OK. I can't believe these stories have escaped me to write about until now. While spending time with two of my hot lesbian friends K and B during Thanksgiving I was reminded of parts of my past. I've always had a thing for lesbians and somewhat androgynous women. Sort of the tomboy look if you will. Certain types of lesbians who fit into this category. There's something they used to say where I come from: Let's date 'em!

Let me start off by saying that not only do I have a thing for lesbians but I also could be considered and enemy of the lesbian community. You see there are four women in my past who were gay when I met them. They all became my girlfriends and now all have one thing in common. All of them went on to get married to men and have kids. You see I am the lesbian community's worst nightmare. I am the sexual orientation converter!!

These weren't the only lesbians I've been involved with. There have been many. I figured I would share a couple of real stand out stories.

When I was living in San Francisco I frequently found myself in the Castro district for various reasons. For those of you who don't know the Castro is pretty much the gay center of San Francisco these days. Being an avid reader I would find myself in the bookstores on Castro frequently. One night while walking out of one of these stores a woman behind the counter started talking to me. My gaydar when off so I didn't think much about this woman who was obviously flirting with me. She was obviously gay or so I thought until she asked me to come back to her place and exchange massages with me. To cut out the graphic nature of the ensuing part of the story let's just say that there was very little external massaging that happened. In talking to her I found out something very fascinating. Not only was she a lesbian she was a super lesbian. She had just gotten off of a commune where she lived with other gay women for 2 years. She had never been with a man before. After it was over she abruptly kicked me out of her house which threw me for a loop to say the least. We had lunch a day or two later at Baghdad Cafe on Market Street. For those of you who don't know the place, Baghdad Cafe is staffed almost exclusively by gay woman and pre-op/post op transgender women. For some reason I got the bright idea to try and make out with her outside the cafe. She became a nervous wreck and was on the look out for the Lesbian Foot Patrol who were going to come and arrest her at any moment. She never returned any of my phone calls after that.

More True Lesbian Stories to come. I'm full of them.

The Flying Spaghetti Monster is coming...

JB Mr. White Nipples Himself did me a great favor. He introduced me to the funniest cartoon I've seen since the Looney Tunes all effectively died with Mel Blanc. Aqua Teen Hunger Force. Now I'm not great at retelling already written stores so I'll save you the trouble and just tell you to buy the DVDs or turn on Cartoon Network. In thinking about the show today I realized why these characters resonate with me. They represent the men in my family. Stay with me here while I illustrate my point.

Aqua Teen Hunger Force is made up of three guys who would love to think of themselves as heros but don't even come close. Just like me and my brothers one is older and wiser, one is in the middle and is a big wise ass, and one is young and naive. Here are further points.

Frylock the oldest of the group. Well that's a guess considering he's a side of fries. Smart and a computer whiz, he's just as much of a looser as the other two. We even share the same goatee.

Master Shake the middle problem child. Biggest dick of the bunch. He loves to make shit up when he doesn't have the right answer.

Meetwad. Just like my youngest brother he's fat. Period. Seperate his body and you have Meetwad.

Carl/Doctor Weird. My father looks kind of like Carl but definitely had the spirit of Doctor Weird cursing through him. Combine them and sure enough it's my father. "Then we put hairspray in his eyes because that's just how it happened to daddy!!"

The second job I ever held was working in a pizza parlor downstairs from my home on Chambers street. For kicks here's a google satellite map of the location.


Now that's scary. You can see my roof. Broken hearted I wanted to jump off of it once.

Back to the story at hand. Downstairs from the loft I grew up in there was a pizza parlor. Back in the 80's during the video game explosion pizza parlors became a haven for those willing to part with their quarters. Being a teenager with a video game addiction I gladly spent a lot of time playing and eating pizza at this particular establishment. Somehow either this parlayed into a job or I spent so much time there they wound up putting me on the payroll. Typical of my life I would wind up in the most insane restaurant on the block. Here's how it broke down.

1 Italian
1 Italian/American
1 Puerto Rican ex-con
Me

That was the work force of Ciro's Pizza.

The Italian was a short Luigi type with a thick accent. He was insane but his wife was gorgeous.

The Italian American was a guy named Jack who was also a well known DJ in Brooklyn named Jumping Jack. Jack was a racist who hated his customers. If you've ever seen Do the Right Thing you can picture him as the living embodiment of John Tuturo's character. He used to argue with me as to why certain people were "niggers" and other people weren't. One time he sited a Run-DMC lyric "no curls/no braids!".

"You see. They're telling you that they're not niggers."

