The Master Plan

Recently there has been a lot of chatter about how God is going to be angry and/or wrathful because society has started to accept gays as human beings with equal rights. Gay marriage and the repeal of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell being the two most obvious examples. “Experts” in the field of divine wrathfulness cite everything from birds dying, to oil leaks, to hurricanes as examples of this. This is actually, not true. The truth is that gay marriage is wrong and DADT should NOT have been repealed…but not for the reasons people think. Do you really think God cares who gets married? If that was the case He probably would have a little something to say about the divorce rate. No He is more concerned about that whole bacon thing. Did you know that every time you eat bacon baby Jesus cries? But I digress. It’s not God you should be afraid of, but me.

You see for some time now, I have been contemplating an expansion of my original ambition to rule my own country. Countries founded on a single ideology tend to be somewhat…contentious at best, and crazy at worst. No, I think we gays are just going to have to take over the world. For more on how I will improve the planet see my previous ramblings. Today, as it is now far, far too late to stop us, I shall reveal the Master Plan. People were right to fear the gays. They feared us for the wrong reasons though. We aren’t going to corrupt your children (much) or destroy the “sanctity” of marriage (such as it is). We aren’t even going to reduce combat effectiveness by raping our fellow soldiers in the shower (unless they’re into that sort of thing). No we’re just going to become the supreme overlords of the earth and establish a new World Order.

Here is the (nearly complete) Master Plan. Read it now so that you may revel in Our genius, and so that you may better worship Us when We ascend to the throne. Yes, We are using the Royal We again, although if you are gay or lesbian you may also assume that We mean it to be inclusive of You.

Step 1: Distraction. Gay marriage was the perfect red herring. You think we want to be married? HA. First of all if two people want to stand up in front of their friends and pledge their commitment to each other in front of all their friends then they ARE married (in the oldest and most traditional sense of the word) and there is not, nor has there ever been a dammed thing anyone can do about it. Second, once We rule the world everyone will have equal rights, including government-sanctioned unions should they want them, so the point is moot. But if people are all so busy worrying about making God angry and undermining the “heterosexuals only” club they won’t notice the real threat until it’s too late. Which brings us to…

Step 2: Infiltrate the military establishment. Having already been accepted into virtually every military on earth that matters, We turned our attention to the United States. While others were busy arguing over marriage, We* have succeeded in repealing Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell, and gays and lesbians will now be serving openly in the military. It is only a matter of time before all your military commanders are lesbians. Because let’s face it: they look the best in combat boots. Once we have command of the world’s military might we can move on to…

Step 3: Takeover the global economy. It’s simple really. We gays like stuff. Especially expensive stuff. With our combined purchasing power (and the craptastic state of the global economy) we will have you by your 401ks in no time. Besides do you have any IDEA how many fags work on Wall Street and in other financial centers?

Step 4: Crush all resistance. With complete control of the world’s economy and military I should think this pretty much explains itself. We will start by asking nicely. Once.

Well, there you have it friends. And by friends I mean future subjects. There is Our simple yet brilliant plan for world domination. Don’t bother trying to stop Us. It’s much too late for that. No, in your few remaining years of freedom you should spend your time developing skills that will serve you well under the new World Order. Hand-made shoes will certainly be in high demand, so perhaps you could become a cobbler. Or, if you’re attractive enough, you might consider a career in the pornographic arts. The gay pornographic arts, that is. See? There will be lots of new and exciting opportunities when We rule the world. My best advice to you is not to resist. Just relax and go with it. Come to think of it that is also good advice for those of you looking to get into porn.

*This We is We in the inclusive sense, as the repeal of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell was a milestone achievement that many people should be very proud of. We** personally did not accomplish this, but We** are very grateful to those who did, and We shall reward them when We** come to power.

**Here We are using We in the sense of Our Personal Self

Why not to drink rum before bed

In case you were unaware, I hosted a pretty kick-ass New Year’s party last weekend. That doesn’t really have much to do with this story though, except that it’s important you understand why I had half a bottle of Captain Morgan’s Spiced Rum in my apartment. Because, not being a 19-year-old sorority girl, I don’t usually drink the stuff.

Anyway, the party was great, and we went through (without exaggeration) about nine gallons of liquor, along with several cases of wine and champs. We also had numerous cases of beer, but no one really drank that. It’s currently sitting in my refrigerator taking up lots of space, so please stop by if you want some free beer. Along with the beer, we brought the rest of the unconsumed booze up to my apartment. This was a fairly small item. I have been doing my best to give it away, but I wasn’t sure who would want half a bottle of the Captain, because I don’t know any sorority chicks.

I also had a bunch of leftover diet Coke. So last night I figured what the hell, I’ll have a Captain and Coke, and reminisce about the days when I was a sorority girl. Ok, I was never actually a sorority girl, but I was in college one and I did drink the Captain. Although I usually mixed him with my good friend Jack Daniel’s. (Better than it sounds.) Well I had one Captain and Coke and that was fine. I had another and everything was still pretty much ok. By the time I got to the third I was remembering that I don’t like rum because it makes me nauseous so I decided to go to bed. I had a very long day and was totally exhausted, and I fell asleep without incident. Then I started to dream. That’s where the real trouble began.

In my dream I was on one of my legendary shopping excursions with my best friend (the Crown Prince of Gaytopia). My credit score still trembles in fear at the mention of those trips, and the clerks at Barneys and Saks get all misty eyed if you bring it up. Ah the good old days.

