Good evening, Mr here (I think Miss may be dead).
This week I said goodbye to the greatest love of my life...cigarettes.
It was a spur of the moment decision. I really just couldn't be bothered to go to the corner shop that day so thought I'd quit instead. Then I began to think of some of the benefits:
1) I wouldn't smell like Dot Cotton (how I imagine her to smell at least)
2) I wouldn't sound like Dot Cotton
3) I wouldn't look like Dot Cotton
4) Basically my life would be less like Dot Cotton's
This, in turn, made me realise that my chances of having sex will increase somewhat. That in turn made me wonder what I may have been missing out on over the last 10 years. I once read in Gay Times (the only time I have ever gone near it and that was only because Miss forced me) that smoking is the thing that gays find the least unattractive; yet somewhat strangely, so many of us do it. Hmmm. Double standards?
After being clean for almost a week I decided I needed to witness this double standard from the other side and went round to see the boyf. Indeed, to a non-smoker, fags are foul. They look, smell and taste horrible. Kissing him was even harder than usual. So much so in fact that the only solution was to temporarily fall off the wagon in order to mask the stench. Cheating a bit I know, but kissing a smoker is foul.
And so today I am clean again. True I am twitchy, slightly irritable and I have developed a cold as apparently my lungs are 'cleaning themselves' and are thus more succeptable to viruses but I am on the road to being more attractive. I hope.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Take a Look at My Boyfriend
Hi, Mr here, again. Personally I think Miss's recent lack of commitment is disgraceful.
So I was taken to a birthday party for one of the boyf's friends last night. As you can imagine I wasn't keen, as most of his friends are like characters from Shameless. There's 'slaggy Caff', a 40-something single mother who has recently hooked up with a local scag-head 20 years her junior. They went halves on a new crack-pipe last week. I wish I was joking. Then there's his mate who drives around in a black jeep like Stu from 'Queer as Folk' except he's not half as cool or charismatic. I don't even think he's gay. It's hard to tell as he only communicates in grunts.
Deciding I didn't much want to spend any time with these people, I camped outside the entire night, smoking. It was cold and wet but it was worth it.
When the adverse weather conditions got too much I decided something had to be done. I figured the best thing to do would be to act like a complete obnoxious moron in the hope that the boyf would be so embarrassed he would have to quickly make his excuses, usher me into a taxi and leave. So I got straight up on the stage and did my best 'teacher at a school disco' dance that I could. Bashing into people, arms and legs flailing, spilling drinks on them and scowling, the whole time keeping one eye on the boyf to test his reactions. It backfired. Instead of giving me looks of disapproval he had a sappy, endeared look on his face. When I retired from the stage the L-word slipped out again (not the Sapphic US TV drama. That didn't slip out) and again I giggled nervously and pretended I hadn't heard it.
I managed to escape to the safety of the smoking area again. I always think the best course of action to avoid awkward situations is to flee. Here I managed to find some nice, normal, drug free people to converse with - 18 year old girls.
I love hanging out with the youngsters. It reminds me of my own youth.... I also particularly like hanging out with teenage girls. They are fascinated by the fact that you are gay and call you their best friend after having known them for 2 minutes. And they love it when you compliment them and ask to feel their boobs. They also are rather fond of dishing out the compliments and saying what a shame it is that you're gay. They also could not believe I was there with the boyf, as in I could do so much better. A bit harsh maybe but you can't blame them - they're young and naive and don't know the necessity of having to settle for what you can get.
And so I ended my night in a student house, drinking blue WKD, safe in the knowledge that I can do better.
So I was taken to a birthday party for one of the boyf's friends last night. As you can imagine I wasn't keen, as most of his friends are like characters from Shameless. There's 'slaggy Caff', a 40-something single mother who has recently hooked up with a local scag-head 20 years her junior. They went halves on a new crack-pipe last week. I wish I was joking. Then there's his mate who drives around in a black jeep like Stu from 'Queer as Folk' except he's not half as cool or charismatic. I don't even think he's gay. It's hard to tell as he only communicates in grunts.
Deciding I didn't much want to spend any time with these people, I camped outside the entire night, smoking. It was cold and wet but it was worth it.
When the adverse weather conditions got too much I decided something had to be done. I figured the best thing to do would be to act like a complete obnoxious moron in the hope that the boyf would be so embarrassed he would have to quickly make his excuses, usher me into a taxi and leave. So I got straight up on the stage and did my best 'teacher at a school disco' dance that I could. Bashing into people, arms and legs flailing, spilling drinks on them and scowling, the whole time keeping one eye on the boyf to test his reactions. It backfired. Instead of giving me looks of disapproval he had a sappy, endeared look on his face. When I retired from the stage the L-word slipped out again (not the Sapphic US TV drama. That didn't slip out) and again I giggled nervously and pretended I hadn't heard it.
