Tag Archives: men

Things I’m Thankful for on Our 2nd to Last Thanksgiving

With Thanksgiving just a week away most people are planning what dishes they are going to prepare for dinner next Thursday, planning where they’ll be spending this joyous holiday, who they’ll be spending it with, and maybe even what they’ll wear that will allow for an extra spoonful of stuffing, or 6.  

In years past, the week before Thanksgiving Lucky and I would’ve been on the phone together into the wee hours of the night complaining about how much it’s going to suck to be single for yet another coupley holiday.  This year is different though.  For once, we’re both content with being single and could care less if we were in a relationship or had a significant other to be thankful for.  Honestly, I’m thankful for myself.  That’s right, I’m thankful that I have the motivation to drag my pathetic single self (not my words, but the words of those around me who assume I am a cutter because I’m single) out of bed every morning to go to work.  

Which brings me to the next thing I’m thankful for:  Myself again.  I’m thankful that I have the willpower not to bitch slap my boss across the face every time she tells me to do something I’ve already done, so that I can keep my job and continue to bring home my poverty level salary.  I’m also thankful that my office decided to close at noon the day before Thanksgiving, also known as the first day I have taken off in a year.  Oh, I’m getting my half day back, I’m get.ting. it!

I’m thankful that someone important at work vetoed the idea of making a Thanksgiving tree that we cut out outlines of our hands and write 5 things we are thankful for on the fingers.  No I am not joking.  And no I do not work with children.

I’m thankful that I have the decency not to murder (whoopsie, forgot this is a family holiday) tie Anth to his bed in his sleep for not understanding that I bring home a poverty level salary and can’t afford things like maids, food, or underwear.  I’m thankful that after having the decency not to murder tie Anth to his bed in his sleep because he assumes I make more money than I actually do, I also have the common sense not to murder  tie him to his bed in his sleep for leaving crumbs on the kitchen counter and a sink full of dishes right before he leaves for a week and  a half.  

I’m thankful that there are enough crazies out there that think the world is actually going to end next December that I can be sarcastic with what I’m thankful for this year and save the real stuff for next year right before we’re all blown to smithereens.  I’m also thankful that those crazies inspired the movie 2012 because it’s really good, and I like it a lot.

I’m thankful that Zac Hanson kind of still has long hair 

And he still looks really good, and he’s wholesome.  Which means that at 12 years old I had better taste in men then I do now.

I’m thankful that I used protection the last time I had sex because having to feed a 10 month old baby before I could feed myself next week would really put a damper on my holiday spirit.

I’m thankful that solo cups aren’t see thru so that I can still get sloshed at Thanksgiving and no one will know since Grandma forbids drinking alcohol.

I’m thankful that there was an episode of Jeopardy last week that had a lot of fashion questions and now my roommates and their friends think that I’m really smart because I got them all right.

I’m thankful for my whirlpool bathtub, even though it takes 45 minutes to fill up and by the time it does I’m kind of over it, but those 2 minutes I actually sit in it are heaven.

I’m thankful for my vision so that I can look at hot guys like Alexander Skarsgard. I’m also thankful for Stelan Skarsgard for creating Alexander Skarsgard.

I’m thankful for these thingys that keep me from putting holes in my walls

I’m also thankful that they’re kind of fun to play with

I’m thankful for Forever 21 for having reasonably priced clothing, although their return policy blows donkey.  On the flip-side, I am not thankful for Bally’s Total Fitness/Bally’s Sports clubs for having 2 separate types of gyms and for not telling members that if you join total fitness you can’t go to the sports clubs locations even though you only want to use the treadmill and the location of the sports club is more convenient for you.

I’m thankful for my future puppy, Marshmallow Fluffy Butt, for being so cute

And um, I’m thankful for my family when they aren’t razzing me about not being married, my friends when they aren’t razzing me about not being married, our readers (always), and, uh, my health.  Lets eat bitchesssss.

 

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Clean up or ship out

I am fuming. I am so sick of these boys that I live with taking advantage of me.  Anth continues to think we all are getting paid an engineer’s salary like him and that it’s totally ok to make decisions about how Doogie and I will spend our money without consulting us first.