During this particular shopping excursion we were being pursued by one of the Lithuanian terrorists from Back to the Future. They thought we had stolen their plutonium. In reality what we had was some sort of radioactive ecstasy. They can perhaps be forgiven for their error because it did look all green and glowy. (Important side note: Gaytopia does not condone nor encourage the ingestion of ecstasy, radioactive or otherwise, or, for that matter, plutonium.)

After leading our pursuer on a merry chase, which involved a high-speed bus ride, he finally caught up with us. It turns out that he wasn’t a terrorist at all and simply wanted his share of the radioactive ecstasy. I gave it to him and the Crown Prince and I proceeded to go shopping after taking our own ecstasy hits. Some time passed, and we wandered through store after store (or possibly one very large store) and I grew increasingly frustrated. For one thing, I couldn’t find a damn thing to buy (which if you know me is pretty freaking amazing), and for another, radioactive ecstasy apparently doesn’t have any immediate or apparent effect. The long term ramifications I prefer not to think about.

Eventually I gave up, and took my leave of the Prince, having just remembered I left our belongings on the bus. I retrieved them from under the bus seat and just as I was about to disembark, the bus began to move. I acted quickly, leaping out the window. Regrettably, in my haste I had once again left everything on the bus. I proceeded to chase the bus through the parking lot, and eventually the driver stopped and let me on. Unfortunately it seemed I was on an express bus (I probably should have remembered this since we had previously ridden the bus at high speed) and it wouldn’t stop for me to get off. It was also traveling much too fast to exit via the window again.

I couldn’t imagine what the Crown Prince was thinking at this point so I called him, only to discover he had left his cell phone on the bus along with the rest of our stuff. So there I was, trapped on a bus, barreling down the road at high speed, with no way to contact my best friend. I decided to try some more radioactive ecstasy. It didn’t help.

Eventually, the bus dropped me off (at another shopping mall…apparently it only operated between malls). At that point I remembered the Crown Prince had a second cell phone, which I called, and explained that I was somehow many miles away and that I would make my way back to him as quickly as possible.

That’s about where my adventure ended. I never did find out if I found the Crown Prince or was ever able to purchase anything. But I think this odd little dreamland excursion makes a pretty fair case to stay away from the rum, at least before bed. Also the radioactive ecstasy.

Getting out of bed

Getting out of bed this morning felt a lot like what I imagine having a Dementor suck out your soul must be like. It’s more or less the same thing every morning. I believe I can best explain this using the Kübler-Ross model, more commonly known as the five stages of grief. And yes, this will be a list. We didn’t have a list yesterday, but I made no promises about future entries. If you don’t like my list then GTFO. Anyway, here is what happens to me when my alarm goes off in the morning:

1. Denial. Alarm? What alarm? Surely it must be Saturday by now. This can’t be happening. Why won’t it stop. OH GOD WHY WON’T IT STOP??? This usually leads to…
2. Anger. Why is this happening? Why do I have to leave the safety of my warm cozy bed and go to work? It’s not FAIR. I HATE work. I HATE my life. WHY GOD WHY HAVE YOU PUT ME ON THIS EARTH JUST TO CURSE ME WITH WORK? IS THAT YOUR PLAN? DO YOU HATE ME? DO YOU ENJOY WATCHING ME SUFFER? Other people don’t have to work. Like dead people. Why can’t I just be dead? Well ok maybe not that but what about a coma? Or, well no not that either, but can’t I have the flu or a broken leg or something? Which leads to…
3. Bargaining. The snooze button is this. Just five more minutes… But eventually I start to realize that I am going to be late if I don’t get up, which leads to…
4. Depression. I hate my life. I am doomed to another 30 years (at least) of doing this. Maybe I’ll just lay here until I die. Or maybe just until I get fired. Of course then I couldn’t afford to pay my mortgage and I’d be homeless. Maybe that’s a better way. After all if I’m homeless I can sleep in as much as I want. Until I starve to death anyway. But I think I’d miss showering every day. Which leads to…
5. Acceptance. Well I DO like to shower. And the shower is warmer than the bed. So I guess it won’t be so bad. I’m going to get up now.

The really interesting thing about this phenomenon is that it only applies on days when I have to get up and go to work. On days when I don’t set my alarm and actually can sleep in I usually get up an hour or so later that I would if I was going to work. This has lead me to wonder if maybe I could make this all go away by adjusting my work schedule, but something tells me that wouldn’t do much good. No I think it’s more the knowledge that I am being forced to get up against my will that does it. It’s like I’m in prison or boot camp or something.

I know this sort of makes it sound like I hate my job, but that’s actually not true. I like my job. I just hate work on general principle. Work is this evil and sadistic concept that was probably invented by Lucifer when he was cast out of heaven. But we have to work because we need money. Because money equals happiness. This is why people play Powerball. Not for the yachts and the penthouses and the poolboys, but because on a deeper, more primitive, maybe even subconscious level we all just really don’t want to be forced out of our beds.

The games we play (aka I eat my own words)

I am quite fond of making lists, especially lists of rules. Possibly because it’s an easy way to fill a blog post, possibly because it’s a lazy comedic device (see Letterman, David) and possibly because I’m an anal retentive, megalomaniacal control freak who really enjoys pretending I can impose my will on the universe simply by proclaiming certain things to be Correct. This blog post was going to be yet another list, this time about the dating games we play. I intended to take the position that certain games were not only allowed but a necessary part of the foundation of our society. But it didn’t seem quite right so I decided to mull it over for a few days. (See there is a creative process at work here beyond me sitting at the computer typing whatever pops into my head.) Anyway, I’ve scrapped that idea and will present my new thoughts on this matter in a non-list format.

