How do I look?

It's New Year's Eve in the desert! How's this for the festivities?




- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

It's A Brand New Day

I'll let my auto signature explain it all.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Cahuenga Blvd W,Los Angeles,United States

Shattered screens

This picture, captured today upon the clumsy slip of my hand while walking the dogs and giving out my number to the first hot guy to ask for it in a very long time, was really quite symbolic of the last two months.

In early October, I got some really sad family news that really threw me for a loop. I worked on two pilots at once and had a great time, but was barely home, and my dogs didn't like that and decided to eat a few expensive things in protest. They are like Tea Party leaders: retarded and destructive. Then I had a urinary tract infection and thought it was Scurvy or worse, because that's how my mind works. A woman at work put her finger in my face and shook it at me. That was fun. NOT. And last week while at the Grove, a very unflattering picture was taken of me that was on a gossip web site and I almost had to move to Mars. Oh, and Perez Hilton called my female friend a cunt when we were at Tigerheat.

I'm whining, let's make no mistake about it. And for the most part, my problems are VERY White Girl, very LA, very gay, very not Haiti. And at the risk of being about 10 days late for a Thanksgiving post, I want to take a second to say thank-you because even with all of the shattered iPhones, I am still the luckiest person alive.

When my family issue occured, I was super-duper thankful, because I had the tools to deal with the issue, I had a boss who let me leave work to go right to therapy, and it also brought me closer to a family member who I love desperately and never really got a chance to know.

During the pilot building process I got to see exactly what it is I want to do in the TV business, and I even contributed to a few things that made it into the final cut which totally rules. I also got to join a new credit union in the process since it was on a studio lot I'd never worked on before.

The doggy destruction derby reminded me to walk them longer which was my only form of exercise for six weeks. Also, they slept in the bed with me when I got home at like 2AM from work and kept me warm.

The UTI was a huge blessing in a weird way because it forced me to get a check up from my cool new Doctor, and also--it was covered under my new sweetass medical insurance plan which I didn't know I had until the bill came! I havent had real insurance in two years. So Sexy. And my pee stopped hurting in like 6 hours. I also got a helpful tip about how to avoid them that has NOTHING to do with not being slutty. And it works (pee after you, uh, ya know)! (I had no idea. Usually I just go to sleep).

The screamer reminded me that it's nothing personal. Whenever people yell at you, you're usually interchangeable with anyone else who could have been there that day.

But do you want to know what I am MOST thankful for besides the lessons I learned? That throughout my dramatic days over the last two months, I never felt alone for a single second. And this is the value of having lifelong friends. You give and you take, but you always stay in touch. In our darkest hours it is the loving and gentle "It's ok" from a high school friend, a college roommate, a downtown diva, an NBC page tourmate, or the boss who hired you back 10 years after you walked away from it all to go lose 100 pounds that make you feel not so alone.

We can never lose touch with the people who knew us before we had pubes or debt. They love us at our worst, because they know us at our best and believe it's possible to become even greater. They're the only people who ask about our moms and dads and really care, because they've met them. They are the ones who want to know who we're dating, because they want to make sure we're happy and getting boned to high heaven, since they remember how cranky we were when we were fat and celibate. If you owe a call, do it now. Do it for no reason. You never know when having them back in your life will bring you back to peace.

So on this iPhone Memorial day, having packed up 60 days of Life's inconvienent anguish into 16 gigabytes of broken glass, I feel warmer because I can call my loved ones and bitch...on my brand new Purple-cased iPhone 4.

I like being the first one

After Macy's, I like to be the first one with my Christmas Tree(s) up. I forgot that I bought a bonch of $2.99 CB2 ornaments last year after Christmas. This one is my favorite ornament. And this is my favorite Christmas so far, for sure. It's the first one where I've done what I want. That's what Christmas is all about: you know, valet parking in Palm Springs.

Sweet. Chin. Music.

This is when you know you've made it.

New Car

So what do we think? I've been looking for about two months, and I think I've settled on a winner.

This is the Nissan Rogue. She's a 2011 with front Wheel Drive and all the Sirius, GPS, JBL, blue light bells and whistles you can imagine. I've been a Nissan fella for about 11 years and I just feel comfortable in their Japanese metals. Call me anti-American if you must, but I'll make up for it by getting an SUV. Well, it's a mini-SUV. Sedans scare me. And I'm a bitch. I don't want to be at the same level as the rest of you--and neither do my dogs. What do you think? Probably will buy sometime between Thanksgiving and New Years.

Yee Haw!

Welcome to Reba SPIN! Cycling class inspired by the ultimate lady, REBA McENTIRE as we celebrate her new album release!

Class
"Turn On The Radio" Reba
The newest single from Reba's new CD released tomorrow!
"Behind These Hazel Eyes" Kelly Clarkson
Reba's touring partner from 2008.
"If I Were a Boy" Beyonce
A cover of this song appears on Reba's new album, available tomorrow!
"Rock Your Body" Justin Timberlake
Reba recorded "The Only Promise That Remains" with JT in 2007.
"It's Not Over" Daughtry
Reba recently posted a picture of her with that sexy piece, Chris Daughtry on her Twitter.
"If U Seek Amy" Britney Spears
Britney sang Reba's songs as a child and cites her as an influence.
"Chain of Fools" Aretha Franklin
The first time Reba saw one of her music videos on TV, it was on HBO and it was after one of Aretha's videos aired.
"Don't Let Me Get Me" P!nk
Reba has been a fan of P!nk's, and praised her recent acrobatic tour.
"The Heart of Rock and Roll" Huey Lewis and the News
Huey Lewis starred as Reba's husband in the video for "Is There Life Out There".
"Whip My Hair" Willow
Reba has always been famous for her bold, red hair.
"Is There Lfe Out There" Reba (live)
It's my favorite of all time.

Cooldown:
"The Weekend" Steve Wariner

Reba Spin

See you at 5:30PM Monday, for Reba Spin. It's the artists and songs that have inspired and been influenced by Reba McEntire for 45 minutes of sweaty cycling. And hear some new songs from her album, released Tuesday Nov 9--like this one

Election Spin!

One of my favorite moments as an American is visiting the polls on election day in 2008. So many gay people were there to vote, in long lines to oppose prop 8 and to support Barack Obama. It was an amazing moment of brotherhood among progressive people. I'll never forget it, or the IHOPing afterward. To honor election day, spin class tonight is election themed. It's music about the issues, or voting, or choosing, about the future or the past--and we finish with a song from the world's most successful election winner ever. Thanks for visiting and for bringing friends!