I managed to escape to the safety of the smoking area again. I always think the best course of action to avoid awkward situations is to flee. Here I managed to find some nice, normal, drug free people to converse with - 18 year old girls.
I love hanging out with the youngsters. It reminds me of my own youth.... I also particularly like hanging out with teenage girls. They are fascinated by the fact that you are gay and call you their best friend after having known them for 2 minutes. And they love it when you compliment them and ask to feel their boobs. They also are rather fond of dishing out the compliments and saying what a shame it is that you're gay. They also could not believe I was there with the boyf, as in I could do so much better. A bit harsh maybe but you can't blame them - they're young and naive and don't know the necessity of having to settle for what you can get.
And so I ended my night in a student house, drinking blue WKD, safe in the knowledge that I can do better.
Friday, April 18, 2008
10 Things I Hate About You
Mr again, hi there!
I should warn you that the following blog does contain profanity and sexual references so any parents reading with their children may want to have a quick skim through before letting their kids read it.
Sorry it's been a while (again). You're probably thinking I've been busy spending time with the new boyf; lazing around in bed all weekend as is mandatory for new couples in the honeymoon period. In reality I have been trying my best to hide from him and his...persistance. Upon realising that he actually looks like a bear (not a bear as in a big hairy gay man, an actual bear) I have limited his visits to one a week, for a few hours at a time. This decision was brought on my a number of catalystic events and discoveries.
1) He came in my eye leaving it sore for the entire next day. I do hope that sexual deseases and/or infections cannot be transmitted this way
2) When I asked to use his bathroom in which to have a quick shower before work I was handed a ripped, smelly brown towel and ushered into a dark room (the light-bulb has been missing since the night we met) that looked like something out of 'Bottom' or 'The Young Ones'.
3) He has just had to enrole on one of those drink driving courses after driving his car, whilst pissed, the whole 200 yards down the road to the local chinese take-away, only to crash into a lamp-post, runaway from the scene of the crime, then deny all knowledge when the police showed up seconds later
4) His favourite films are, and I quote 'I dunno, Pulp Fiction or Titanic I suppose. I've seen both of them a couple of times'
5) His 'best pants' are ripped, faded and saggy
6) One occasion when I was particularly drunk and maybe just a little bit unable to 'perform' I received cheers of encouragement such as 'come on [Mr], come on, come on!' like a dad trying to teach his son to ride a bike. After that there was absolutely no way it was happening.
7) He keeps talking about 'mini-breaks in the Cotswolds'. I honestly have no idea what this phrase means.
8) He keeps repeating the same anecdote about how one time he was in a club dancing near Heather Small from M People, unaware I have a) heard it a thousand times before, and b) that I hate Heather Small.
9) Apart from the aforementioned phrases, he doesn't really talk.
10) He doesn't stock tea in his house.
But despite these traits he is nice and down-to-earth and completely unpretentious. And, in these dire and desperate times, the only offer I've had in a while. Bless him.
I should warn you that the following blog does contain profanity and sexual references so any parents reading with their children may want to have a quick skim through before letting their kids read it.
Sorry it's been a while (again). You're probably thinking I've been busy spending time with the new boyf; lazing around in bed all weekend as is mandatory for new couples in the honeymoon period. In reality I have been trying my best to hide from him and his...persistance. Upon realising that he actually looks like a bear (not a bear as in a big hairy gay man, an actual bear) I have limited his visits to one a week, for a few hours at a time. This decision was brought on my a number of catalystic events and discoveries.
1) He came in my eye leaving it sore for the entire next day. I do hope that sexual deseases and/or infections cannot be transmitted this way
2) When I asked to use his bathroom in which to have a quick shower before work I was handed a ripped, smelly brown towel and ushered into a dark room (the light-bulb has been missing since the night we met) that looked like something out of 'Bottom' or 'The Young Ones'.
3) He has just had to enrole on one of those drink driving courses after driving his car, whilst pissed, the whole 200 yards down the road to the local chinese take-away, only to crash into a lamp-post, runaway from the scene of the crime, then deny all knowledge when the police showed up seconds later
4) His favourite films are, and I quote 'I dunno, Pulp Fiction or Titanic I suppose. I've seen both of them a couple of times'
5) His 'best pants' are ripped, faded and saggy
6) One occasion when I was particularly drunk and maybe just a little bit unable to 'perform' I received cheers of encouragement such as 'come on [Mr], come on, come on!' like a dad trying to teach his son to ride a bike. After that there was absolutely no way it was happening.