I recently started attempting to date again. I say attempting because most of my ventures so far have fallen rather flat. I blamed this on the fact that I am clearly rusty, having not practiced my romantical skills in over a year. (I said romantical…which granted isn’t a word, but should not be taken to mean sexual. I’m cynical and jaded, not pathetic.) In short I believed I wasn’t playing the games well enough anymore. Because let’s face it we all play those little games don’t we? The Is it too soon to call/text/email him? game. Or the Does he want me to kiss him? Or should I wait for him to kiss me? game. And of course the I don’t want to see him again, but I don’t want to be an asshole so I’ll just be “unavailable” for a few weeks game. (This one bit me in the ass recently with someone who couldn’t take a hint. STOP blowing up my phone with texts. You KNOW who you are.) Then there’s my personal (least) favorite, the How long should I wait before we have sex? game. (I originally wrote these as bullets but then I remembered I promised no lists for this post so now it’s in paragraph form and it doesn’t count. Ha.)

Note I was using masculine pronouns here, but you could easily substitute the feminine. By my observations straights and lesbians play just as many games as gay men. And those bisexuals. Don’t get me started. There is a reason I won’t date bi boys anymore, and his name is…well ok I won’t publish his name because he’s probably happily settled down with his girlfriend by now and shagging a guy or two on the side but that’s his business. See? I told you not to get me started.  

Returning from our tangent, if these games don’t sound familiar to you then you are either a liar, a saint or asexual. And you know what? It’s bullshit. We should all just be honest with each other. If you want to kiss me then kiss me. If you find me boring (unlikely) or batshit crazy (highly probable) and are turned off let me know. If you like me and want to go on another date then say so. If you want to have sex with me please make those feelings known. If I ask you out a second time and you aren’t interested it’s ok to say no. That’s how I finally got rid of my text message stalker. And you know what? It worked out fine and I wish I had just been honest in the first place.

Let’s take this last one as an example. Let’s pretend you and I went on a date. (I know, be still your beating heart, or possibly ick if my sister is reading this.) Anyway we have a lovely evening. Possibly there is some smooching at the end. Fast forward a few days, and I, being the outgoing and initiative-seizing person that I am, ask you out for a second time. You, being charmed by my good looks and witty banter (shutup this is a hypothetical and I can make up whatever I want), agree. But then something comes up and oh no! You have to cancel. I accept this with good grace and suggest we reschedule. You say you’re free tomorrow so we make plans to get together. Tomorrow comes, and whoops, fate intervenes and you once again have to cancel.

Now in my new, ideal world, the one where everyone stops playing games and is upfront and honest, I would understand that shit happens and assume that you genuinely do like me and you do want to hang out again. In our current world, however, I am thinking something along the lines of “What a dick. Why is he wasting my valuable time? More importantly why am I wasting my valuable time? Screw you.”

Meanwhile, you don’t know this and are waiting for me to contact you to reschedule. You could of course pick up the damn phone and ask me out, but you’re probably also playing hard to get (another game I despise). A week goes by. Then two. Drifting occurs. One of us meets someone else. Since this is my blog we’ll say it’s me. Maybe me and my new guy don’t click quite the same way you and I did, but hey, this one is available, and a bird in the hand and all that.

And thus we have yet another tragic case of What Might Have Been. All because of silly little games. Doesn’t my world sound better? Now please excuse me as I have to resume staring at my phone to see if this guy has texts me because I can’t text him first because I initiated our last conversation.

What I learned from my diet

For six weeks I could drink nothing but water and, on occasion, tea. For six weeks I weighed and measured my portions of food down to the gram, making sure I ate less than 500 calories per day. I walked around with a device that told me if I was exercising enough. I ate what They told me, and nothing else. I salivated every time I smelled pizza. I watched people eat French fries with envy and loathing. I nearly punched my friend who offered to buy me a drink. No, I was not a test subject for the latest CIA torture methods. I did this to myself of my own free will.

I have just completed phase one of my diet and detoxification regimen. Phase two lasts for another three weeks, but I get to eat more or less as much food as I want (albeit from the same fairly limited menu) and I can starting drinking vodka again, in small quantities. Only vodka, but it’s better than nothing. I thought I would take the opportunity to review some important things I’ve learned from six weeks of suffering, degradation and general misery.

1. Willpower is the difference between success and failure. Life is hard and most things that need doing are not terribly fun. Examples: work, gym, eating healthily, drinking in moderation, living within your means. I accomplished my goal through force of will. Yes it sucked, but now it’s over and I get to gloat about it. I also get to look down on anyone who whines, complains and blames outside influences for their own failings. And yes, I will be an insufferable prick about it. Because I’ve earned it.

2. Things do not get easier as you go. People will tell you that the longer you go without drinking/eating carbs/shopping excessively the easier it gets. They tell you that your cravings and urges will diminish with time. This is a lie. It is designed to keep you in a state of perpetual hope, thinking tomorrow you won’t wake up with the desire to kill someone for a cookie. In fact, the longer you deny yourself, the worse it gets. I, for example, have another three weeks before I can have pizza, and I feel murderous every time I see someone eating it.

3. It is perfectly possible to live life without consuming alcohol. Yes that’s right, I said it. The author of More to Drink, and Other Catchphrases for Sin and Vice admits that you can maintain an active lifestyle and even go out to bars and clubs and not drink. It is absolutely possible. It is also incredibly boring. Pass me a martini.

4. The scale is your friend. It’s amazing what the small addition of a scale to my bathroom has done for my life. It is located conveniently between my bedroom where I tend to do my late night snacking and my kitchen. Every time I leave the house it whispers a subtle reminder: “Remember, eventually you have to come home and face me.”