Last (and most least) there was Eddie. Eddie was just as nuts as the other two if not more. Eddie was a drug dealer who took a job working for the pizzeria in case he went to court. He imagined it would look better in front of the judge if he could show that he was a working man. Eddie was also what we would call today being on the "down low." Basically he was a gay man who didn't know or want to identify with being gay. I would actually have to classify him as bi but I think that's probably a technicality as I never saw him with a woman. Eddie used to have long running arguments with me about what was the difference between a man's mouth and a woman's mouth. Getting a blow job was getting a blow job. Looking back on it I now realize that he only had these conversations with me when we were alone. One time he got arrested for assault and wound up in Riker's Island for a week. When he got back he told me he walked around hard all the time because of all the sex that was going on there. Takes a special kind of person to get turned on by being in prison.

One day while working in the store with him alone he got very heated with his "a mouth is a mouth" argument. He closed up the shop and told me that we were both going to go downstairs. For some reason I followed him in to the basement where the pizza dough was stored. Not a word was spoken between us as he waited for something to happen. I stood there leaning against a table looking at the floor the whole time. Truly an awkward silence. After about 15 minutes of this Eddie finally spoke up.

"So, do you and your brother ever fuck around?"

I looked at him incredulously and said, "Hell no!"

Somehow satisfied with my answer he said, "OK. Let's get out of here."

I couldn't even look at pizza for a long time after that.

When I was 15 my mother arranged for me to spend the month of August in France. This was the summer after 9th grade (fresh out of junior high for me) right before I was entering high school. I would spend one week in Paris and three weeks in the south of France in Pont de Barret where we used to live when I was younger. In both places I stayed with friends of the family.

At 15 I was still a virgin and very libidous all the time. I honestly didn't know what I was going to do. Some days it felt like I was going to die if I didn't "get some." Much to my excitement my father decided to have a little talk with me before I left.

According to him French girls were different. I could expect to "get some" on my trip. He brought me a handful of condoms and told me to never believe a girl if she tells you she's on the pill. Believe it or not this advice would come true for me more than once in my life. Save those stories for another blog.

So me and and my dick-tator couldn't be happier. I had my game plan down. I'd hit Paris like a storm and show the Franco females what a Black Italian New Yorker could do. The family friends I was staying with looked in the Paris-Match (the local weekly "what's cool" magazine) to find me a club that I could go to. Being from NYC I had been going to clubs since I was 14 and loved to dance. They found a place and called ahead for me to see if a 15 year old could get in the front door. The person who answered the phone assured them that it was OK for me to go. I caught myself a cab and made it over to the club. It was a Friday night in Paris and the streets were packed. I was dropped off a block away from the club and walked down an alleyway to my destination. The owner of the club was waiting outside when I arrived at the front. We had a nice little talk and he told me that I was early but the club would fill up in an hour or two. I walked inside the "club" which turned out to be a smallish square box. I was the only one there besides the DJ. This was fine with me as the DJ was playing some great music. I started grooving to the sounds of a new beat with some horns playing.

"She walked by me in painted on jeans/and all heads turned 'cause she was the queen."

Just then the DJ and I made eye contact. He smiled as I grooved to the song he was playing.

"Caribbean Queen/Now we're sharing the same dream/and our hearts can beat as one/No more love on the run..."

I sat down at the bar and decided to have a look around the place. There was nothing much to see but something at the bar caught my eye. The bar had a glass counter top with pictures underneath. Upon closer examination the pictures became very graphic. Man sex. Tons and tons of man on man sex. Leather, fists, the whole nine yards (or inches).

Now I don't remember my feet touching the ground but my fight or flight response must have hit defcon 1 as I was suddenly in the street. I looked behind and the DJ had chased out after me. I kept walking forward only to run right into the owner of the club. Sandwiched in between these two I was asked what was wrong. I made some excuse about wanting to come back when the place was more crowded. Satisfied with my answer they let me go.

If you know my background you'll know I wasn't afraid of being around gay men. I had grown up around gay men all my life. What had occurred to me at the time though is that a group of gay French men were more than happy to have a teenage American come down to their club and "party." To quote Richard Pryor, I was pussy on the hoof.

I walked the streets of Paris laughing to myself the whole way home. When I got back to the apartment my family friends asked me how the club was. At a loss for words I simply said, "Gay bar." They said, "oooooooohhhh..."

I asked them what the name of the place was. They looked back in the Paris Match and said the name in French. When I asked for the translation, very embarrassed, one of them told me,

"The Man in the Moon."

Much respect to anyone who can figure out what this code refers to.

Looks like the person who left me that greeting card had his whole domain account cancelled. Here's what you basically missed. The card was an animated picture of a naked crazed man being hung by his testicles on a clothes line over shark infested waters. The sharks were leaping up to try and eat him. The card also had the added bonus of an audio track of the crazed man shrieking and the sounds of the shark teeth clamping shut. It was quite a sight to see. It was signed "your buddy John in Toronto." If I meet any Canadian Johns beware. I'm swinging first and then asking questions later.

