Last night after a very disappointing tea dance, I decided that it was better to live, than sit around watching the Oscars, and made myself go back out and survey the scene at SIN (actually, it's Service Industry Night, but around these parts, that's very much the controversial title for a party). The cool/shitty thing about SIN, is that it goes from 11pm -5am on Sunday night, which pretty much insures that all of the people in attendance want to party, but also insures that my tired ass will never be able to fully take advantage of it. Anyway, it was still early and there were only about six people on the dance floor, two skinny chicks in strappy backless shirts who were rock star-ing it for the evening, this guy I met a couple of weeks ago named Hector who was kind enough to buy me a couple of drinks, an anorexic chick who kept giving me eyes, her clueless date, and me. The music was old, but well mixed cream-of-the-crop old, and the vibe was decent (a little funky, but the aforementioned music made up for it). Somewhere between "sing it back" and "gifted people", the straps on skinny girl #1's oh-so sexy backless shirt decided to randomly go on strike, and suddenly there were nipples on the dance floor. The unexpected nippleage was followed by about six minutes of tandem knot-tying between girls 1 & 2, and another six minutes of recovery on the wall, for the unexpected embarrassment. Now me, being the conscientious gay man that I am, and intimately acquainted with public embarrassment, figured that it would be really good of me to say something sweet, to assuage any feelings of self-consciousness this girl may have been feeling, and return her to the dance floor. Flashing my best benign-gay guy smile, I walked up to her and whispered in her ear "Don't let unreliable clothing keep you off the dance floor" to which she hurriedly explained that she was just resting and gave me a look reserved for dirty old men and people who let their dog shit in front of your building and don't clean it up. Now admittedly, sometimes I aim for sweet, and land at snarky ...., but was that a completely misguided comment ?

On other fronts, I was kind of disheartened when getting my morning blog on to read about Steven from the Real World's arrest for car theft and prostitution. OK, just for clarification, Steven is an ass, in fact Steven is so completely f*cked in the head, that to call him an ass is to disgrace the entire sexless population of donkeys. But..., having observed his obvious closet-rash on the Real World, and knowing what that's like, I can't help but feel a little sorry for him. I mean, apart from Bilou (who attempted to pitch herself out of a ten-story window during Road Rules Europe), Steven is the most painfully insecure & mentally unstable cast member they've produced. That being said, having ISSUES dosen't give you license to be a complete idiot. I'm a big believer in karma, and I hope he's burning off a couple pounds during this particular cycle of world wide humiliation. Ending up stealing cars in between your busy ass-selling schedule is not exactly my idea of a happy life. Not that I have anything against hustling, it's just that I've seen the workplace on the end of Santa Monica Blvd., and that shit doesn't look easy. In light of this new information, I can almost forgive him for being such a cranky bastard during the RW/RW Challenge. I think it was hard for most of us to deal with being gay. I'm just happy, that my tendency towards procrastination was in full effect during the summer of 97, when I was itching to be on that stoopid show, and I never got the tape in the mail. Otherwise, I too could've had the pleasure of going through all of those extremely personal and trying changes on TV.

A couple of months ago Janet released "Someone to call my lover" I loved the song instantly, and was a little surprised that it didn't make her more money. I don't know how it made other people feel, but for me... it was that rare pop song that perfctly captured my mood. Depsite the upbeat tempo, it encapsulated the quiet, complacent, melancholy that I felt about the entire dating scene. I mean, who are any of us kidding, we'll never meet that perfect guy at a bar or a club, and deep down inside, we know it. But does that stop me from trying damn near every weekend, noooo. To me the song has always had this sad undertone to it. Not BAMBI-GETS-HIT-BY-SIXTEEN-WHEELER sad, just the kind of long sigh one gives when you pass by an unrequited crush, or hug an ex who almost meshed with you, but didn't work out anyway. Anyway, that's my mood right now. Optimistic, despite the situation.

Plus I'm a little bummed that I missed out on this, I already had a playlist in my head and everything.

[stetching and yawning in a most catlike fashion]

Well, I never made it to Atlanta, I ended up slutting through Philly and New York. I haven't posted in forever becuase I was a big enough whore that I wasn't sure I wanted to blog about it, and then I got over myself. Luckily, the details of my debauchery have blurred into one giant puddle, of which I can only remember a couple of towels, an unintelligible Irish bloke, and a 3hr. wait in a San Francisico free clinic. But it was definitely fun (well, most of it at least).