5. Vanity wins. I’m guilty of pretty much all seven of the “deadly sins.” Depending on who you ask the list goes something like this: Extravagance/lust, gluttony, greed, apathy/sloth, wrath, envy and pride. The combination of the first four are enough to make most anyone fat. Five and six don’t really apply (unless you eat and drink a lot when you’re pissed off). Which leaves us with number seven: pride. There aren’t many things in the world that could make me give up booze, let alone adhere to a strict meal plan that consists mainly of things I don’t like to eat. But there is one thing I hate more than not having the things I want, and that’s being fat. So as I look in my closet and discover that all of my clothes are too big I hereby declare my immeasurable pride (that everyone always says is my biggest flaw) to be the winner in the contest against my other sins, with wrath and envy being runners up for making me pissed off over being fat and making me hate skinny people, respectively. Screw all of you who told me I needed to be less of a pompous ass. In the end it was the only thing that saved me from myself.

Bad Romance

Today on Gaytopia we examine an age-old phenomenon that can perhaps best be summed up in the words of the prophetess Lady Gaga (who I still maintain is either a fantastic drag queen or a really bad post-op transsexual): “Ra ra ah-ah-ah, Roma roma-ma, Gaga ooh la la.” Ok perhaps that’s a bit too advanced for some of you. Try this verse: “I want your love, And I want your revenge, You and me could write a bad romance.”

Yes, that’s right, we are going to take a hard look at why we wind up in the wrong relationships. Notice I said we and not We (as in the royal We), because you all know damn well I am not the only one that has been down this road. Before we continue I feel it’s only fair to warn you this post will be fraught with rhetorical peril. No doubt I am going to step on a few toes as we begin to recognize that not only do we pursue the wrong sort of person, but we sometimes are the wrong sort of person. Also we may encounter such tired clichés as “the heart wants what it wants,” but if we stick to the trail and don’t feed the wildlife hopefully we can avoid the worst of them.

There are a number of possible scenarios that can result in romantic disaster. We’re going to start with the one Miss Gaga refers to; otherwise the first paragraph and the title of this post would be meaningless. Even more so than it already is.

“I want your love and I want your revenge.” Well that’s odd isn’t it? Especially considering the rest of the song, which seems to indicate we are talking about a new love interest and not an ex. At least that’s my interpretation. And since this is my blog that’s the one we’ll be going with. So what sort of revenge are we talking about here? Also: “I want your Psycho, Your Vertigo shtick. Want you in my Rear Window, baby you’re sick.” In addition to being a rather clever Hitchcock reference this person clearly has some issues. Looks like we’re dealing with:

1. Damaged goods. Oh who doesn’t love a fixer-upper? The idea that you can take someone who clearly has some issues, and “help” them or even “improve” them is seductive. After all you’re not doing it for yourself right? Your helping someone else to become a more complete and functional human being. Right? Sure. Funny I must have missed the part where you had a Ph.D. in psychoanalysis. I’ve heard that part of loving someone is learning to accept their flaws. I don’t often hear that overhauling their personality/wardrobe/hygiene or attempting to surgically remove their emotional baggage is. If you can’t accept someone for who they are move along, which brings us to:

2. My Ex is my EX for a reason (repeat as necessary). The other interpretation of Bad Romance is that it is about getting back together with an ex. See my previous published works on why this is a bad idea. Yes, yes I know, that first break up didn’t take/was a mistake/wasn’t really a break up. Meanwhile your friends are collectively banging their heads against walls, desks or other sturdy objects that happen to be nearby. And no, we don’t want to hear your excuses, especially:

3. But the sex is awesome! If you can build a relationship around sex more power to you. If you can do so without paying for it even more power to you. If you hate every pre- and post-coitus moment you spend with this person it might be time to consider there’s more to life. This one has a younger cousin named “He/She is soooo hot!” This is even worse because it implies that you’re insanely attracted to the person but are not getting the accompanying satisfaction. Sucks to be you. But at least your friends are probably jealous, which is better than:

4. Bad Boy/Bad Girl syndrome. Do I even need to explain this one? I think at some point we reach a level of maturity where this no longer applies. I say I think because I have not reached it yet. Yes it’s a bad idea, no it’s not going to last, and your friends definitely do not approve, even if it does also qualify as #3 as well. And once you start wearing eyeliner and going to Goth clubs your friends probably won’t even want to hang out with you. Still it’s probably better than:

5. Help! I’m dating my friend! Sometimes when two people have known each other for a long time they grow close. They develop a bond. Maybe they even feel a deep emotional connection. And one night under the influence of dim lighting and vodka the walls come down and Something happens. And then before you know it the sun is peeking through the blinds and you’re wondering why you’re lying naked in bed with your friend. Well you have two choices here: 1) Pretend it never happened. 2) Start dating. Either way you run a reasonably good chance of ruining that friendship you prize so highly. To be fair you also have a very small chance of developing a happy, healthy successful relationship. But if you want to play odds like that I suggest Vegas. Money is easier to come by than friends.

So here we have the top five scenarios that are likely to land me you in Bad Romance territory. Now we get to the practical part of today’s lesson: How to avoid getting caught in a bad romance. Here are some tips that will hopefully aid you in avoiding the scenarios above.

1. Start overeating, stop exercising. Mmm gluttony AND sloth! That’s right, eat as much as you can of the foods that are worst for you and throw away that gym bag! Also consume large quantities of alcohol, frequently. How does this help? Well, do you see that fat, drunk guy with grease stains on his t-shirt over in the corner? Yeah. I wouldn’t date him either.

