't you respect my culture of not respecting other people? For shame, Justin.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go interact with a cashier and actually answer their moronic questions instead of gesturing angrily to the menu while talking loudly on my cell phone wearing my sunglasses indoors.

I like olives!

Clint,

I couldn't agree with your latest post more. I have not told anyone about my secret shame, but I was born with a disease that makes me seem like a complete jibbering moron. I try very hard to work with it. I even entered a Math-A-Thon in high school, but they rejected me for having an untestably low IQ.

I have attacked you unfairly repeatedly and also I have a short attention span so now I am going to change the subject.

Do you guys hate airline food? It is like so gross! I can't believe it tastes bad like it does.

Do you guys like twinks? I do. And I am not talking about twinkies! I am talking about having sex with gay men who are young and thin and very cute.

Blah blah jibber jabber clang clang went the trolley

exes and ohs

Jay Bee

A new leaf.

After attacking you for even thinking of owning a wallet, I realized that perhaps I have been too harsh on you. I know that being the way you are is not your fault. After all, it could be a hormone deficiency, or perhaps you have too many or too few chromosomes. In either case, I should extend an olive branch.



Clearly you have had a string of misfortunes, and it is my place to say that I am sorry. I am sorry that you have a dark and sordid past that has finally caught up to you. I am sorry that you have easily found yourself in dangerous, precarious situations because of poor choices you have made in the past. I am sorry that you blame everyone around you. And I am big enough to forgive you for being a target of your poorly-judged wrath. After all, would a man grow angry at a bacterium for making him sick? Of course not. It is a lesser being, simply carrying out its duty.

In this spirit, I offer a fresh start. Today, let's just be friendly and civil with each other. I am sure that everyone is sick of seeing me trounce you repeatedly, and that you are tired of being defeated by a sheer wall of logic. How could you compete with that anyway? It's logic!

What do you say?

A million monkeys at the typewriter.

My god. It appears that Justin--yammering on endlessly to the ether--has finally come up with a valid point. Granted, he was utterly unable to rebut a single one of my points regarding fag hags, but he was able to stammer out a primitive idea about the importance of certain items. Let's see if he said something intelligent.

The three things he says we need are as follows:


A wallet


A cell phone


An iPod

Now, I will systematically destroy him.

First of all, you do not need a wallet. No one needs a wallet. Do you know how they sell shitty clothing that no one would wear? The wallet is one such item. Justin, your idiot of a brother (and I only know he's an idiot because he has refused to distance himself from you genetically) lost his wallet. That means that he first thought it would be a brilliant idea to keep all of his money, thousands in gift cards, his credit cards, all his IDs, and quite probably an unused condom in some godforsaken, ratty leather wallet that can barely close. Then he had the lack of foresight to lose it. Listen, you do not need a wallet. You do not have a vagina, and therefore do not need to keep all of your things in a big bag that you carry around and slam into me when I try to pass your slow walking ass on the street. You have fucking POCKETS. Keep your cash, an ID, and one credit card in there. If you are carrying around more than that, you are clearly so oblivious that you do not know what it is that you will need when you get to your destination. And I do not want to know you.

Second, you do not need an iPod. You should have bought a fucking iPhone.

Third, if people would listen to me, you will soon only need your cell phone. The Japanese already use chips in their phones to make payments, use subway passes, and probably even determine the fuckability of people in their vicinity. Americans clearly deserve these chips. I am fucking tired of carrying cash.

Justin, again, you are so, so damn close to actually making a point. I would encourage you to keep at it but I know that you will fail.

ET Phone Gone

Okay, I'm back. Luckily the only thing that seems to be truly wounded from last night is my pride, and anyone who knows me knows that I had very little of that to begin with. The South (read, me) will rise again!

Clearly Clint will continue to deny up and down that he had anything to do with last night's beating, but I maintain that if I were to hire 4 Jersey boys to meet me somewhere, they'd be the cast of the Broadway show, and they'd be in my bed.

Any way, one thing that has irked me and continues to do so is the loss of my cell phone. I have already left iChat away messages and Facebook statuses urging friends to not call or text me or send me any compromising photos (note: if you were going to send me such photos, you probably have my email address... so use it.)

In today's world there seems to be a holy triumvirate of Shit You Don't Want to Lose. In my mind these are:

1) Your wallet.