"Burn Into The Ground" Nickelback
"Big Yellow Taxi" Counting Crows featuring Michelle Branch
"Hung Up" Madonna
"Fight For Your Right (To Party) Beastie Boys
"Check On It" Beyonce ft. Slim Thug
"War" Edwin Starr
"We're Not Gonna Take It" Twisted Sister
"Where Is The Love" The Black Eyed Peas
"We Didn't Start the Fire" Billy Joel
"Hot Tottie" Usher featuring Jay Z
"Don't Stop" Fleetwood Mac
"Since You've Been Gone" Kelly Clarkson

(I voted so that I'd get a sticker to cover a zit. Now people won't stare.)

Look for me

The Iron Sheik, former WWE Champion, and the man whom Hulk Hogan won his first title from has taken over my body for one night only. You've heard Iron Sheik on Howard Stern's show, but have you ever seen him on Santa Monica Boulevard?

HALLOWEEN!

Howard Stern Show/WWE Fans BEWARE: The IRON SHEIK has invaded Sean Hetherington's body...with Spirit gum and anti-american sentiments...photos to come!

Not Into Me

It was a sad, sad, sad day in September of this year.

I met a guy at a gaybar, the same one where my only long-term relationship also had begun. We made eyes at each other from across the room, you know the drill. He was good-looking and shy. He was with some friends. He was exactly my type. Dark skin, kind of hairy...seemingly nerdy. I had seen him on all the online dating sites, too and kind of admired him from afar. He had a weird name that I didn't hear correctly. I was popular that night. Boys were sitting on my lap and shit. The club could not handle me right now, as they say.

As he walked by to go the bathroom I tapped him on the shoulder. He looked horrified but agreed to talk to me. We exchanged pleasantries, well, I did at least. He was shy--which I loved. I'm sick of dating talkers. We discovered we both have similar jobs and were about the same age. I instantly kind of fell in love, in that gay infatuation way.

The texting commenced.

We went on a date. I got us a fancy reservation at a bitchy place downtown. We had fun. For the first time in many years I WAS NERVOUS. I never get nervous. We had drinks afterward. We had sex, too. I know I should have waited but he was so hot. I couldn't hold out. I'd waited since we met a week before! That's kind of old fashioned right?

I must have gotten un-nervous, cause I left a mark on his neck. And the next day I woke up and felt sore throaty. I went to the doctor and had strep. I told my new boyfriend this. I gave it to him, and a hicky. Now I'm like, White Trash City. Kiss of the Spiderwoman.

Still, I waited for his text, his call, asking me out again...and it tapered off.

And then it hit me, for the first time in...possibly my life--or at least since I'd been fat and wanted straight guys: a guy I was into was not into me back. It may have been the strep or the teethmarks or the fact that I mispronounced his very sexy name. Maybe it was my body or my voice or the conversation, but whatever it was--HE. WAS. NOT. INTO. ME.

RED ALERT.

I panicked. I told a friend how crazy this feeling was, to be not 300 pounds and have a guy who enjoys buttsex not want to continue to do it with me. She said that maybe he was busy with work or was already dating someone. I breathed and allowed this to be the case, until my other friend pointed out that those are excuses WHEN SOMEONE IS NOT INTO YOU.

I'll diet. I'll stop talking about anything heavy like religion or politics. I'll not use my teeth on throats. I'll cancel a date if I feel a headache. I'll not dominate the conversation. I'll try to top for once. I'll play metal. No more Reba. I'll get a better car. I'll stop wearing purple. I'll Twitter more, Facebook less. These were my thoughts for a couple of weeks. It handicapped me. I stalked. I squinted. I was Amy Fisher.

My charm and my eyes had always been enough to get anything Iever wanted in the penis department, and I wanted the guy with the weird name and the sensible SUV.

But then I talked about it in therapy (I should quit admitting I go to therapy on the first date) and the boss said the words I needed to hear:

"You're worried because someone wasn't into you, but do you know what's really happening?"

"Yes, I'm losing my mind."

"No," he smiled. "For the first time in more than a year, you're into someone else. You're finally healing from a broken heart."

And he was right. This is the first day my heart was able to feel again, I had realized sitting there. Sitting across the table from someone who held my attention and made me laugh, who's opinions I found interesting and who was also extremely good looking was finally recognizable. I wasn't making excuses for no second date. I was not Day Dreaming about Wrestlemania 27(I'll find a more masculine sport to watch). I was ready to trust and to gamble on dating and relationships. And the truth is, I don't want the first guy I feel something for to be my next life-long partner. He'd run screaming after the third date I'm sure, because I'm still learning how to juggle it all. But it's good to know I was actually trying again to find someone special to spend an occasional Friday night with.

And then that sad day in September wasn't so sad. Pitiful maybe, but not sad.

Christmas My Way

I remember how grumpy I was the first time I spent Christmas away from my family. It was the best Christmas I ever had, and the worst one I'd ever known, all at the same time. I felt homeless, like a sinner. I felt like a Rent Boy roaming the streets. I was poor and getting fat. I was in love but unable to see and feel it, numb to the affection waiting for when the hurt would come as it had so many times before. I was being licked and peed on by my new dogs. I tried, really tried to let the Bette Midler Christmas album cheer me up, but nothing did.

What a waste of independence that 2008 Holiday season was. It's one of my deepest regrets, that the fake trees and Chinese food and new family I'd built wasn't enough to make me smile.

I'm not going home this year, and though it's bittersweet, it's not painful. I don't feel deprived of a family--which is funny because I'm single. I feel engulfed in love, like the ocean did in oil a few months ago. I'm going to go back to Palm Springs, my favorite place in the world. I'm bringing my not-so-new dogs with me. I'm going to buy us presents and wrap and then open them. I'm going to read and chill and have Chinese food like I did before. I'll probably lay in the hammock for a few hours and contemplate a bowel movement.

I'm a grown-ass man, and it's time to start defining the holidays for myself--not for the crazy that doesn't have a clue. It's such a sigh of relief. It's such an excitement in my stomach to see what the holidays have in store for me and my doggies. I wonder what the desert air smells like in December? Can you put ornaments on a cactus? Will I finally learn to play Blackjack at Agua Caliente?