2. Take a vow of celibacy. If you’re going to do this I recommend castration first. Makes things a good bit easier. Plus if you become a monk you can brew beer. And I mean honestly. Who wouldn’t want to spend their life making beer?

3. Develop a major drug habit. I hear heroin is really great for taking your mind off things.

4. Become a mature, responsible, fully self-actualized individual and recognize that the right person will come along and until then you are doing just fine. … … … … … … … … … … *snicker*

Why I will kill you for a cookie

Remember two years ago when I declared my war on carbs? Suffice to say the short term success was eclipsed by the long term damage to my metabolism. In other words when I started eating carbs again I blew up like a blimp. Since then I have tried various means of waging war against my waistline, including decreasing calories and going for extended periods without drinking. I also tried to become a full-time smoker (I failed). God help me, I even went to the gym for a while.

I have come to discover that there is a direct correlation between weight loss and suffering. In the vernacular I believe this is referred to as “proper diet and exercise.” Now normally, being a person who enjoys rich foods and fine wines, and who prefers the sight of my own blood to sweat, I tend to avoid the whole proper diet and exercise thing when possible. No I prefer random bouts of starvation. Unfortunately that apparently causes your metabolism to slow down, which means you gain more weight when you start eating again. (Take note anorexics.)

So two years after the war on carbs I found myself once again approaching the mass and body shape of a small whale and I knew something had to be done. Something drastic. I did my homework, researched various options and discovered an ultra-low calorie diet that uses natural hormones to suppress the appetite and convince your body to burn fat stores but not muscle mass.

This goes way beyond my private war on carbs. There is a list of fruits, vegetables and lean meats I can eat. It is a short list. In order to control my carbohydrate cravings I am permitted two breadsticks per day. I weigh my food on a little scale to make sure I don’t go over my caloric allotment. I drink water. Nothing else. Just water. (In theory I can have tea, but tea just makes me think how much better it would taste with bourbon in it.)

The program lasts for about six weeks (I have currently just finished the second week). After that there is a three week transition phase in which I slowly allow my body to start taking in a more normal amount of food. In theory this will prevent the sort of blimp-like behavior I saw after my last drastic diet. Of course they also suggest that I continue to eat the kinds of healthy foods I am supposedly becoming accustomed to and that I exercise regularly. (See it ALWAYS comes back to proper diet and exercise.) I haven’t read anything about it but I bet they expect me to moderate my drinking too. Assholes.

I had two primary concerns when I started this diet. The first was obviously that I would effectively be giving up drinking for the better part of the summer, which I think we can agree is a really good time for drinking. My second (and far more serious) concern was something called carbohydrate withdrawal. It works something like this: Eating carbohydrates increases the production of serotonin in the brain, making you feel happy. If you eat enough of them it might even be like taking ecstasy. I have absolutely no scientific data to back that last part up but it would explain why I have been known to scarf down pizza at 4 a.m.

So anyway, when you deprive your body of carbs you are essentially decreasing your serotonin levels leading to unhappy feelings and maybe even depression. This explains the title of my post. You may substitute pizza for cookie if you like, but I thought cookie sounded funnier. Nearly everyone I’ve met has been impressed with my ability to quit drinking cold turkey. What no one seems to realize is that giving up drinking is nothing, I repeat NOTHING compared to giving up carbs. I had a dream about eating pizza last night. I am so not even kidding. My dream consistent of me sitting at a table eating a pizza.

At this point you’re probably wondering where I have found the self control to stick to this torture, given my history as a paragon of restraint and moderation. Well it’s not easy, but fortunately I was able to dig down and discover a vast well of power inside me. It’s some mixture of vanity and self loathing. I’m not really sure what the proportions are, but it has been an effective tool. And you had better hope it doesn’t run out before this diet is over. If it does I suggest for your own sake you hand over that motherfucking cookie while you still have an arm to hold it.

Beach Etiquette

Tomorrow marks the one year anniversary of my mother’s death. I have decided to observe the occasion by doing something that she always intended to do but never managed: I am hereby publishing the official rules of beach etiquette (with a few additions of my own).

Beach etiquette concerns the manner in which you and your fellow beachgoers should conduct yourselves at the beach, and in the ocean. And I mean literally at the beach. Not at Rehomo getting drunk at a bar at 11 a.m. Nope I’m talking sun, sand, wind, waves. This will not cover the beach after hours, which follows a completely different set of rules (or lack thereof).

The Official Guide to Beach Etiquette

Rule Number One: Selecting an appropriate beach spot

Going to the beach is a lot like picking a good campsite. You’ll want to try and find a level spot, preferably equidistant between the waves and the dunes. Make sure you are above the high tide line and don’t park yourself right in front of the beach access point. You will regret it. Also, much like a campsite, a beach spot has the tendency to expand, so make sure you’re far enough away from your fellow beachgoers to allow some room to spread out. This is especially important, and brings us to:

Rule Number Two: Respect the Buffer Zone

Yes the beach gets crowded. Yes the sand is hot and your poor little feetsies might get a little bit burned if you didn’t bother to wear shoes so you naturally don’t want to walk any further than necessary. But that does not give you the right to invade other people’s space. On a crowded beach you should keep a minimum distance of TEN FEET from the closest object in someone else’s spot. I don’t care if it’s a sand bucket. If the beach is not crowded use more space. Do NOT camp directly in front of someone else’s spot, cutting off their view of and access to the ocean. This is possibly the worst violation of beach etiquette, and the offended party is permitted to throw breadcrumbs, popcorn and other seagull attractors within the perimeter of your spot. This brings us to:

Rule Number Three: Don’t Feed the Freakin Seagulls

Sure they’re friendly and sometimes even cute. And it’s just one right? Wrong. The minute you toss a crumb to that one poor hungry-looking seagull, there will be 50 more right on top of him. And trust me, they get plenty to eat. They don’t need your food. And while a flock of seagulls is an intriguing and sometimes flattering retro hairstyle, there is nothing fun about the real thing. The exception to the feeding the seagulls rule is to punish beach etiquette violators (see Rule Two).