2) Your cellphone and

3) your iPod.

Now keep in mind, these are things you Keep On Your Person at All Times. Losing your house, your continence (like Clint), or your laptop are probably pretty terrible, too... but I'm not talking about those trivial things.

Any way, so my cell phone is gone. I have to say that I am positively shocked that I am not at all losing my mind about this. I padded my pockets in search of it last night, found nothing and said "huh, I lost my cell phone. Well, better get to bed! Have work tomorrow!"

This morning I walked into the Verizon store, reported the phone stolen, and they gave me a number. I called the number and a brand new Verizon LG enV is on its way to my office tomorrow morning. That simple.

I also have my entire phone book backed up via remote database storage, so upon receiving my phone, I won't have to be one of those guys who sends out the massive party invitation to send him your number. (PS: Worst parties EVER... stop inviting me!)

Though, on the other hand, those "phone number parties" are an excellent way to try and get cute Facebook friends' phone numbers that you never had before. Maybe I'll make one any way, and ask those invited to also email me compromising pictures to help me pass the time.

It's actually relaxing not having my cell phone on me! No incessant buzzing. No constantly wondering if I got a text. No worrying about losing it. It's gone, and I'm stuck without it for 24 hours.

Now friends have said "well, what about all your numbers?" Again, I think technology has me covered here. Every night my phone runs an auto-backup to some unknown place. I imagine it is sending my contacts to a safe data facility. Unless it's just sending those compromising photos to Clint, who may have figured out how to hack into my phone.

Last week my brother lost his wallet. I imagine this is still the worst thing in the world to lose. He had to run around town getting new temporary IDs. He lost hundreds of dollars in cash and gift cards. He had to cancel debit and credit cards. God. Now THAT is horrifying. Probably the worst thing you can lose.

Those of you with iPhones may debate me though and, until I get one next year when my contract runs out, I won't know for sure. If you store tons of info on it, and then lose it, I could very easily see your life descending into biblical chaos on par with all the plagues mixed into one Jamba Juice smoothie-style plague (also known as any date Clint goes on - oh and he makes you pay for your own Jamba, some fucking gentleman).

So what do you think? What's the worst thing you could possibly lose? Virginity doesn't count because I know this readership like the back of my hand and all of you lost that a very, very long time ago.

xoJR

This is getting ridiculous

Clint, you are dastardly. It's one thing to send me to Connecticut by way of deceit. Or to insult my love of vegan lobster rolls (also called Fobster!).

It is another thing to maliciously send thugs out against me.

Last night I extended an olive branch to Clint and invited him to Musical Mondays to join me and my Plus One Alum Austin, who now seems like a faded memory of happy days gone by. But Clint says he's busy - apparently to keep his shaven weasel appearance he undergoes four hours of nightly pampering including lying in a bathtub full of pudding and masturbating to 1980's kiddie porn.

So I go off to Musical Mondays and have my fun singing Patti, Bernadette, Sutton. Around 10 I get approached by this very cute, very thuggy looking guy. His hair is spiked. Positively Gotti. Of course he's from Jersey. He starts making out with me and off we go. Twenty minutes later I leave Austin and take the Jersey boy outside, en route to my apartment.

But first he says he needs to stop at Duane Reade for more hair gel and menthol cigarettes. I say sure, why not? He then led me around the corner to a waiting trio of other muscled guys. I was hit by my sudden unrealized fantasy of an all out tri-state orgy with guys who collect fuzzy rearview mirror dice and do irish carbombs for breakfast.

And fists.

I was beaten down, they took my cell phone, and cut my laptop cord. Staring up through the blood in my eyes, I would have thought this a random hate crime, until Jersey Boy 1 said "Courtesy of Master O, you little bitch. Bet you'll have spelling errors in your post when you write about this tomorrow."

Enough Clint! Now I have no phone. My laptop is bleeding out like a dishonored samurai. Is this a Bill Murray comedy? Stop ruining my life!

At least they all used my laptop to vote for Steven Tylor O'Connor... even they can appreciate a talented twink (even if you don't think he's a twink).

And seriously, have that Jersey guy call me.

Oh, and fag hags are amazing, don't hate on them just because you smell like turned yogurt and no one will be friends with you.

xoJR

Justin's drinking problem has yielded terrible friends.