For too long all of us have spent 11 months dreading what should be the happiest time of year, because it reminds us of the hardest time of our lives, our childhood. I don't accept that. I like being an adult. I want to be a 32 year old who smells like misteltoe, not fear and hoarding. Why can't we actually be the joy of the season that Macy's tries to manufacture?

10 DAYS! All The Women I Am

Pre-order Now!

The heckler

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

32

Broadway Birthday Spin PLAYLIST

Warm Up
"A Lil Ole Pissant Country Place" Best Little Whorehouse in Texas 1982
"Time Warp" Rocky Horror Picture Show 1977
"Good Morning Baltimore" (Film Version) Hairspray 2007

Class
"Prologue (You Are What You Feel)" Joseph and The Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat 1982
"One Night Only" (Beyonce disco version) DreamGirls 2006
"Magic To Do" Pippin 1972
"River Deep, Mountain High" Glee Cast 10/12/10
"You Can't Get a Man With a Gun" (Reba McEntire revival) 2000
"Ease On Down the Road" (Diana Ross/Michael Jackson version) 1978
"Don't Cry For Me Argentina" (Madonna version) 1996
"Seasons of Love" (film version) 2005
"Some Fun Now" (film version) 1986
"As Long As You're Mine" Wicked 2003
"Lady Marmalade" Moulin Rouge 2001
"Finale (Any Dream Will Do)" Joseph and The Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat 1999
"You're the One That I Want" Grease 1978

Cool Down
"Magic" Xanadu 2007

Broadway Birthday Spin!

What do John Travolta, Reba, Donny Osmond, Beyonce, Idina Menzel, Madonna, Christina Aguliera, and the cast of Glee all have in common? Their musical performances will all be featured in Monday's Broadway Birthday Party Spin...for me! Please bring a friend instead of a gift, this Monday at 5:30 PM!

Train West Hollywood!
624 North La Cienaga Blvd (La Cienaga & Melrose),
West Hollywood, CA 90069

A manageable crisis

Life doesn't always work out the way we want it to. And sometimes, the lives of those who are important to us find themselves in big, big pickles and it can make you hurt as bad as it hurts them.

This happened this week, and it broke my heart. All of a sudden, the foundation of what I had grown up knowing to be true was no longer, and it jabbed a concrete nail into my heart. It was sad. I wanted to fix it for the people involved. I wanted to make it never have happened. But more than anything, I just wanted to stay out of it.

If this had happened when I was a kid, or even a few years ago, I would have inserted myself any way I could have. Demanding reconciliation, insisting on better communication. I might have even taken sides. I wouldn't have been able to walk for a week. I'd have eaten too much or nothing at all. I would have taken it all on me, defined my value by how much my contribution could fix the situation--and this week, I started to do that until I remembered that so much is out of my control.

That made me sadder.

But in sadness and the feelings was relief that I can't control anyone or anything. That even my own life is controlled by a certain deck of cards. I can protect Ralph and Cricket and my savings account but not the ebbs and flows of my future history. In my thirties, I can only control my reactions to news, not the news itself.

And this allowed me peace. And sometimes, peace makes me feel guilty.

But in guilt, I assessed my character. I've been there whenever I can. I've told the truth. I've loved as hard as I can. And good news or bad news, the minute before the news is delivered, I had always been trying my best to live right. "When you know better, you do better," I had thought in my guilt. And the guilt over my ability to not panic, not rescue, not resign to anothers unhappiness, not freak the fuck out--slowly washed away, down my flat shower drain with a few of my pubes.

It comes back every couple hours, and I just do this again, and watch Hoarders and do some crafting, and it's getting better.

Twitter/Facebook DJ Slurs

http://tinyurl.com/29j28kl

I'm quoted in this article, fourth paragraph from bottom.

It Gets Better Sean Hetherington

My It Gets Better project video. After losing 100 pounds and coming out, I promise you--It Gets Better. Don't kill yourself for being gay in high school. It SOOOO gets better. http://tinyurl.com/25c2xyb

www.trevorproject.org

Free hydration!

Free Bottled Water to any of my students who mention this posting tonight at TRAIN! Spin Class is at 5:30PM and 6:30PM!

http://www.facebook.com/home.php?#!/pages/Train-West-Hollywood/109636452406291?ref=mf

Moviezzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

This is how lazy I am. I can't stay awake during movies. An activity that requires nothing more than to sit and watch a lite-up rectangle that talks, is something that I can't remain concious for. Movie Theaters are the worst, because unless the movie is about a superhero or uses the word CUNT as a punchline, I will focus on a single piece of sky in the background and pass out which is embarrassing and is also a health hazard, because I will drool and possibly die of choking if I'm holding the popcorn.

It's worse if I'm at home on the couch. Wanna know if I'm really into you? I will be dead asleep in your lap before you see the phrase "An M. Night Shymalanananananananan film." There is something about a movie, a mans thighs, and air conditioning that makes my lucidity evaporate.

There are amazing movies I've seen and not fallen asleep in. I loved Up! and The Dark Knight and other movies the masses enjoyed...but those are dating me now. Hmm, recently I enjoyed Precious last year until I thought about it after and hated it. I liked Up In The Air and this weird movie called The Private Lives of Pippa Lee. And at the Outfest I watched a movie called Spork that I loved and a documentary called Bear Nation that was pretty sweet. I have all of these Arclight giftcards because I pre-buy them just in case something great comes out, and then I never go. Panicked that I'll give two hours away to the newest movie about a Chihuhua that looks "real funny in the preview!"

I just love TV. Thats the problem. I love the "out" with TV. I know it's 22 minutes or 44 minutes or 52 minutes. I love it. I salivate all week for new Dexter. It's my identity.

But in my effort to be honest even about my uncoolness, I want to divulge that the last major picture I saw was Leonardo DiCaprio's Shutter Island, which I kinda fell asleep in three times and then didn't understand the end but kinda did.

And in my effort to be cooler, I want to put it out there that I'm going to start training for film, watching like people do marathons, watching 10 minutes at a time and adding 3 minutes a week, bringing goo to my couch and a utility belt. I'll watch in the morning during Coffee and really try to fucking stay focused. I feel I have nothing to talk about with anyone in LA anymore and no cool date ideas because I haven't been able to remain awake in seat A32 since probably 2007.

I decided to make a list of movies I've always wanted to see but never have, and maybe I'll set a goal of watching 2 or 3 of them this year? Or maybe I'll just nap. Stay tuned.