Boy, do I love my life. One of the greatest aspects of it these days is the fact that I am in control of my own free time. No one (except for my kids; they are the ones who are really in charge) can tell me what to do. Sometimes I feel as happy as a runaway slave. For awhile I had a partner in crime for my new found freedom, JB Mr. White Nipples Himself. We were both single and were experiencing the best found companionship which we called our "open platonic relationship." Other people just called us a married couple. I told JB that this was as good as it gets. I begged him not to fuck it all up by finding a serious relationship. Did he listen? No. So much for all of our late night games of Star Wars Battlefront. So much for the Aqua Teen marathons. Here's how it went down.

JB had been mentioning to me that he had someone he wanted to introduce me to for months. Not really wanting a serious involvement with anyone I didn't take him very seriously. I have to admit I was curious as the woman in question sounded fascinating. Little did I know that my genius husband (Mr. White Nipples) had a crush on her and thought she was out of his league. One night he wound up watching my kids for me for a few hours while I partied (long story). I get a call from him while I'm still out asking if it was ok to invite the woman in question over. Thinking he was finally getting around to introducing us, my curiosity was peaked. When I finally made it home there the two of them were looking as if I had just interrupted a long kiss.

JB you sly dog you. Now, I really didn't care at all but I had to wonder what the deal was. JB had just broken a serious rule of the "guy code." Don't start a thing with a woman you've promised to introduce to someone else. Give them a chance to fuck it up first! But hey, he's a young guy and probably hasn't been to all of the meetings yet.

The woman, who I will now refer to as Yolgamatic 2000, turns out to be a wicked cool person who is very easy to talk to.

Fast forward a month or two to the present day. Yolgamatic 2000 and JB Mr. White Nipples Himself are now officially boyfriend and girlfriend. Last night the two of them decided to ambush me at my house. I love having company so this was no issue. I guess JB was feeling guilty for having blown me off the night before for Yolgamatic. He had said he was going to come over but that he had to call Yolgamatic first. I don't hear from him at all and he is a no-show to my house. Turns out she had brought him a burrito which he took in hook, line, and sinker.

"Of course she brought you a burrito!", I yelled at him the next day. "That's her job to get you to come over! We had plans you dingbat."

So, here they are at my house. Some kind of deal was struck between the two of them earlier that night to allow him to spend some time playing video games. This is all a guess to me as Yolgamatic suddenly seemed like she was waiting out a prison term once we started up the gaming.

Now I can't really blame her entirely for what transpired next as this was their night to spend time together and I had nothing really to do with them being over. I thought we were all just going to sit around and talk. JB had an ulterior motive. Still I was having too much fun playing my game to care. Something must have really set the timer into red on Yolgamatic's patience as she started to verbally complain about how bored she was. At one point she looks at JB and tells him that it was his last game. JB being the sly fox he is just said ok and still wound up playing another game anyway. This tap dance went on for at least 30 minutes after her initial ultimatum. My head was almost spinning from witnessing what two people have to do to in a relationship.

Looong after they were gone I stayed up for another two hours playing the same game. Why did I do that? Because I could! JB most likely had his hands full with Yolgamatic for the rest of the night. I had my hands full with my Dual Shock 2 controller.

Nov 3, 12:45 PM (ET)


(AP) Kevin Federline arrives for a film world premiere on July 10, 2005, in the Hollywood section of Los Angeles


NEW YORK (AP) - The dawn of Kevin Federline's hip-hop career has begun, though it remains to be seen if it will last past breakfast.
A track by Federline was posted on the Internet by Disco D, the producer of his upcoming album, "The Truth," to be released next year.
Though the song has since been taken off Disco D's Web site, it has popped up elsewhere, giving a glimpse of Mr. Britney Spears' rhyming, um, abilities.
"Back then, they called me K-Fed, but you can call me Daddy instead," he intones in the chorus of "Y'all Ain't Ready."
Over an industrial beat reminiscent of Kelis'"Milkshake," Federline represents himself as a brash, newsworthy figure ahead of his time. "People always asking me when's the release date / Well, baby you can wait and see, until then all these Pavarottis followin' me," he raps, nicknaming paparazzi after the Italian opera singer.
Tabloids might remark that their photographers are actually focused on his pop star wife. Before meeting Spears, Federline's career was mostly limited to backup dancing. The couple wed last year and had a son in September.
Already garnering comparisons to Vanilla Ice, Federline's album appears destined for late-night punch lines. But the 27-year-old does anticipate some backlash from his musical pursuits: "My prediction is that y'all gonna hate on the style we create, straight 2008."

So, last night I received one of those greeting cards via email. It came from an address and name I didn't recognize and to an email address that rarely gets used. Now many people find the internet a scary place but not me. I've been on the net since 1993 and I used to be a professional tech guy. Until last night I was never shaken much. Check this thing out.

http://www.my-greetings.com/view.php?i=b2e6afd1b8c89ea3afd256e99ff35c64


Ohhhhh kaaaay...


Look I'm sorry. She told me she was over 18 and wasn't married.