So apparently Justin went out last night because he didn't even have a chance to reply to my brilliant, award-winning post last night. That, or he noticed the update and stayed in last night, cowering in the corner of his room and sobbing at his inability to respond to me. Either way, I am disgusted. Is this any way to run a blog? I want to vomit all over his head.

I suppose it's up to me to keep the discussion going, so today I am going to tell you why I hate fag hags.

I suppose that this is a bad example of a fag hag, because if you know who Kathy Najimy is, she's a smart actor who has her own life beyond gay men. But depicted in this picture is the ultimate fag hag fantasy. I guess if you're not aware of the official definition of a fag hag (also known as a fruit fly), the definition is a woman who cannot get a man by normal means, so she turns to gay men who are sexually non-threatening. It is almost an absolute guarantee that a true fag hag looks like a ball of Crisco in a dress, topped with a troll doll head.

A lot of gals nowadays with a higher-than-average number of gay men in their lives will refer to themselves as fag hags. Again, this is false. If you can get a boyfriend on your own, you are not a fag hag. That god-awful show Sex and the City has ruined an entire generation of women for numerous reasons, not least of them is by misnaming them as fag hags if they have even thought of having a gay best friend. Of course, if you're on the make for a gay best friend and you come to me, I will never take you shopping, I will not bring you along to the gay bar just for lolz and cosmos, and I will most certainly not be near you when water is leaking out of your face. God, is that unattractive. But nonetheless, if you are even worth looking at, you are probably not a fag hag.

The Onion has already said this better than I have, so go read that. I have to get a shower and figure out where the hell Justin is.

You cannot defeat me.

Justin, when will you learn? You cannot simply dodge my brilliance. I enjoy particularly how you tried to go straight to sex appeal, completely changing the subject from your closet veganism. It is obvious to me--painfully so, in fact--who is the winner of the Ann Coulter Excellence in Media Award, and who is not. [answer: it is you. that was an insult.]

My concern now turns to your unfortunate use of the term 'tumor' to refer to me. I'm not sure if you know how metaphor works, but it's pretty damn stupid to infer that I'm going to kill you. Why would I do that when I can watch you squirm and suffer instead? I'd rather keep you darting back and forth, terrified, between my paws before growing bored with you and crushing you. But I suppose that's how you want it then.

Allow me to turn to the subject of this twink you've chosen to plug. First of all, he's barely a twink! Sure, he's got the requisite thinness and youth and looks and gay-spelled name, but he's 5'11"! He's hardly a pocket gay! And the fact that he's chosen to spell everything right on his website without resorting to boi, u, or 2 means that he's actually intelligent. I'm sorry, but this boy is too big and too smart to actually be a twink. Twink card revoked.

Second, why is he enlisting our help? He should get his boyfriend, Chef Gordon Ramsay, to bankroll his pet project.



Ooooh, that's right. We are getting played, playas. This kid is already famous. I'm not falling for it.

I voted anyway though. I mean, sex with a hot dude is sex with a hot dude.

A Twink in need... is a Twink that will sleep with you

I am beginning to think that the best way to deal with d-bag Plus One Clint this week is to just go ahead and ignore him.

...But I MUST defend myself first. I've never been to Connecticut, except, of course, to drive through it as quickly as possible. I mean, the only Connecticut exports I know of are World Wrestling Entertainment and the art of wrapping one's sweater either around their neck or waists.

That's it.

So, in my effort to ignore this malevolent gay tumor that has affixed itself to my blog and will no doubt metastasize through the week, I will turn to something I do like - Twinks!

Oh who doesn't love a good twink? Especially a smart and talented one? Especially one that lives nearby and is single!

Well, my friends, have I got one for you. His name is Steven Tylor O'Connor and, when he's not dancing at parties and drawing the eyes of many, he is acting on stage and screen (and drawing the eyes of many.)

And, after a few years of giving me and my ilk tasty eye candy, Steven now needs our help. He's even made us a special video.



Aw cmon! How cute is he!? And don't ask me about the odd birthday party balloon mural behind him - you can ask him after you vote for him. Consider it gay karma. Hear Steven out. Vote for his show.

And the payback? He'll sleep with you. No seriously. Vote for him, take a screengrab of the page, and then find him on the town. Provide him the screengrab and he goes home with you. No questions asked!