The Shawshank Redemption
The Usual Suspects
Cabaret
Easy A
Waiting to Exhale
Oceans 11
Freddy vs. Jason
Paranormal Activity
(500) Days of Summer
Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps
Revenge of the Sith
Blade Runner
Pirates of The Carribean

Phoenix Statue

I used to sit here against this brick and eat lunch and read.


-Belmont University, Nashville, TN 1997.

A visual

Scroll to 2:51 to see what I felt like Saturday morning with the Strep.

Theeeeen-errrrrrr

I discovered on Saturday morning a very disgusting scene inside my body. The back of my throat, which had been painfully clattering about since 4AM, like two kids banging on a tile bathroom floor, was covered in bruises. My tonsils were raised to full attention, like the nipples of bears. And when I looked at my mouth in the mirror, the back of my mouth was an icy white. I remembered the time I had eaten a box of powdered donuts, denied it, then was forced to open my mouth to prove it. Denied.

I went to the doctor and was immediately diagnosed with Disgusting. I mean Strep Throat. I haven't had Strep Throat in a very long time, and so I only know it recently as the thing everyone is afraid of. I got a steroid shot and a prescription for anti-biotics and started feeling better within three hours. The doctor told me I might see some slight weight gain from the medication, which is a usual cause for panic in my disco, but I brushed it off, grateful that I'd be able to take a nap at some point.

I almost never go to the doctor, partly because it's expensive, but partly because I feel like the answer is always, "Yes, you look sick. Would you like a candy cane?" after a four hour wait in an office with people who actually need to be there. But as part of my Race to Adulthood, I'm trying to make things easier on myself. If I hurt, I'll ask a specialist so I stop hurting and can get back to having fun reading about disease prevention on Wikipedia.

Also, I hate pills. Especially steroids that make you retain water around your cheeks and your waist.

These pills I have been on this week made me gain 6 pounds. 6. Fucking. Pounds. I looked like a chipmunk.

And this morning, 24 hours after I stopped the pills, I peed for 72 seconds. Then, an hour later I peed again, for over 60 seconds. I looked at my face, and I went from Mahalia Jackson to La Toya Jackson between 6:30 and 8:30 AM. I feel like the guy in that movie Thinner because every time I walk by a mirror, my face is a little more scrubbed out. There are wrinkle lines rebuilding in my forehead that I was so happy to see go, even though by Monday my pants weren't even buckling. Hold on, I have to pee again.

Ok, I'm back. I love the idea of blaming weight gain or medically prescribed steroids. I think I'm going to start telling people that around Christmastime. "No, I'm not nervous about a week with the family...no, that's not why I'm eating at ALL. I'm on Prednisone, yes, JUST like Andrea Boceli, and it makes me puffy. What do you mean the powdered donuts are missing?"

Maroon 5 sings Al Green on Howard

I heard this on the way to work today and got giddy. I love Al Green. I love this song. And now I love Maroon 5.

Gaga

Wow. Do not go up against Lady Gaga. Don't even speak her name without a whisper. It's anti-woman, anti-gay, anti-New York, anti-Dairy, anti-freaks-as-art to say anything bad about our beloved Gaga.

So I posted this on my Facebook today and was immediately chastized:

Lady Gaga as spokesperson for DADT is as dumb and weird as Ellen was on Idol.

Now, here's the problem. Several years ago, I was a do-gooder. I was the first openly gay contender on American Gladiators, and then post-prop 8, I got this idea to change a really stupid boycott being planned by the gay establishment and turn it into a volunteer effort called Day Without a Gay. I didn't like the former gay idea. I thought it made us look bad and so I helped change it. My idea got press, and so a bunch of gays added my facebook thinking I was some sort of gay superhero. I am not said hero. I find the current state of gay rights leadership to be silly and disjointed, but I also recognize that the world is bigger than just the gay cause. I want my mom to have better Medicare. I want to own a home one day and be able to trust the paperwork I'm signing. I'd like to eat an Egg McMuffin one day before I croak and live to feel guilty about it.

But now these gays kinda hate me, momentarily.

But mostly, I'm funny and my point of view stems from pointing out the flaws of the masses. That no one has a problem with 24 year old, upper-middle classed, basically heterosexual, private music school educated "Lady Gaga" leading the campaign to overturn a ban on gays in the military is funny to me. I find it funny. A week ago, this not-so-far-from-tweendom princess was wearing Beef Carpaccio with a straight face while sitting on crushed velvet chairs, and now shes in Washington dressed like a hairdryer talking about an important issue facing "her community." Am I "negative" for thinking this is weird? Am I the only one who thinks she might just be slightly less effective than say...ANYONE ELSE ALIVE? I think Melissa Etheridges Labia would be a less distracting spokesperson for Don't Ask Don't Tell than this Gaga.

But wait, here's my dirty little secret: I think Gaga is kinda cool. I like her stuff, especially the Beyonce duets, obviously. Her videos are fun to watch in a way I havent had fun watching videos since Michael Jackson. But cmon, you fags, we need not "support our Gaga" in that way Republicans told us we were terrorists if we didnt agree with George Bush.

And for those who say we shouldn't criticize the gay establishment, I ask why? Why should we just trust that all of our best interests are being considered and implemented with the best ideas?

I look at previews for the new big Gay TV Show, The A-List, and I have problems. Who are these guys and how do they represent me? I'm smart and self-made, which they aren't. I don't have a perfect body and they do, so am I missing out on what I'm "supposed to be having?" Should I not criticize it because I need to support the cause of more gays on TV?

If we keep treating this movement as, "Well look at what the gay monkeys are doing, isn't that sweet?" We will lose. But we won't just lose on gaining rights. We will lose on finding our own identity, because we will be settling for whatever crap gets thrown at the wall. I feel like I'm on that show where the sister is retarded but if I make a joke I'm bad. "Johnny, quit making fun of your retarded sister. It's the only time she's ever going to be in a play (Defending us against the evil military rules)!" And that scares me.

Ask and Tell

How are we ever going to grow up and be men if you don't let us get married and go off to war?

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/09/22/us/politics/22cong.html

It's the weirdest issue. It's the least "bad for the children" issue I can think of involving gays. I'd be less surprised by Republican opposition to gays serving hot lunches at montessori's than serving in the military.