I’ve made it quite clear to him that I get paid shit and am always strapped for cash. He is a smart guy but doesn’t ever put the pieces together to conclude that I am poor and a lot of times that’s why I don’t do fun things on the weekend. I just think if I heard my roommate getting excited about the fact that she only had to spend $12 on her entire weeks groceries because she shopped at Aldi where the primary method of payment is food stamps I would maybe reconsider making her feel obligated to attend one of the following events that I had planned this month:

Football game weekend away: $200
My Birthday Night: $200
Concert: $100

That’s right, this month alone, Anth has planned these 3 expensive endeavors and made me feel obligated to attend them all. I agreed to do the football game weekend away quite some time ago so I should’ve known better. But for his birthday he wants to go to a sporting event which will cost $85 for the ticket and probably at least $100 in food and drinks per person if not more. Then he says for our roommate Christmas celebration he wants to go to a concert and the tickets for that are like $60 a piece plus food and drinks. That I already declined.  If he wants to do a roommate Christmas we can make cookies, drink egg nog, and put up my Christmas tree all for under $10, all while listening to the Biebs new Christmas album.  Today is the day people!

So Sunday night when I got home he tells me he hired a cleaning lady for his birthday, and I can just pitch in on that if I want. I don’t want. I don’t want! I just kind of brushed it off thinking he’d never get a dime out of me for that.

So Monday I’m at work, slaving away, when I see a chase quickpay email come through. Anth is requesting Doogie and I to pay him our monthly bills. Then I see an added note: “Oct Bills – added in the apartment cleaning …just return my bday present” WHAT. THE. FUCK.

I don’t know if you recall, but Anth and I have had several arguments about hiring a cleaning lady. My main argument for not wanting to hire one:

Because I clean. I clean all the fucking time. I cleaned that fucking house from top to bottom and spent countless hours scrubbing the stove and vacuuming the stairs with a hand held vacuum so that it would be clean when Lucky came to visit and his friend’s bachelor party trashed it again. I did the same thing when my mom and sister came to visit, and when my dad came to visit, and when Gigi came to visit, and when Deena came to visit, and when Betty came to visit, and when Jess came to visit, and a few other times just because I was sick of looking at the mess. So that’s probably at least 10 (10 x $99 a pop, looks like someone owes me some fucking money) times I have cleaned that place really well in the 9 months that I’ve lived there. I’ve argued that if they would clean too we wouldn’t need a cleaning lady, but I personally can’t keep up with a mess 3+ people make on my own, nor do I want to, so yeah the place still looks trashed all the time.

Lucky can vouch for the fact that one weekend just before she came to visit Anth had told me that we were having a cleaning session. Which I wasn’t going to be around for and told them to have at it because I’ve done my fair share already. I was driving back from home talking on the phone with Lucky telling her how excited I was that they were going to clean. And how pissed I was going to be if they didn’t. They didn’t. And it was the first thing I said when I walked in the door, “Looks real clean in here guys.” I wouldn’t have expected it if Anth hadn’t made such a big deal about us all getting anything we had laying around (which was nothing for me, again because I’m clean) in the living room and kitchen picked up before they started in on mission clean house. Lucky even said something to him about how they didn’t clean for me, and his response wasn’t like yeah we should have helped her out, it was about how now he knows all the stuff I say to Lucky behind their backs. Granted it was in jest, but still.

Anth’s argument was that if he OWNED the place he would clean it. Which is a crock of shit, whether you own it or not you still shouldn’t be ok with living in filth. His mommy probably cleaned up after him his whole life, then he lived in a frat house and had pledges to clean up after him, and now he lives on his own and has no one to clean up after him every day and his place is trashed – because of him, and he’s just waiting around to get married so that girl can clean up after him. And he has the audacity to expect his roommates to not only fork out $200+ for a night out for his birthday but another $35 to get the apartment cleaned without asking us before he bought it? Oh well sure, I mean we’re all just shitting out dollar bills so what’s the big deal?

I am really fucking pissed off about this. So I texted him:

Me: Exactly how much is this “apartment cleaning”?
Anth: $33
Me: Each?
Anth: Yes
Me: Alright, well if we’re doing that then I can’t come to your birthday or the weekend away. I don’t have money this month for unplanned stuff. (I already told him I wasn’t coming to his birthday after he called me fat last week. Yep, that happened.)
Anth: Just subtract it out of the bills.