And a note to you smart asses... if you have already had sex with him, you owe him a favor. He will also no longer sleep with you until you prove you've voted. Sorry. Dem's the breaks!

So, get on it. Here's the info:

What it is: The Doorpost Film Project is an International Film Competition.

How much we spent: They did this on NO budget. They literally had no money to make this.

The competition: The guys were chosen to be in the top 100 out of over 5,000 movies submitted. They are now competing to be in top 10. If they make top 10, they get a $35,000 budget to make their next film about "HOPE."

What he needs: Steven needs people to go to http://www.thedoorpost.com and create a free account. Once they do that, they need to go to http://www.thedoorpost.com/redemption/morning and vote for the film.

To vote, you must rank the film in 7 categories and leave a comment. THEN, there will be 4 other movies in your queue. YOU MUST RANK AND COMMENT on these 4 other films for their votes to count.

Sure, I won't lie to you - that extra step sucks. It's a big ole Clint-Osterholz-style pain in the ass. But, since we're stuck with Clint this week, we should all endeavor to be as unlike him as possible. One way to do that is by doing a good deed, versus being a huge steaming pile of free-range chicken shit.

Voting lasts until the end of April. You can also check out Steven's website at http://www.steventyloroconnor.com for more details.

My search for free WiFi has yielded Food with a Conscience.

Well, Justin has allowed me to co-blog for almost 13 hours, and already he's spreading lies. He made some SPECIOUS claim (please look up that adjective if you do not know it; I am certain Justin does not and shall be highlighting them in caps along the way) that I mislead him to going to Connecticut for a date that I needed rescuing from. First of all, I am 6'3" and I know KUNG FU. There is no need to rescue me. I am the rescuer. Second of all, Justin still turns tricks outside Darien, CT, every Sunday evening. I'm sure that he just had some dickheaded, money-conscious john leave him instead of driving him home, so he had to hitchhike back. Not that Justin is any sort of stranger to thumbing his way back home.

In any case, I am getting down to business here. I am sitting in a local chain RESTAURANT, enjoying free WiFi and a salad. Let me illustrate.



This is me, and this is a Po' Boy. The greens are organic, as is the chicken, which is also panko-encrusted. In fact, virtually every bit of my meal is organic, hydroponic, or something trendy, green, and vegan. For anyone who has not spent a significant amount of time in New York, you'd be totally clueless that a bunch of Fortune 500 sharks in business suits would prefer to eat $10 salad that is socially conscious as opposed to not.

In fact, it turns out that in Midtown, it's pretty fucking hard to get a normal meal, by which I mean something that is perhaps unhealthy, or maybe made with genetically modified organisms. Chipotle refuses to cram its chickens into cages (thereby making them delicious with lots of JUICES that can only be produced through abuse), and Chop't insists on using natural cane sugar in its sodas. I'm sitting literally two feet from a picture of a bunch of farmers, loading a truck with romaine lettuce. Don't tell me this shit! I don't care where my food comes from!

I want my food to do two things: keep me full, and not cause a life-threatening BOWEL obstruction. That's it. Please stop charging me extra because you treat your animals humanely, or you did not use science to make your vegetables taste like steak, or you paid your day laborers in more than beatings and table scraps. I want a damn lunch for under $10.

I bet you Justin likes his food all healthy and conscientious. I bet you he cries when someone beats an egg. I bet you he drinks teas with pomegranate flavor, and enjoys free-range grass-fed beef. Or I bet he would if he weren't a damn raw food vegan PETA terrorist. Give me 3 40s: 40 oz. of steak, 40 oz. of potatoes, and 40 oz. beer. And if you can punch a kitten in the face while doing it, it'd be all the better.



Fuck yeah.

Meet Clint!

Dear Plus One Clint,

Imagine my shock when I found your post (titled "Justin, You Suck") up here this morning.

When we began speaking on you being my Plus One, you understood that I would do anything for you.

So last night when I received an urgent text message from you begging me to save you from a date gone wrong at a Bob's Big Boy at that truck stop in Connecticut, I grabbed the closest Zipcar I could find. Only to arrive at a closed truck stop with no gas left in the tank.

I get back here at 10 am (late to work might I add) to find that this was all some set-up to usurp my power. Tricky, friend. Very tricky.

I have half a mind to kick you off... but you seem to have read the fine print in the J+1 contract, and know that we are bound to blog together for the entirety of the week.