Rule Number 4: Arrive Early

In order to get a Prime beach spot, you need to get there early. That way you can judge all the people that come after you, lament their lack of beach etiquette and possibly throw seagull food at them. It’s a good idea to send an advance scouting party as early as possible (before 9 a.m.) to stake your claim. Make sure to spread out the chairs and beach towels. Set up a beach tent if you have one. In general try to take up as much room as possible. If other parties begin to arrive and see you sitting there by yourself with your beach paraphernalia covering a half acre of prime beach real estate they may ask you to move your stuff. The really ballsy ones might even move your stuff to make room. Don’t lose your cool. Explain in a calm rational voice that the rest of your party went for a walk and will be returning shortly. This is sort of like saving seats in the movie theater. The key is to assert yourself in a confident manner. Remember, beach etiquette is on your side. If this fails, feed some seagulls. In addition to the obvious benefits, having a Prime beach spot is essential for:

Rule Number 5: Judge Everyone That Walks By Politely

It’s the beach. People are in swimsuits. Everyone is going to be judged. We all know it, we accept it, but it should be done in an orderly fashion. Here are some general guidelines to help you participate in this time-honored tradition without hurting anyone’s feelings or, even worse, violating beach etiquette.

- Judging is based on a ten-point system and is based on physical attractiveness as well as wardrobe choice. Girls, if your belly is hanging over your bikini you are going to lose some major points. That’s why they make one-piece bathing suits. Gentlemen (I really can’t stress this enough) if you have back hair GET IT WAXED FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. And no Speedos. You are not at the Olympics, and no one is going to challenge you to a race. If you notice even Olympic athletes don’t go parading around in Speedos all that much. Certainly less than we could wish.

- Contestants to be judged are defined as those walking between you and the ocean. Do not stare down your neighbors. Recognize that if you go for a stroll on the beach you immediately become a contestant.

- Binoculars are a helpful tool for making those fine distinctions. A 4 is usually pretty obviously a 4, but could that 8.5 possibly be a 9? Let’s take a closer look. Using the binoculars properly is very important. You need to start by pretending you are looking at something out to sea like a ship, or a gigantic geyser of oil. Do a sweep of the ocean, then make a slight adjustment and do a sweep of the beach. I repeat: sweep. Do not linger. People generally do not take kindly to being scrutinized through a pair of high powered binoculars.

- Scores are to be shared with fellow judges only. They can be debated, but keep the volume down. No one wants to know there is heated disagreement over whether they are a 5 or a 4.5. Also don’t point or otherwise gesture at the contestants. It makes them nervous.

Rule Number 6: Keep the Beach Clean

If you are a smoker, bring an ashtray. If your band-aid comes off, don’t bury it in the sand. There are few things more disgusting than letting someone bury you in the sand only to realize you are covered in cigarette butts and used band-ads. Take all your trash with you when you leave. If you are on a beach that permits dogs you know perfectly well that includes dog poo. Oh and beer bottle caps. I once cut my foot on a beer bottle cap someone had left in the sand and it was not fun. Another thing to consider: noise pollution. If you have a radio if should be in the center of your camp and played at a volume that permits conversation. Hard as it may be to believe, people 50 yards down the beach may not want to hear Lady Gaga’s new album.

Rule Number 7: Keep Your Wet Sandy Feet Off My Beach Towel!

I am not a big fan of sand. I tolerate it because I like the ocean. Generally when I go to the beach I bring a little half tent, called a beach tent. This allows me to enjoy the beach without actually interacting with it. I keep a bucket of water outside my beach tent and dip my feet in it to wash any sand off before entering. I spread my beach towel on top of the tent floor so that it will not have any contact with the sand. In the unlikely event that I allow you to enter my sanctuary, make use of the bucket, bring your own towel, and make sure your body is free of sand. So help me god if you get sand on my beach towel I will murder you and feed you to the seagulls. I should probably point out that this rule really only applies to going to the beach with me. My mother loved the sand and expressed disbelief that I was her son when she noticed my sand-phobia. But so help me god, if you get sand on me it will be the last thing you do. Ever.

Rule Number 8: Bring Plenty of Beer

One of life’s simple pleasures is enjoying a cold beer on a warm sunny beach. If you bring beer, make sure you have enough to share. Otherwise you are just being a dick and everyone will hate you.

Rule Number 9: If You Hit Me with That Boogie Board I Will Bash Your Skull In

The ocean can be a lot of fun for the whole family. From little kids that like to run from the waves, to obnoxious pre-teens who think they are so super cool with their little board things they throw at the tide. No I don’t know what they’re called because I was never that coordinated. Grow a pair kid. If you want to go surfing get a surfboard and stop forcing grandma to jump out of the way while you do your little slip and slide thing. And if you are using a boogie board, please try to aim it AWAY from the group of swimmers. Also fishermen: Please do not attempt to fish where I am swimming. If you hook me the only thing you are going to catch is my foot up your ass. Similarly, swimmers: Don’t swim where people are fishing. You would think this would be obvious, but unfortunately past experience teaches that it is not.