And by the way, is a little sexual release all that terrible if you're stuck away from the Missus in fucking Pakistan? Have you seen Pakistan on Dateline? It's hot, then it's cold. There's no grass. The women have no clits anymore. What's so terrible about a consenual blow job from the same guy who would lay across a land mine for you?

I think Anderson Cooper is getting a little too tired of blowing our troops while covering wars, anyway. His mouth looks dry and fatigued, and a Neil Patrick Harris USO tour seems unlikely, unless he can direct a star-studded, outdoor version of South Pacific.

This is silly. We need Propaganda posters.

DWTS

I've never watched this program Dancing With The Stars. It looks silly. It seems like the kind of show my grandparents would have really hated, but watched anyway, because they'd already seen the rerun of Mash on the opposing channel 100 times.

But I had to watch last night, because I root for Margaret Cho at everything she does. She is me in so many ways, having grown up fat in Northern California and funny and coming into her own even though at times it seems subversive. But this show Dancing With The Stars is awful. It makes Circus of the Stars look contemporary. What follows are my play-by-play Facebook updates from my first viewing of the show, and last night's 11th season (good God!) premiere. Thank Jesu for TiVo.

--

The acting in porn is more compelling and believable than the interviews and judging on dancing with the stars.

--

I guarantee you Kurt Warner beats his kids with a brass bible, and this is the worst dancing I've ever seen.

--

How horrified is Lacey Schwimmer by her fat nobody dance partner? This is brilliant.

--

I would do Rick Fox...

--

I think I saw the band on dancing with the stars play at the embassy suites in south lake tahoe back in 1982, when they were just getting good.

--

Someone needs to dab the sweat off rick fox before people confuse him with Whitney Houston.

--

I love Margaret Cho.

--

How is it fair that Brandy can be on this show? She's a pop star who dances for a living (or did for 10 minutes in 1998 at least).

--

I hope this French guy judge on Dancing With The Stars dies during auto erotic choking.

--

Bristol, honey, there is no way you could embarrass your mom as much as she has my country.

--

Is anyone going to explain to me why Jamie Lee Curtis is sitting in the front row at dancing with the stars? And can she please cross her legs? I don't want to know if the rumors are true.

--

I haven't seen Florence Henderson look so uncomfortable dancing with a gay guy since she was married to Mike Brady.

--

How many times during those twirls do you think Florence Henderson pottied herself?

(My friend Josh replied, "Depends." Haha.)

--

When Michael Bolton washes the make-up off his face he shall be Susan Boyle.

--

My dog cricket, who is a chihuhua, has a bigger penis than The Situation.

(My friend Andrea noted, "does cricket have the herpes too?")

--

How long before Jennifer gray makes a "Patrick swayze, I miss you" reference...oh there it is. (By the way, they hated each other during the making of the film. i saw it on an old episode of Donahue)

--

I'd say hasselhoff has a boner but I think he's too drunk.

--

Text VOTE to 3405 for Margaret. She's the real deal. Goodnight, Nerds!

2 Hours of GLEE!

Tomorrow's 5:30 and 6:30 spin classes at Train are GLEE themed! Come listen to your favorite songs from the hit show, Glee--then tune in to FOX on Tuesday at 8PM for "Audition" the first episode from Glee's season 2!

Ring Finger

I used to spend hours upon hours in horror. Worried. In constant terror about things that never happen. I think one of the downsides to being funny is that it's all a defense mechanism to being built of pure irrational fear.

I blame the majority of this on the time, when in seventh grade, I put on my late grandfathers wedding ring. My mom gave it to me and told me not to wear it until she'd had it re-sized. I put it on about three minutes later while eating a Hostess cupcake. I put it on my middle finger instead of my ring finger, and thought nothing of it other than that it looked classy. I looked like a man. All I needed was some Tuscany cologne and a double breasted suit, and I could start making decisions about my own bedtime. When I realized my hands were covered in that leftover cupcake felt, I decided to wash my hands. I turned on the warm water and put liquid soap in my hands. Then I realized the ring was on and I didn't know if soap would harm jewelry, mostly because I was an idiot and didnt realize that gold (when real) is pretty indestructable.

I started to pull the ring off, and it didn't move. In fact, my finger had kind of started to throb. My mom came home and I ran upstairs in to the bathroom. "What's wrong?" She asked. Finally I opened the door and showed her a hand covered in scrapes, chocolate and blood. I started to cry a little. Mom said, "What did I tell you? Now we have to go to the Emergency Room."

Fearing the worst, I asked, "What are they going to do?"

"They're going to have to cut it off." she said, matter-of-factly.

I saw my life flash forward in front of me. They're going to cut off my finger because I didn't follow the rules. And this bitch, who had created my finger and harvested it over nine months and 19 hours of labor was speaking as though she was throwing out old bananas.

The next two hours were excruciating. We sat in the waiting room while I replayed all the wonderful moments my middle finger and I had had. The times in the shower when I secretly flipped off no one, just to show how bad I could be, the many egg sandwiches my grandmother had made me that I'd used this finger on to clutch the bread tightly. The only consolation was that I'd finally never have to play a sport again, and since I'd probably not be able to build a fire from sticks, I could probably quit the Cub Scouts at the respectable but still forgiveable Webelos level.

As we walked into the room where I would be amputated, I shook and finally screamed, like Carrie hoping to kinetically light the hospital on fire while pigs blood poured on my hand and lubed it off. My mom pushed me into the room and drew the curtain and asked the nurse for a minute. "WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!"

"They're going to cut off my finger!"

"Are you retarded?" Mom asked. "They're going to cut off the ring."

Cut ahead to just under 25 years later, a year ago this month. My life had come crashing down personally. Professionally, I was a personal trainer living on nothing in the worst economy of the last 20 years. I had become my greatest fear: Broke, un-loved (maybe forever un-loveable), and without any means to move forward at 30 years old, what was supposed to be my prime. And I had never been more scared. For the first time, I was not funny. I was not able to eat. I was embarrassed and afraid to ask for help, but I was sitting on the floor cleaning up dog puke when I remembered the ring finger. Nothing is as bad as it seems. Nothing is ever as bad as it seems. The scariest part of the roller coaster is not the ride. It's the line to get into the cart.

I had been in this line for over twenty years.

I called my Mom and Dad who I hadn't spoken to in two years, afraid they wouldn't talk to me but they did. I told my friends I needed a job and help with the dogs and a shoulder to cry on. And in a flash, I moved to the front of the line. Within 48 hours of the hardest jab to my stomach ever, I had a new job back in the real world--the kind of job I had been afraid to ask for. I had reconnected with friends I hadn't spoken to since college, and I started to become an adult.