That’s right, asshole. At first I felt bad for being a cheapskate over $33. But it’s the truth, I really won’t have the extra money this month to spend on a maid, nor do I want to spend $33 on a maid – that’s like almost a full tank of gas for me. I’m going to have to dip into my savings this month anyway because not only am I doing all of this stuff at Anth’s request but I’m also trying to get all of my Christmas shopping done so I’m not running around like a mad woman a week before I leave for Hawaii.

 I don’t expect (or want) the maid clean my room or bathroom when she does come, mostly because they will already be clean. The first time we had the argument he said, “But the maid like comes into your room and washes all your stuff. Like the pictures and the top of the dresser.” Oh you mean like dusting?! I do that on my own and it takes 5 minutes. Get your head out of your ass and stop being so lazy. It also kind of pisses me off that he thinks it’s totally fair to ask me to pay for a maid knowing how often I clean that place. If you ask me, they should get it FOR ME as a gift. And be like, “Here Gizzy, we got a maid so you can take some time off from cleaning up after us, we know we’re slobs and we’re sorry.” But no, Anth expects it to be a gift to him.  Selfish asshole.

The thing is, Doogie really isn’t a slob. He’s hardly ever there and maybe doesn’t wipe off the counter if he gets crumbs on it, but that’s only because there’s already a layer cake of crumbs that Anth has left behind. Anth is the one that’s truly messy and always blames it on whoever isn’t around.

Doogie and I were both gone all weekend leaving Anth to sit in his own filth and it still didn’t occur to him that he’s the one creating the mess, even after there were no dishes in the sink and now it’s full. Like you really think we sent along the dirty dish fairy to come dirty up all the dishes while you were asleep? God help him if he tries to argue with me about paying for a fucking maid. It will not be pretty.

 

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Attack of DishZilla

Happy Monday Everyone! Mark this day, that’s the only time you’ll ever hear me say those awful words. I cannot express how happy I am that last week is over, not only was work stressful (and it will be for about the next 3 weeks, I’ll be forcing myself not to suddenly come down with mono), but I also had to prepare for my parent’s visit over the weekend.  Which only entailed cleaning the house and buying my dad a birthday present, easier said than done when you live with 2 frat guys.  No big deal, right?

I waited to clean until it was around bedtime on Thursday night.  I figured that way, everyone would get up in the morning, run off to work, and not leave much of a mess for me to clean up.  When I came downstairs Friday morning everyone was already gone, but I could smell that someone had cooked a sausage and egg biscuit  (Anth, so predictable) and sure enough there were dishes in the sink with egg remnants all over them.

Like watching me run around the night before stressed out making sure the dishes that had been sitting in the sink for a week that were actually Doogie’s responsibility:

were all in the dishwasher so the house looked like a semi-clean frat house wasn’t enough of an incentive to be like, “Oh hmm… MAYBE Gizzy did all those dishes, cleaned our disgusting pube-infested bathroom, swept and mopped all the floors, washed the sticky beer residue off all of the surfaces in the place, AND made sure the couch pillows hid the spots on the couch where the leather came off because she wants it to appear to be clean and not look like we’re poor hobos, and maybe I could take 5 minutes out of my morning facebook whore creeping session to unload the dishwasher and put these dishes in there so she doesn’t have to worry about it since it’s my mess. But no, I won’t because I’m an inconsiderate ass.” So, he put it in the sink and didn’t even rinse it.  

I swear to you, a switch is going to flip and they are going to come home one day to broken dishes all over the floor because I can’t take it anymore, and they can all eat off toilet paper  and magazine scraps for all I care.  Housewives are so underpaid.  

But anyway, you can see in the right hand corner of the photo a list hanging on the dishwasher.  That’s a list of whose turn it is to unload it, when it’s unloaded we cross our name off and write weather the dishes are dirty or clean.  My name is crossed off about 6 times, Anth’s once, and Doogie’s bringing up the tail with a whopping ZERO.  I was skeptical of the list to begin with because of course no one would enforce it, it’s just there to blatantly point out who does the dishes and who doesn’t, which we all knew anyway.