7) He keeps talking about 'mini-breaks in the Cotswolds'. I honestly have no idea what this phrase means.
8) He keeps repeating the same anecdote about how one time he was in a club dancing near Heather Small from M People, unaware I have a) heard it a thousand times before, and b) that I hate Heather Small.
9) Apart from the aforementioned phrases, he doesn't really talk.
10) He doesn't stock tea in his house.
But despite these traits he is nice and down-to-earth and completely unpretentious. And, in these dire and desperate times, the only offer I've had in a while. Bless him.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
The Accidental Boyfriend
Mr here,
I'm not really sure how to tell you this but I think I have a boyfriend. In a sense.
A couple of weeks ago I went out for an old school friend's birthday. It was nice to see a lot of my old friends I haven't seen for so long and even to finally have an official welcome back to my home-town. But I detected an eerie, almost sinister, over-excitement at my attendance. It seems they were all dead set on setting me up with their poor hang-dog gay friend, literally the 'only gay in the village' who was stood at the bar 'almost in tears' because some guy he met the previous night had failed to call. Knowing that feeling all too well, I rather altruiscally signed up to the challenge of 'participating in a bit of harmless flirtation' put forward by one of our mutual friends.
The problem is I flirt like Alan Partridge. I literally cannot do it. So, desperate to make the poor chap a bit more upbeat (as it was nearing midnight when it would then become his own birthday), I just went for the strategy of getting really pissed and letting him know I'm easy.
What a stupid mistake.
After a cheeky birthday kiss he told me he loved me. Really. I ignored it at first, thinking I must have misheard. Then it came again. This time I laughed it off, thinking maybe he had accidentally said it reflexively, like when you accidentally call your primary school teacher 'Mum'. By the third, fourth and fifth times I was looking for the door. Thankfully I was able to get myself into a taxi and home.
A couple of weeks later and, well, he's my boyfriend. I'm not sure how it happened as everytime I see him I am always dangerously drunk. I have however been sober enough to train him to know say 'like' if he feels the need to blurt out an 'L' word when he feels all warm and fuzzy. He has however mentioned such scary topics as meeting the parents, mini-breaks, and 'the future'.
The funny thing is I should get along with him. Regardless of the fact that I don't really fancy him at all and he seems to be genuinely retarded (he had too much fun in his 'clubbing days' apparently) he is lazy, unkempt, unmotivated and badly dressed, so we should be the perfect match.
I'm not really sure how to tell you this but I think I have a boyfriend. In a sense.
A couple of weeks ago I went out for an old school friend's birthday. It was nice to see a lot of my old friends I haven't seen for so long and even to finally have an official welcome back to my home-town. But I detected an eerie, almost sinister, over-excitement at my attendance. It seems they were all dead set on setting me up with their poor hang-dog gay friend, literally the 'only gay in the village' who was stood at the bar 'almost in tears' because some guy he met the previous night had failed to call. Knowing that feeling all too well, I rather altruiscally signed up to the challenge of 'participating in a bit of harmless flirtation' put forward by one of our mutual friends.
The problem is I flirt like Alan Partridge. I literally cannot do it. So, desperate to make the poor chap a bit more upbeat (as it was nearing midnight when it would then become his own birthday), I just went for the strategy of getting really pissed and letting him know I'm easy.
What a stupid mistake.
After a cheeky birthday kiss he told me he loved me. Really. I ignored it at first, thinking I must have misheard. Then it came again. This time I laughed it off, thinking maybe he had accidentally said it reflexively, like when you accidentally call your primary school teacher 'Mum'. By the third, fourth and fifth times I was looking for the door. Thankfully I was able to get myself into a taxi and home.
A couple of weeks later and, well, he's my boyfriend. I'm not sure how it happened as everytime I see him I am always dangerously drunk. I have however been sober enough to train him to know say 'like' if he feels the need to blurt out an 'L' word when he feels all warm and fuzzy. He has however mentioned such scary topics as meeting the parents, mini-breaks, and 'the future'.
The funny thing is I should get along with him. Regardless of the fact that I don't really fancy him at all and he seems to be genuinely retarded (he had too much fun in his 'clubbing days' apparently) he is lazy, unkempt, unmotivated and badly dressed, so we should be the perfect match.
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