I have learned in the last year, thanks to a very special person who guided me along, that life is all about becoming better at being an adult, and I have learned that the best way to become an adult is to be fearless. It is to live without shame, without second-guessing choices made, that if you just take the ring to the God Damn jeweler to be re-sized like your momma told you in the first place, you won't have to go to the ER. And for the next year and beyond my goal is to remain fearless, guileless, and forgiving of myself and others so that I can enjoy a life out of the hospital.

Somebody/Fate

What I miss most about the second half of my weight loss is how exciting it was to be out alone, finally making eye contact with people. Everyday, in my mind, I wrote stories about the guy on the treadmill, or the guy at the Aveda store, or my waiter at that diner downtown, about how they were looking for that special someone, just like me.



This song came out that same year, and it seriously fucked me up. I thought that was how you met someone, by just stumbling upon them randomly, eyes and ring fingers locking eternally. I was newly 171 pounds when I visited the duck pond at McKinley park that December. I was 25, and it was 2003. I saw a really good-looking guy, handsome smile, maybe 10 pounds overweight there with his two neices. We smiled at each other nervously. He said hi. I was too nervous to say anything back, so I nodded and kinda bowed, too. It was weird. He looked back again as he was leaving and gave me a giddy smile.

And for the first time, I felt like a summer-camper--a teenager, who sees someone else that's going to be nice, go to dinners with me, maybe go all the way with me--but patiently realizing I don't have a lot of experience. I thought that this would be the case with this man. I named him Casey, and I resolved that if it were meant to be, he'd be there the following Sunday at 2:45, too. It would be fate.

I met another guy like him, but latino, an hour later at Starbucks on Alhambra and the 80 freeway. I resolved again that if he'd be scheduled to be barista-ing the same time next Sunday, at 3:45--it would be fate, also. I named him Frank and his peppermint mochas were warm, and I know I got extra sprinkles not just because I asked.

My dental hygenist the following week was cute, and he was so gentle with my gums. He told me how hard it was to meet funny people, funny people like me. I offered him my friendster ID. I checked it every day for a month, but never ran into Khalid again.

My heart hardened slowly. I came out. I accepted the realities of what it means to be single in your twenties, but I remained optimistic, even when I moved to San Francisco, that if I grinded the right guy at the right time inside of Badlands (maybe I should just go midweek when its less crowded and can really connect?) I might find my Prince Charming.

And then it happened. The moment I will never forget.

In 2005 I was dating a guy who was awful. I mean, just terrible. Think Fidel Castro meets John Cusack. I met him at Mickeys on a Sunday. We were wasted. And again, this was a Sunday night. All he talked about was his film career and his pecs from the moment I met him through Easter Dinner, months later. It had been on and off for about 6 months. He had a boyfriend who knew about me, and they were back and forth. There were days he accused my sense of humor of being too niche for normal people, the kind of people who hung out at Hollywood parties, to understand--and I finally said, "You know what? I don't think we're right for each other." Hollywood parties do not house normal people. I go to a lot of them. Most of them are freaks from Idaho who left for LA because of a plea bargain.

When he said this we were at the Chipotle at the Beverly Center. I was living in Studio City at the time, in my friends mom's herbalife wherehouse (I'll wait to finish this story until you've composed yourself). He walked fast up to his car, I followed behind him and asked if we could talk about it. He said, "No. Fuck you. Get a ride home to your vitamin store from someone else." As he drove away, he rolled down his window and screamed," You're never going to find fucking Prince Charming, Sean Hetherington! He doesn't EXIST!"

---Side note, he and I recently reconnected and had sex, and I made him come to my house this time. I'm no idiot.

But between all the Romantic Comedies and Reba songs and stories from my straight friends who met in the most wholesome, old fashioned way and moved off to Somewhere That's Green, I finally started to let it go there on P3 of the Beverly Center. And it killed me a little. That my Mom and Dad met at a Black Angus, went to planned parenthood the next day, and married a year later--but I was left on the side of La Cienega with not so much as a bus schedule kind of splintered the grains of hope I had about the Blockbuster Video life I'd always hoped for.

But somedays, I find myself walking through CVS looking for earplugs, and I see someone else looking for a bag of them, too.

"I like the orange ones." he says.

"Me, too." I say. "Cause they have the little lips on the end so..."

"They don't fall out in the middle of the night, and get eaten by my dog." he says.

And then I know there's hope.

Big news for Late-Shifters and Labor Day Spinners

popSPIN adds a late shift! Starting on Sept 13, popSPIN, my indoor cycling class with all music you know adds a 6:30 class to the already loud, obnoxious 5:30 class. If you've never been before it's free! Hope you can make it.
NOTE TO LABOR DAY SPINNERS: I'm teaching at 11:15AM only this Monday and the theme is "Ghost of Labor Day Past" (#1 Hits of Labor Day Weekend, 1960-NOW)!

Waterski Camp

When I was a kid, maybe 11 or 12, my parents would send me to water-skiing camp during the summer. We lived in Folsom, but the CSUS Aquaitic Center was in Rancho Cordova about 10 minutes away. Once they dropped me off at the meeting place, they would load us all up and drive us back to Folsom to the lake. From the boat launch, we'd go dock at a camp about 10 minutes away, set up individual camps on the beach, and sit and wait our turn. Throughout the 6 hour day, each kid (aged 10-17) would get at least two 15 minute water-skiing lessons and when it was all over, we were required to swim out to the boats to make sure we weren't bringing dirt and sand into the boat. We stopped at an ice cream stand on the way back to the center called Big Dip, which was approximately 2 minutes from my house, then pulled up at the center all the way back in Rancho Cordova and waited for our parents to pick us up for the day.

I loved water-skiing, but I never understood why I had to do it at a camp. I didn't need to go every fucking day. I could have gone once a Sunday as we always did. My parents had a boat and my brother was really good. We all were, actually. Even me with my weight problem could scale buoys at 11 years old on a single ski. I had no interest in being a competitive skiier, as there were no musical numbers.

It was insanely expensive to go to this camp. And we had to bring our own lunch. My mom sent me with a medium ice chest daily, and imagine swimming that back to the boat and a waterproof backpack, so my grubby little paws didn't fuck up some drunk college ski instructors carelessly-placed ray-bans.