But, Anth made the list because Doogie is notorious for inviting his girlfriend over to make these huge feasts for the two of them and the dishwasher is conveniently almost always full, and she can usually fit about 1 fork in there, then runs it. And, like a whore, leaves the rest of the dishes in the sink, and her and Doogie disappear for the next 5 days so that Anth or myself (ME, it’s always me) has to clean their mess up after it has sat there so long that it starts to come to life.  But, I believe now Anth is seeing how little he does the dishes and how I pretty much do everything that keeps our apartment from being roach and rat infested.   That’s a lie, he hasn’t noticed at all.  If anyone has noticed it’s me, realizing how much I actually clean up after these stupid slobs.

So anyway, back to the story… I came downstairs found dishes in the sink, cussed him under my breath, decided I wasn’t fucking unloading the dishwasher again, and I wasn’t about to leave dishes in the sink after I busted my ass the night before to get them all done.  After frantically looking around for a place to hide the dirty dishes I decided on the oven.  I threw the dishes in there and ran off to work.  When I got home from work, a mere 3 minutes before my parent’s showed up, Anth was already home and had locked himself in his room to “work”.  On my way home I had sent him a text telling him that he better not have trashed the place after all my hard work cleaning it, of course he didn’t reply, which told me there were more dishes in the sink.

And when I got home?  

MORE FUCKING DISHES! I wanted to run upstairs, karate kick his door open and ask where he thought his dishes from this morning magically disappeared to, since the dishwasher was still full and why did that provoke him to leave more in the sink!? BASTARD!!  But I refrained, and shoved the rest of the dishes in the oven, did a walk through to make sure there wasn’t anything else I had missed, and relaxed for 5 seconds before the doorbell rang.

Although they noted that the place needed a paint job, a carpet cleaning, and the hard wood floors needed to be treated, the apartment got my parent’s seal of approval and we left.  SHEW!

About 9:30 Friday night I got the following series of texts from Anth:

“Gizzy, WTF!!!!!!”

“Dishes in the oven, really?”

“I just cooked the shit out of them.”

At 3:15 am I decided to reply…

“Yeah, and you can take those dishes and SHOVE THEM UP YOUR BUTT!!!”

Thank you Stanley from the office for that magnificent one liner, you are a good man.

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Douche Day Returns

Happy Jerseday Everyone!!   Let’s start off this fist pumping with a DOUCHE DAY story!

A few weeks ago my friend Dina came up to visit, I haven’t seen her in a year so a reunion was so very necessary.  She came to my apartment one night; we started off with cocktails at my apartment and stories of how we hate men.  We ended the night at an afterhour’s club with my old sorority friend Vickie and that’s all I remember.

I woke up the next morning to Anth pounding on my bedroom door saying Dina was texting him because she needed to get her stuff.  It was literally one of those out of body experiences where I was like, “Really? What happened last night? Am I alive right now?”  I was still in my clothes from the night before, my tv was blaring, the lights were all on, there were ralphing remnants crusted to my face, oh and I was still super wasted. 

Dina showed up an hour later, not pissed off that I had obviously left her at the club to fend for her own.  Apparently we were with a guy she had been dating so she stayed at his house.  Shew!  And I was dancing with his ugly sidekick.  Yuck.  We tried to recrap the rest of the night but failed and failed again.

After a while of diligently searching I found my phone and started to look through the texts and calls to see if I could figure out what had happened.  That’s when I saw it.  A text from: DOUCHEAROO.

The Time:  3:49AM

The Message From DOUCHEAROO:  Was I ever mean to you when we dated?  As in really mean like made you feel awful about yourself?

The Time:  4:02AM

My Reply:  REALLY?!!

—14 hours lapsed time of me coming out of my drunken stupor, being hungover, and wanting to die—

9:59 PM – DOUCHEAROO:  Yes, really.

Me:  You told me I was crazy, a bitch, and dumb while you saved messages from your ex telling you that “you’re wonderful”  and you acted like I was disposable, so yeah I’d say I felt prettttty bad about myself when I dated you.

DOUCHEAROO:  I’m sorry about that.

Me: Uh, thanks.

DOUCHEAROO:  I guess I have been through some shit lately.  So I just wanted to know.  Made me appreciate your level of sanity.

Me: Oh yeah, dealing with some crazy?

DOUCHEAROO:  You have no idea.  (Editor’s note:  HAHA, he deserves it.  Dick.)

Me:  Good luck with that.

DOUCHEAROO:  Noted.  Can I tell you one thing?

Me: What?