Rule Number Ten: Enjoy

Having mastered the rules of beach etiquette you are now free to enjoy the beach. Don’t forget to judge everyone who walks by and occasionally volunteer to go on a beer run if the cooler is getting low. And for fuck’s sake don’t get sand on my towel.

Mom, I know that wherever you are, you’re probably sitting on the beach, and I’m sure everyone observes the rules of beach etiquette perfectly. Maybe they even have sand-repelling beach tents.

Top Ten Songs for the Jilted Lover

Is there any more soothing balm for heartache than music? Well possibly revenge sex, but we’ll cover that one another time. This is dedicated to a recently single friend of mine, in the hope that it might inspire.

These are of course my own personal opinions, and are therefore unimpeachably Correct. Yes, nearly half of them are showtunes, but what do you want…it is called GAYtopia. Also while I was making up the rules I decided there could be no more than one song per artist. Then I threw that out the window because I had two Madonna songs. Then I decided, fuck it, Madonna can have two songs on the list because one of them is technically a cover of sorts and because she is fucking Madonna. This is the same rationale I use when she attempts to speak with a British accent. She. Is. Fucking. Madonna. Lifetime pass.

Disclaimers: Some of these songs are situational and depending on the circumstances of your breakup might not make you feel better. Lyric excerpts are presented in prose form for brevity. Also, feel free to swap in the appropriate gender pronouns as needed.

10. Shadowboxer – Fiona Apple

“Once my lover, now my friend. What a cruel thing to pretend. What a cunning way to condescend. Once my lover, and now my friend… But, oh, it’s so evil, my love, the way you’ve no reverence to my concern. So I’ll be sure to stay wary of you, love, to save the pain of, Once my flame and twice my burn…”

Oh yeah. How many of you have gotten the “let’s still be friends” speech? And then someone slips and suddenly you’re waking up next to the object of your affection wondering what comes next. I’ll tell you what comes next. They wake up and leave. You just got played, darling.

9. Live to Tell – Madonna

“A man can tell a thousand lies; I’ve learned my lesson well. Hope I live to tell; The secret I have learned, ’till then; It will burn inside of me.”

Ah Madonna. You have a song for every occasion. In fact I could probably have made this a list of Madonna songs. But it never hurts to be reminded that betrayal is a universal concept. I like this song because it has just the right mix of serenity, pain and bitterness, with just a touch of anger hidden underneath. Anger can be very useful to the healing process. (See also: revenge sex, rage.)

8. The Winner Takes it All – Meryl Streep

“The gods may throw the dice; Their minds as cold as ice. And someone way down here; Loses someone dear. The winner takes it all. The loser has to fall. It’s simple and it’s plain. Why should I complain?”

Meryl Streep rocks the shit out of this song in the movie version of Mama Mia. I once sat and watched this scene about 15 times in a row (yes it was late and yes I was quite drunk). Mutual breakups are a myth constructed by passive-aggressive people who don’t have the stones to admit they broke someone’s heart. There is always a winner and there is always a loser.

7. Hallelujah – Jeff Buckley

“Well, maybe there’s a God above. But all I’ve ever learned from love; Was how to shoot at someone who outdrew ya. And it’s not a cry that you hear at night; It’s not somebody who’s seen the light. It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah.”

There have been a million covers of Leonard Cohen’s classic, but even Cohen himself said Buckley’s version was the best. There are also a million interpretations of what this song is really about. And it sort of depends on which version you’re listening to. This version is about grief. It’s beautiful, and it’s painful, and it makes a really great karaoke song if you have the pipes for it.

6. The Great Wall of China – Billy Joel

“You take a piece of whatever you touch. Too many pieces means you’re touching too much. You never win if you can’t play it straight. You only beat me if you get me to hate. It must be so lonely to think that you have only; Somebody else’s life to live if they let you. I ain’t too selective, but it don’t take no detective; To find out how fast your friends will forget you. We could have gone all the way to the Great Wall of China. Now all you’re going to be is history.”

Ever had one of those relationships that you know could have been really super awesome if the other person hadn’t been such a douchebag? Yeah, this song is for you. Enjoy. And enjoy imagining your ex friendless and alone, hopefully someday realizing what they’ve lost. Because that totally happens. At least I keep telling myself it does…

5. Another Suitcase in Another Hall – Madonna

“I don’t expect my love affairs to last for long. Never fool myself that my dreams will come true. Being used to trouble I anticipate it. But all the same I hate it, wouldn’t you? … Call in three months time and I’ll be fine, I know. Well maybe not that fine, but I’ll surive anyhow. I won’t recall the names and places of each sad occasion. But that’s no consolation here and now.”

Sigh. There was a time in my life when I couldn’t seem to make a relationship last for more than a month. But dammit I kept trying. (I am not a slut, I am a serial monogamist. Or, well I used to be. Now I’m just celibate. YES by my own choice thank you very much.) Moving on…

4. I Dreamed a Dream – Patti LuPone

“And still I dream he’ll come to me. That we will live the years together. But there are dreams that cannot be. And there are storms we cannot weather. I had a dream my life would be; So different from this hell I’m living; So different now from what it seemed. Now life has killed the dream I dreamed.”

I have listened to this song so many times I rewrote the lyrics from memory. It is pretty much the tops when it comes to expressing that world-ending despair you feel after a nasty breakup. In fact the only reason it isn’t in the number one slot is because it is just so depressing and hopeless. Still there’s something strangely cathartic about it.