What you did was low. But you know what? I take the higher road. I won't play your immature games. Anyway, I guess I should go ahead and introduce you to the rest of my readers...




My Name: Clint Osterholz. C-Dawgg. C-Money. The Feloniou$ C. That tall blond racist guy. Douchebag. Tiny dick.

My Location: the epicenter of the universe. I have a healthy ego, but I am not totally egotistical. I can also be found in garbage cans, hunting for scraps of food.

My Site/ Sites: http://www.seeyanexttuesday.com

What I might post about: Whatever electrifies my brainfats. This includes underage boys, fat men in g-strings, and naziism.

What I love: Being contrary. And pretzels with peanut butter and Nutella with Corona. Oh, and little boys - did I forget to mention that?

What I hate: Rachel Ray's lexicon. Myself - I mean, wouldn't you?

My Last Word: Tune in Saturday to find out! If you correctly guess the final word of my final post, I will give you a secret prize. It is a secret because I just made this up and I need to figure out what I can realistically buy that is a good prize. At this point let us assume it is something cookware related. Oh, and I'm a douchebag!

Justin, You Suck.

Hello to all of Justin's regular readers. My name is Clint Osterholz, and I am going to be entertaining you this week. My sense of humor is often dry and professorial, as evidenced by my award-winning blog, See Ya Next Tuesday.

As you can see, Justin has already dropped the ball! Technically it is Monday, yet there is no introductory post. Nothing to herald my coming. Fantastic. I don't know what sort of two-bit operation that boy has running here, but I am a busy man. I cook. I entertain. I make people laugh (via my award-winning YouTube Channel). I make people think (via my award-winning vlog series on Queercents). I suppose it's up to me to uphold some damned standards around here.

This week I shall also be keeping track of the number of times Justin has dropped the ball. Please follow along with me!

Justin drop ball count: 1 (thus far)

And now, I am off to slumberland. In the meantime, I suppose, Justin will figure out a way to properly run his only goddamn creative project.

Justin Plus One my ass. This is Clint Plus One Half.

It's so hard to say goodbye, my love...

Well that inevitable day came that you, the readers of J+1, have to deal with every week, either through tears or gratitude. It's the day when the co-blogger you have grown to know has to say his goodbyes.

It's the day when Justin opens the J+1 cage and says, "Be free once again!" and watches the blogging bird he nurtured fly away a better creature. This week must be particularly hard for your e-hearts because you're truly losing something wonderful.

Me.

Wow, what a week, huh? We've learned about our past attachment to and current reluctance to let go of McDonald's. Justin turned us on to the dangers of dropping the BF bomb. We've whimsically recalled the days of sophisticated alcoholism. We even learned that dating has no formula.

Yes, I think good has been done here.

Also, we should take a moment to celebrate the exciting news that as of today, Iowa has joined Massachusetts and New Jersey in the righteous fight for gay equality in society and our homes. Now, I'm not going to say that this is a direct result of the awesome blogging power that is Justin + Austin, but I don't think anyone would correct you if you did.

So farewell for now, dear readers. I hope to you see you soon, if Justin will have me. And in reference to how I will cherish my time this week allow me to end with a quote by Ms. Hedwig Robinson:

"When I think about all the people I have come upon on the road, I have to think of all the people who have come upon me."

Good night, everyone, and adieu!

Flirty McFlirtingson

Reading Austin's penultimate post on his flirty behavior and consequent dropping of MY trademarked (fuck YOU Sex and the City!) boyfriend bomb got me thinking about flirting in general.

My most recent ex once told me that he was a flirtatious guy. This got me jealous. Until, of course, I saw what he meant by being "flirtatious" - which essentially included speaking to men and being nice to them. To him this was flirting. To me it was speaking to men and being nice to them.

You see, Austin, it appears that people have different definitions of what flirting actually is. I, for example, can be a HUGE flirt. But when I say flirt, I mean something rather serious. To me, flirting is as much a precursor to sleeping with someone as eating bad fish is a precursor to vomiting. If you do the first one correctly, the conclusion should promptly follow.

Between things I say and the things I do, when I put my game face on and set to flirting, I have a set goal - sleep with the recipient of my flirting.