DOUCHEAROO:  I’m sorry I took you for granted.  I was stupid and didn’t care.  Just know that any guy is lucky to have you.  Anyone who disagrees is a moron.

Me: Um, thanks?

DOUCHEAROO: Welcome, we did have some good times I thought.

Me: Sure.

DOUCHEAROO: I guess my point is that I’m sorry when I hurt you.  You deserved better.

Me: Yep, 4 years too late with that apology.

DOUCHEAROO:  Just wanted you to know.  Your name is still Gizzysaurus in my phone by the way.

Me: Cool.

DOUCHEAROO:  I miss you.  That’s all I will say.

Annnnnd that’s where I quit replying.  Like you have got to be freaking kidding me!! 

Next message—-

TO: Snoop Linus

From: Gizzy

I HAAAAAATE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YOU.

Right, a little immature and unnecessary but I don’t regret it and I was out of my element so whatever.

Reply from Snoop-Linus 5 days later:  I fucked everything up, all of it.  I just need you back in my life, the past year hasn’t been the same without you.  I love you Gizzy.

Really?  I say I hate you after not speaking to the kid for months I send I hate you and get an I love you I need you back in my life? 

So the lessoned to be learned here is that even at 26 years old I still cannot be trusted with my own cell phone while intoxicated.   

I think getting that “I hate you” out of my system will end the whole Snoop-Linus debacle and I don’t think DOUCHEAROO will be texting me for sometime after getting shot down…. Again.   DENIED!

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Hold tight kids!

A post is on it’s way… a RHYMING post summarizing mine and Lucky’s adventures while she was here.  But you know what, wordpress deleted (or maybe I forgot to save it?) all the hard work I did last night so it’s only halvsie ready.  But everyone get excited and let the anticipation build….

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Not about Britney, bitch.

Whew! Gang, I’m going to admit it, we’ve had some tough subjects on the blog lately—tampons, gynos, breakups, married men, and Justin Bieber. So Gizzy & I thought we’d actually do our job and give you some comic relief. Which is why we called upon one of our favorite bloggers, Kevin.

I love Kevin, because he loves vodka, female rappers, and baking. He also has the same name as my favorite movie character, Kevin McCallister.

Basically what Lucky is trying to say is that if we could choose only 1 drunk, gay, asian, baker to be our bff, it would totally be Kevin. I mean, even the title of his blog gets us excited. Cranberry and vodka, please. Just brilliant!

Yeah, enjoy.

The girls at Cocktails at Tiffany’s requested that I write a guest blog post for their site, which is this site. I could have said no, but I realized that they have more readers than I do. So now that I have volunteered, I’m expecting this post will blow you away and then you will be all like, “This kid is great! I have to read more on what he has to say about complete nonsense going on his life!”

Of course I don’t want (or plan) on full-blown exposure, as I didn’t fare well when people talked about me for a story I submitted on a drunken whim (i.e. 2Birds1Blog via May 2010). Other than looking to amuse – and maybe impress – you in short, I don’t have any other objectives at all. Right now you’re merely a reader of what I’m about to randomly throw at you just to see if you even like me. And it’s cool if you don’t. Think of this as an audition and you’re the judge. You can stop anytime by clicking on the previous icon if you want. I never liked William Faulkner or Sarah Palin’s literary works anyway, and never intend on meeting them (that is, Faulker’s grave and Palin dead or alive).

But maybe you’ll get a better sense of who I am within the next few paragraphs or so. And if you haven’t had enough of me, perhaps I would suggest you to my site by clicking here or grazing your eyeballs to the right to find my blog (too far, now you’re looking at the site’s credits. A little left. Right there! I’m under “Cranberry and vodka, please.” [Actually I’m not much a cranberry and vodka drinker these days as I currently prefer it with just soda and lime when I’m out, but calling my blog “Vodka and soda, please” sounds stupid. Before I go out, I’ll drink a can of Four Loko. Having all that sugar in my body, combined with cranberry juice, spells out hot mess disaster, or H-O-T-M-E-S-S-D-I-S-A-S-T-E-R]). Best believe I’m as uninteresting as you would imagine a pre-gastric bypass Star Jones, Monique, and chubby Oprah fighting over the last drumstick in a bucket of KFC.

Maybe I’m trying too hard to impress you.

Allow me to start over.