3. Send in the Clowns – Dame Judy Dench (or Barbara Streisand if you can’t find Dame Judy’s version)

“Don’t you love farce? My fault I fear. I thought that you’d want what I want. Sorry, my dear. But where are the clowns? There ought to be clowns. Quick send in the clowns.”

Ever broken up with someone and then realized you made a horrible mistake? So you go back prepared to grovel, beg, do whatever it takes to win them back…and then you find out they’ve already moved on and you’re too late. Possibly the only thing worse than a broken heart is the knowledge you brought it on yourself. This one won’t make you feel any better but at least you’ll have Desiree to commiserate with.

2. There’s a Fine, Fine Line – Stephanie D’Abruzzo

“There’s a fine, fine line between a fairy tale and a lie; And there’s a fine, fine line between “You’re wonderful” and “Goodbye.” I guess if someone doesn’t love you back it isn’t such a crime, But there’s a fine, fine line between love; And a waste of your time.”

This is probably the wisest thing ever written on the subject of love. The shitty thing is you usually don’t realize which side of that line you’re on until it’s too late. Interesting side note, this song was recommended to me by an ex to help me get over a more recent ex. It later helped me get over ex #1 after the Shadowboxer incident. You’d think I’d learn.

1. You Oughta Know – Alanis Morissette

“I want you to know that I’m happy for you. I wish nothing but the best for you both…And I’m here to remind you; Of the mess you left when you went away. It’s not fair to deny me; Of the cross I bear that you gave to me. You, you, you oughta know. You seem very well, things look peaceful. I’m not quite as well, I thought you should know. Did you forget about me Mr. Duplicity? I hate to bug you in the middle of dinner. It was a slap in the face how quickly I was replaced. And are you thinking of me when you fuck her (him)? ‘Cause the love that you gave that we made; Wasn’t able to make it enough for you be open wide, no. And every time you speak her (his) name; Does she(he) know how you told me you’d hold me; Until you died, ‘til you died? But you’re still alive…’Cause the joke that you made in the bed that was me; And I’m not gonna fade; As soon as you close your eyes, and you know it. And every time I scratch my nails down someone else’s back; I hope you feel it. Can you feel it?”

This song really deserves to be reprinted in its entirety but there are enough blogs out there with it already. Feel free to Google. This is the ultimate breakup song. Because it takes all that grief and self loathing and turns it into rage. Remember when I told you anger was useful for mending a broken heart? Rage is so much better. It is very difficult to remain in love with someone when you feel a burning hatred for them in your heart. Is it ultimately self-destructive? Maybe. Does it make you feel better? Absolutely. And that’s good enough to put it at the top of my list. (Note this treatment is best administered at high volume with a shot or two of whiskey. Gaytopia and its subsidiaries may not be held responsible for what may happen after.)

Ok that’s it. Hope those of you out there nursing broken hearts find this helpful. Coming up next time: Top Ten Breakup Movies. Or maybe something about revenge sex, depending on my mood.

I dreamed a dream

No, this is not going to be some sort of morose, overly dramatic Les Mis fueled rant, so relax. I won’t be invoking Fantine. No this is about a dream I had last night. I dreamed that I woke up from a dream, and that my life for the past nine years had been that dream. I found myself in bed in my old college apartment. Sleeping next to me was my first boyfriend, who remains, for the record, the only man who has ever bought me flowers. If any of you jilted ex lovers are out there reading this and are wondering why it didn’t work out perhaps you should have made with the roses. But I digress…

So anyway I woke up my boyfriend (in the dream of course…I don’t like to think about how long it’s been since I had a real boyfriend to wake up in the middle of the night) to explain my dream and I was trying to tell him about everything that happened (or was going to happen) to me. And then it occurred to me that armed with knowledge of things to come I could totally reshape my life. Hell, I could make the world a better place for all mankind. Although that sounds like a lot of work. Anyway, here are 10 things I would do if I was magically transported back to 2001.

1. Buy stock in Apple. In July of 2001 Apple’s stock was worth about $12 a share. In July 2010 it is worth about $250 a share. You do the math.
2. Write a series of crappy books about vampires and werewolves. Turn it into a movie franchise. Apparently it sells.
3. Head to Vegas and place the following bet: Al Gore will win a Nobel prize within the next 10 years and will get divorced before Bill Clinton.
4. Using newfound wealth and influence, prevent George Lucas from writing and directing Star Wars Episode III. I realize Episode II came out in 2002, but I don’t think I’d have time to fix that abomination. Episode I is a lost cause. Also force Bryan Singer to direct X-Men III instead of making Superman Returns. The world would have been a better place.
5. Avoid breaking up with boyfriend. Because apparently NO ONE else is EVER going to buy me flowers. If that doesn’t pan out date Justin Timberlake. Prevent him from growing that stupid goatee. (As long as I’m rewriting history I see no reason I can’t make him gay.) I’m sure Justin would buy me flowers.
6. Avoid graduating from college. Pick up a few more degrees, maybe switch majors a couple of times. More on that here.
7. Assuming the dream occurred before September 11, 2001, call the New York Times and inform them anonymously that terrorists are planning on hijacking planes and flying them into things. Why the anonymous call to the Times? Less awkward questions about my knowledge of terrorist plots.
8. Make friends with a little-known Illinois politician named Barak Obama. Got a feeling that kid is going places.
9. Hire a nutritionist and a personal trainer and keep a cosmetic surgeon on retainer. This time around I am going to do the Cher thing and not age. On a related note, buy stock in Botox.
10. Start a blog before it gets all trendy. Then maybe people will actually read it.