And everyone hated me. At first they just ignored me there. The boys all wanted to be like the counselors, who listened to Ozzy Osborne, which I had just seen on 60 Minutes as having been the musical choice of young Cocaine users. They all called each other "Brah" which I found dumb, and a few of them made fun of how my voice hadn't changed yet (It still hasn't).

The girls were busy doing their own thing, reading Teen Beat with The new Kids On The Block on the cover. I so wanted to join them, tell them that I thought Jordan was far superior to Joey, and far less religious publicly which made him more marketable on a long-term basis but I saw how the girls were to each other. The smart ones were dead meat, because they were also the more sensitive, and no girl loved more than to peck down another lady with faster-developing breasts than to call attention to how lame her conversations were.

But one day I said something funny to a camp counselor, who told everyone else at the camp how funny I was. My joke must have been too adult, because the other kids just stared as she made me repeat it. A few boys called me "Shawna." The girls were bored. I went back to my little spot on the island, tended to my ice chest.

1 Pack Ho-Ho's
1 Twinkie
1 Turkey sandwich on white bread
1 Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich
1 small bag Doritos Nacho Cheese
1 Small bag Fritos
1 Root Beer
1 Bottled Water
1 Apple

My friend was the food at water ski camp. After finishing my entire day of feasting on the Folsom Lake, staring at the water and hoping I'd finally think of the funny line that would be dumb enough to make a child laugh, and make friends with just one Brah or Brah-ette, I'd order a big dip ice cream cone. It had vanilla soft-serve ice cream on a standard cone, covered in hardened chocolate. I'd come home, and eat dinner.

I went out last night, and I was by myself at the Abbey. It's one of my all-time favorite gay bars. I love the design. I love the sweet martinis. I love the way the bartenders look you in the eye, the way the camp counselors never did. I was drinking my favorite beverage there, looking around the sea of other campers. I saw the teen-beaters in the form of adult men, practically in their bathing suits, and I got sad. I wanted my ice-chest, but I settled for app-ing on my iPhone and forcing myself to be out of the house.

It's no Fancy...

but the hoody is pretty fierce. Check out Reba's brand new video, "Turn On The Radio" from her newest album, All The Women I Am released Nov 9th.

Reba McEntire More CMT Music More CMT Music Videos

5 days!

popSPIN Week 6: Promise

Last week I paid off a credit card and a loan, and I was on top of the world. I had the magic in me, as the B.O.B. says.

I look back on my time of being poor and in debt with a deep, deep sadness. I can only compare it to having been fat. The numbness that surrounded me in these times of unhealthiness and later poverty were both rooted in how trapped I felt in those years.

Cashing in a promise to become more healthy in a specific time frame is similar to paying off debt: both to get my head above water, to invest in life and have options. And it wasn't just for me, it was for the people I owed. Obesity just like debt is embarrassing and limiting if you're not careful, and that's just not the life I want.

Keeping promises proves that you're a person of character, not just to the outside world but inside your bed at night when your only wish is for a peaceful mind that allows you to rest. This week, spin class is devoted to promises. Some are more vapid, sexual, or corny then others--but the promise still remains: be the person you say you are, and your life will be peaceful. I know this for sure, promise.

"Magic" B.O.B. featuring Rivers Cuomo
"Signed, Sealed, Delivered" Stevie Wonder
"Bills, Bills, Bills" Destiny's Child
"Space Cowboy" N'Sync
"Paid My Dues" Anastacia
"Song For the Lonely" Cher
"Ain't No Mountain High Enough" Diana Ross
"Fire Bomb" Rihanna
"Jump" Madonna
Shake Your Moneymaker" Ludacris
"Forever and Ever, Amen" Randy Travis
"Circus" Britney Spears

The Next three popSPIN classes are repeats of previous playlists but I'm still your teacher. We return new on September 13 with a class at 5:30 and 6:30. Then on September 20th, I'm moving into the 6:30 Monday time thanks to your requests.

Stephen McCauley

My interview with writer Stephen McCauley made the front page!

Tomorrow

Spin Class will be the best yet. PROMISE.

Why Target Boycotts are really stupid

4 Quick points about why this is a waste of gay energy:

A) If this is about the Citizens United ruling, protest at the Supreme Court, ask Obama and the Senate to act more quickly on confirming Obama's progressive judicial nominees (dozens are being held up by Republican senators right now and nobody seems to care), do your part to lobby senators in the future to choose more progressive Supreme Court justices (as a lawyer and member of the American Constitution Society, I can tell you this is sorely needed), or protest any number of corporations (there are hundreds) who have similarly contributed to PACs who don't actively support LGBT causes the way Target does.

B) What should we be doing instead of shopping at Target? I gotta buy toothpaste. Wal-Mart's corporate policies for LGBTs suck. Toothpaste at CVS costs more. Isn't this effort better directed at giving people who care about this an option of where to shop, not encouraging people to commit fraud and driving up prices for everyone (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Return_fraud)?

C) Aren't these efforts better directed at protesting stores like AutoZone, Radio Shack, and Wal-Mart, none of which provide the same-sex partner benefits and trans-friendly policies that Target does, not to mention Target's employment of thousands of openly LGBT people and long-standing support for Twin Cities Pride? This focus on Target, while good intentioned and a way to pressure Target into continuing its LGBT-friendly policies, doesn't say anything to the many Fortune 500 employers who do not offer LGBT-friendly policies except that there are no consequences for not offering these policies. If this is the way we treat corporations who give us things they don't have to, how should we treat the ones who don't give us these things? EndFragment

D) Would it kill you to do this outside of the gay bubble? Like a Target in Burbank or Jamaica?

popSPIN Week 5: Losin' it

Last week, a coworker came into my office and we started discussing the possibility of moving new furniture in to make the space more functional. Our casual conversation turned into two and a half hours of throwing away old files, tapes, and other unusable space-destroyers--many of which existed long before my time. It was such a relief to lose this stuff. I feel like I have a brand new office, and I didn't spend a dime.

Losing weight, losing guilt, losing inches, losing a cold--those are obviously good things to lose. But sometimes, it's in loss that we discover what potential we really have to break out and be great. Look at Wynonna Judd. "No One Else On Earth" would never have been without Naomi's Hepatitis.

My favorite thing to have lost is the checklist of what I'm supposed to be, because it allowed me to actually be who I already am. I wanted to see if that could be expressed in spin class this week, and I thank you for coming.