My flirting is far from innocent. It starts with smiling and jokes, but I step it up rather quickly. I stand closer to the guy I'm talking to. I put my hand on their arm when telling a joke or asking a question. That hand then holds on a bit longer as the night goes on. I lock eyes with them and smirk if able.

Needless to say, when I am in a committed relationship, I don't flirt. Because, as you can see, my definition of flirting is a hardcore, goal-oriented process. Not just some batting eyes and titters.

It makes me wonder: what do other people consider flirting?

And if you don't know how to flirt, you can always take tips from these girls:

KABLAMMO-HAAAAAAY!!!

What an delightfully appropriate time to bring up this topic, since (as my comment on Justin's last post stated) I was right in the middle of said situation when I received the new post. It was a quintessential Gossip Girl moment when my phone blew up, and everyone started gasping and giggle in my direction. Except for, well, it was just me and my imagination.

As Justin mentioned, I am "practically" gay married to my boyfriend of 8 months. As Justin can attest, this is a rarity for me because being a gay Aries male, it's all about the conquest and the conquering of sexual territory before moving on. So one of the first things we had to come to terms with was that I'm a big ol' flirt and that wasn't going to change. Fortunately, he's the same way and also not the jealous type (unlike this fiery ram).

So I take full advantage of the freedom that gives me. I even sometimes see how far I can take it when someone is obvious hitting on my before dropping the BF Bomb. It's very Whitney of me (it's not right, but it's okay). It's partially because I see part of my worth as how attractive others think I am. But that's an issue my therapist and I are working on.

Anywho, I was in my favorite West Village haunt, Marie's Crisis, last night sans boyfriend. As I was singing along to obscure showtunes with the rest of the queens, two guys sat next to me. One of them, a cute Asian, gave me a smile as he pretended to know the words to "America" from West Side Story (ironic, no?). "Here we go again," I thought.

Well the kid was rather shy, so it never was a blatant come on. I enjoyed his company and his twinky charm up until it was time for him to leave. I told him to have a good night, thinking I had escaped dropping the proverbial nuke. I thought it went well. We chatted, we sang, we laughed at the crazy pianist. There was no need to make it awkward.

About 20 minutes later or so, I thought it would be prudent for me to start making the epic trek back to the Upper East Side so I could get to work on time the next day. As I was saying good bye, I see Asian coming back into the bar. He sees me, and as I was saying I didn't expect to see him back, he hands me a receipt from Starbucks and says, "Well I didn't want to regret leaving without giving you my number, and I needed to go to bathroom anyway." Before I could say anything, he hastily brushed past me and headed downstairs to the restroom.

At this point, I was honestly at a loss as to what to do. As Justin said, there is just no proper way and/or protocol for this sort of thing. So I'll be honest, I just left instead of waiting for him. However, as I was walking to Union Square, I started to regret such a course of action. So I take out the paper, and dialed it on my phone. At this point, though, it seems a little much to simply call him to say I have a boyfriend. On the other hand, he was so sweet and brave to come back in to that bar to do that. That takes some balls. So just as I spoke about in my first post this week, I didn't want to dash his confidence for future men.

Thus, my chosen course of action? A text. I said he had a lot of guts to do what he did and that it didn't go unnoticed. I added that I would have walked him home, but... I have a boyfriend and didn't that was appropriate. His response? "Ok then. Well, it was nice for what it was."

KABLAMMO-HAAAAAAY!!!

Poor guy. I normally don't have any remorse for that sort of thing (because by a rule, I'm a heartless bastard), but this one got to me. I should be more careful with the sensitive ones. But I feel like this particular handling of the situation was the best one. I was retelling to a female coworker this morning, and she said that was perfect. It was what she would want to happen if she was that kid. "At least," she said, "I wouldn't be sitting at home wondering, 'why didn't he like me? was I not pretty or fun?'"

So I guess when handling this situation, the key word is consideration. I don't see anything wrong with flirting or just having a good time, especially if that's just your personality. But when you reach that line (and I think we all know where that is), it's best to bring it up. I wouldn't recommend being subtle about it either. It's so obvious and slightly sardonic when you just slip in "my boyfriend and I" into a conversation.

On the other side of the conversation, if you find yourself getting hit with the occasional BF Bomb, it's okay to take initiative. It's very flattering to be asked if I have a boyfriend. I think it's an appropriate and viable question.

Working together, we can help minimalize BF Bomb fallout and make the gay world a better place to live in.