Hi, I’m Kevin. I’m assuming most of the readers for this blog are women. I minored in women studies so I understand your oppression better than you. I’m also a gay man, which means I don’t want to get you pregnant, but do want to see you in heels 24/7. This doesn’t mean, however, that I love Glee, flip my hands, and whip my hair back and forth, OR THAT I WANT YOU TO BE MY FAG HAG. Just a bit of notice to anyone looking to hook up their gay friends together: It’s the absolute worst when a straight friend tries to hook me up with their gay friend thinking we will get along mainly on the basis that we’re gay. (My date ended awfully. Click here for the story). I’m merely an average liberal minded, Asian, yoga inducing, baker who religiously listens mostly to folk music and fast bumping hip-hop (which I discovered after organizing my iTunes and realizing that most of my music was thanks to sitting in many coffee shops simultaneously wishing I was apart of Trina’s bad bitches entourage). What I’m getting at is that I’m indifferent about being gay. Sure it has its pros and cons, but it doesn’t define who I am. I have gay friends, but that’s because they’re mostly Asian too. This is the part where I should have taken out that “I’m also a gay man” bit, but too concerned with making a point. And to be honest, I feel that some gay men conform to being “gay: because it’s totally cool to call your other gay friends “girl” and listen to the latest Britney album as if she’s going to tell you the secret to long-term financial success. Do you know how many times I read Facebook statuses of, “Don’t be a drag, be a queen!” when “Born This Way” made its debut? It had to be one of the most annoying things I experienced since I found out egg white and white were the same color; honestly, WTF?!

Damn it, now I sound like a fucking douche.

I haven’t done a very good job impressing you and now I’m coming off like a conceded mother effer like the time I tried convincing someone I bleached my asshole on a regular basis. Now I’m coming up with random anecdotes and you might be thinking, Kill yourself, Kevin. Kill yourself. If not, read on!

Nothing to the gay community. They’ve done a lot and I appreciate the years of societal tolerance past generations had paved for me to enjoy my life. It’s just the stereotypical connotations people, even myself, think of when they imagine gays to be like. (Click here for my view on it). All-in-all I could really say that I’m neither this nor that. I don’t think anyone really wants to be classified when identifying themselves since most of us are in that generation where it’s all about me. Not me-me. I said it earlier before that I can’t handle people knowing a lot about me. Then again it makes me look like a hypocrite having a blog and recording my shameless experiences through a public website for people to read.

This is not how I typically write. Promise. Matter of fact, I’m much less condescending and make more sense. If you think I’m lying, then you my friend have just killed a Pokemon. I write about getting drunk and doing stupid things.

Speaking of making sense, lately I’ve felt like the only time I come up with great new ideas, nuances, and epiphanies are when I’m under the influence. (Maybe you’re expecting me to outline what things I’ve done in the past, but perhaps it’s best to keep those things quiet until you get me really drunk and then I will be DYING to tell you a secret. I told a friend the other day as we were drinking, “Hey John, don’t forget to remind me that when I’m drunk so I can tell you a secret about [redacted].” More times than not I forget what I say.)

Honestly I’m writing this all on a whim. Typically I don’t like to sit down and edit my work and people have told me and I’ve attempted editing a few times, but there’s other things I’d rather do. Like eat frozen chicken tacos. The stuff I’m putting out on the Internet is for people to freely read. Some of the funniest things written on the Internet are free. And maybe I lack the patience for editing, but the quality, I think, is still there nonetheless. I don’t think that anyone posting comments on YouTube gives a fuck about what anyone else thinks about their grammar. Then again, I love reading the comments where users bicker back and forth about grammar problems. I believe that most forms of entertainment should be free; that’s why I go to the bookstore to read a book I don’t want to pay for because isn’t it why they have chairs and tables there? And if you’re still paying for your music, I’m really sorry. I’m known in my different circle of friends to be a cheap person – or “niggardly” which my law professor so likes to use (and she doesn’t think it will make us feel uncomfortable?!) – so I’m totally fine with people reading my work for free. There’s no other exposure better than the Internet.

Damn it again, the topic I wanted to write about in the beginning of writing this was going to be about gay and straight relationships. And all I really did was ramble.

I hope that my objective was at least minimally met to make you laugh or giggle or snicker. Of course if you didn’t like what I had to say, it’s okay, because I already think you’re a tool.

Kevin

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