"Imma Be" Black Eyed Peas
"Nothin' To Lose" Reba McEntire
"Lose Yourself" Eminem
"Oh L'Mour" Erasure
"Lose Control" Missy Elliot
"Losing My Way" Justin Timberlake
"Lost Your Mind" Beyonce
"Footloose" Kenny Loggins
"Hit 'Em Up Style (Oops!)" Blu Cantrell
"Lost In Your Eyes" Debbie Gibson
"Lose My Breath" Destiny's Child

popSPIN Week 4: Hero

It's that time of year when superhero movies come out, but what are you doing to be your own Hero? I'm big on this concept. Surround yourself with heroes and become one for yourself. You'll always feel safe, and you'll always feel powerful.

"Holdin Out For a Hero" Bonnie Tyler
"Video" India.Arie
"Animals" Nickelback
"Take A Bow" Madonna
"Blaze of Glory" Bon Jovi
"Face Down" The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus
"Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic" The Police
"Pink Guitar" Reba
"Grown Woman" Kelly Rowland
"Times Like These" Foo Fighters
"Learn To Fly" Foo Fighters

Re-rooting

There can be a time where you become too gay.

Yes.

I said it.

Too gay.

Not too feminine.

Not too pro-gay rights.

Not too much of a stereotype.

Just too gay.

And I am that gay. I have lived in the same apartment for four years, which is a decent amount of time in the greater Los Angeles area. I work for a gay boss who has many gay friends and ideas. I have a weekly housekeeper. I saw seven movies at Outfest. I have two small dogs with soft-back harnesses and pet insurance. My 2010 resolution was to see one musical a month, minimum. Straight people have to come out to me as being attracted to the opposite sex, and sometimes they are nervous about it. I scream at people who ride their bikes on the sidewalk along Santa Monica Boulevard. I, ladies and ladies, am a mega-faggot. If I'd been an adult in the 80's, I'd have been in porn in acid washed, hip-hugging jeans with bleach blond tips.

I live in the hearth of the gay flame near Hamburger Mary's, city hall, and Gelsons. In my neighborhood you can buy designer lube at CVS at discount prices. People will walk to their cars drunk shouting, congratulating themselves because they have straight friends. They walk with their o-beasts (drunken, straight, fat hags) and drive home drunk to the Inland Empire or the Grove singing the same Paul Oakenfold remix of Allejandro that they heard at O-bar 20 minutes ago. It's annoying and it's tired.

My building no longer has Crystal Meth addicts but does have a fair number of angry, Russian taxi drivers and old queens who are angry at their irrelevance. The carpeted hallways reek of online hookups, and worst of all, children are moving in. gaybies live here. They're louder than the pool parties and I can't deal.

I never thought Johnny Carson or Jerry Seinfeld were particularly funny, but one thing that has always stuck with me, is that while no one remembers a single bit from their stand-up, a common compliment to both is "Well, they knew when to leave."

A wise soul said to me recently, when I threw out my thoughts on possibly leaving, "I there should be an ordinance. At 29 you should have to sign a letter of intent to move out of West Hollywood."

My time has come.

I respect what West Hollywood means to gay people. I recognize the significance it has for the Midwestern outcast who just has had it with being a minority and wants to feel included. My problem, is that I've always been an outcast--but not for being gay, for being a weirdo. And I've always been able to make that a strength without attaching it to a street name like Larrabee or Dicks Drive.

I think after the first of the year I'd like to re-root.

A point of view

Around 2006, I stopped liking to perform traditional stand up comedy. I had done it daily since 2003, and credit the hobby/side career as the biggest reason I lost weight so fast, but after leaving Northern California for LA, I realized something. I hate telling jokes. I find jokes predictable, and though the object of the game is to shatter assumptions, to me, there are very few ways to innovate new ways of scripting a funny line.

I also find most stand-ups to be exhausting. They typically think they're funnier than they are. They steal from each other, or they don't but get accused of it. They hate you if you get laughs, the loathe you if you bomb. They eat like pigs. They think it's safe to weep in front of you. And try being gay and being a comedian. Everyone sounds like Margaret or Kathy, and then you catch yourself doing it. Oy.

I started to go up less frequently, maybe once a week or so. Every once in a while I got paid for it. That was fun. But I wanted to create new ways to perform. I produced nights of personal essays. I hosted shows in record stores, clothing stores, and restaurants. I did sober grad nights at high schools. i just wanted to see if there was a different way to do it. And there was. It was rewarding to work with my friends and do things differently and creatively, and sometimes famous people helped us, and we were on our way...to somewhere but none of us knew where.

And then I stopped. I got scared. I came up with all sorts of excuses. I have to work. The guy I'm dating will think I suck. The guy I'm dating will be jealous. The dogs will pee the house. What if my mom hears I've made fun of her again after she told me to stop? I look fat. I don't have anything worth saying.

That last thing was the part that killed me. I really stopped believing I had anything worth expressing a point of view over. I started going up only when people asked me to go up, because I felt I could blame bombing on them. They knew what they were getting in to.

I was supposed to go up this past March for the first time in almost a year, but it was the night of Madonna Glee, and no one showed up so the show was canceled. I was pleasantly relieved. I was empty, and I had nothing to say.

My friend asked me to go up tonight, and I'd been dreading it all week. What will I talk about? My life is boring. I work, I sleep, I watch Design Star, repeat. Maybe it would be canceled.

It wasn't. It was a packed house. I walked up not knowing what I would say, and then I said something, and it got a laugh, and it was real. And not doing it for so long made me more conscious of how grateful I was to be back up, and that made me more thoughtful about talking about things I care about, and that made me funnier. And someone who I respect immensely said so. And that made me happy, but not too happy like it did in the old days, when compliments or hecklers gave me sleepless nights.

And that makes me like doing stand up. And the truth is, I never bomb. Some nights I don't kill, but I'm not afraid to bomb and so I never do. my biggest fear in dong comedy is just that I won't have a strong enough opinion about something and won't be able to support a point of view, and I know that's very toastmasters, but it's true. And so the next time I get nervous, instead of telling me I'll be fine, just make me watch fox news for an hour in an enclosed space.

P4

The problem with being fat is that unless you’re really funny, you’re invisible. Being really funny is exhausting, though, and for fat people going to a dance club, it’s like Navy Seal Boot Camp. For one thing...