He Don't Even Know! - The hottie with the Dragon Tattoo

This is Sammy,

I don't mind that he makes "specialty films" 

because he says even though he shares his body,

his heart belongs to me.

I know I don't own any part of him,

but it is a sweet thought. 

Anyway, I love to imagine 

that I remember that night he was really toasted

on amaretto sours

and we were naked in bed.

I had bag of giant marshmallows & a jar of Marshmallow Creme

and I did this thing where I convinced him

that I was melting the marshmallows

with his tattoo dragon's breath.

That was my favorite time

that his chest was covered in

white, sticky stuff!

Ha-HAW!

Just in case there's anyone who didn't guess...

I'm still dying alone.

LIVE With Me!

Holy crap!!
Who would have thought it?
But isn't that how it always goes?
I start this blog about dying alone and less than a month later, I'M MARRIED!

I had a "This is why I'm Single" entry about the one we let get away and why we are stupid to let it happen, but before I could post it, the one who got away came back!
I guess it's true, if you love something screw it up and if it really loves you, it'll ruin your blog!

I can't really say much about it here, because you'll be hearing more about it in the press.
Yes, I have been re-swept off my feet by a person who is terribly kind & forgiving, but also a "name".   I can't drop this name before Mary Hart & John Tesh do, but he's told me I can hint...
So, to avoid a scandal... I'll just say he's a Latino on a top rated drama on network T.V.

We met when he came to see Chico's Angels 7 years ago.  He hung out with us after the show and to my unexpected delight, he took my playful flirting seriously and snuck me his number without the two other Angels even knowing.  We got along pretty well and best of all, I really felt like he "got me".  I don't think he always understood my hyper mind/mouth combo, but he always asked before jumping to a conclusion.  He was patient with me and I found it very easy to be patient with him.  The sex was magical in that it was rather vanilla, but each time we were together it was like the first time- we never assumed what was going to happen and followed the moment as it happened; our only steadfast role was pleasure giver.
Then, I screwed it up.  He had just started on a Showtime show and we would go out with Biz people occasionally and hang out with famous types.  Even though he told me it wasn't true, I always felt unstylish and schlubby and so out of place.  I would let myself feel abandoned (and maybe jealous) when he was at work, acting professionally, like I should have been.  I felt inadequate on so many levels!  Maybe I just wasn't ready for a relationship like that- I certainly wasn't ready to be working on a TV show like he was.  I made it really easy for him to break up with me.

Cut to two weeks ago when I was very grateful that pad thai is gluten free.  We bumped into each other at Sweet Chili where I was having a noodly lunch and he came in for take out.   It was me he ended up taking out.  Everything felt like it did a while back, with a all the tingling and warm stomach pit and giddiness, but with a thunder jacket over it.  It felt mature.   I told him about this blog and he laughed heartily and asked if he could die alone with me, then got really quiet and awkward.  So we spent a little time together and I dared not even toy with the idea of getting back together.  On Monday night,  I was getting home from rehearsal and he was parked outside of my apartment building.  When I approached the car, he got out, opened the back door and started digging in the backseat.  He said he had something for me.  First he tossed out a Doritos bag, and said , "not that", then came a  Showtime baseball cap, "Not that," then came a bundled bouquet of flowers.  When I caught it he said, "Ha!  You caught the bouquet, now you have to get married!"    And that was it.
We got married yesterday afternoon at Beverly Hills City Hall (sorry West Hollywood).

I can't post any pictures, yet, but here's one of me, reenacting the bouquet catch for my camera's self timer.   We're gonna honeymoon after the wrap party, then, I'll figure out what to do with this blog!!!!

He Don't Even know! - Tat-In-the-Dark

This is my "Boyfriend"
I'll call him Billy.

He's fun to cuddle up with on cold nights.
He laughs when I go underneath all the blankets 

to figure out which one of his tattoos glows-in-the-dark.

He actually told me that when we first met,

I pretended to believe him...
Okay, I believed him!

 I guess I was really excited to find out

 where it was!

FU Cupid - Venue wish upon a Bar

Even though I haven't given up, I sometimes play up that I have because

I don't get as many dates as I think I should.  Yes, I do like to be the one who is asked

because I prefer to know that the other  is interested and not just out  with me because

they didn't know how to say "no."  Despite that, the few dates I have been out on in the past year, I did the asking.

Of course, when you are the one asked, you generally don't get to plan the date.

This is one reason I think Cupid is F'ed up.  EVERYONE should be gifted 

with the ability to plan a date, but it seems many people have no clue

what makes a good date activity.  Sure, I've worried about the dates I've planned, 

but I at least thought it out.

This one date I went out on started well enough; we went to the Skylight Bookstore

and enjoyed a reading by one of my date's favorite authors.  

I had no clue who the author was, nor any particular interest in his book, but I did appreciate the reading and the surroundings.  We chatted as we waited in line to get my date's book signed and it was all quite nice.  That is until he got his book signed and I took their picture together with my camera.  After that, it was as if Mother Teresa farted.  There was a pleasant air around us, but it was just awkward.  He hadn't thought about what would happen after the reading and it was still pretty early.  I threw out some suggestions that he nixed.  Then, I thought, "Well, if the night's done out here, maybe we should go to my place and make out to my new Donnie Osmond record."  So, I made a no-so-veiled suggestion that we head to my place to bump faces, which he held off and said, "No, wait, I wanna go somewhere first."

I'll confess, I got a little excited because I thought, for a second, he meant House of Pies.  

To my confusion, we ended up in the parking lot of The Faultline.  A bar.  A gay bar. A notoriously slutty gay pick-up bar.  Don't get me wrong, I do enjoy spending time at the Faultline. I enjoy it when I'm with friends, out for a good time, including shameless slutty flirting and grab-assing.  I also enjoy it, when I'm out on the prowl, looking for a one-night-stand with LTR potential.  Not on a date.

Seriously, what is it about a guy that makes him think that this is a good place for a date?  If he wanted  a cocktail, there were certainly more appropriate lounges or neighborhood watering holes. Heck, we were 100 feet away from the Dresden- that would have been a fun & kitchy extension of the evening.  But, no, here we were at an almost abandoned leather bar (It was much too early for the party crowd and too late for the wasted day drinkers.) with a guy or two dancing on a box.
My mood shifted and it just got awkward, again.  Sadly, I don't think he even realized that I was not having a good time, what with him watching the dancers gyrate, and all.

I think he really was clueless when he dropped me off at home and I didn't invite him in.  

It was a bad date. 

 I think I was more confused than upset. Why was that?
Are we gays trained to think that the bar is the place where ALL the magic happens?
Isn't the bar where we go when we don't have a date?

I think it's like driving past the cherry orchard to the 7-Eleven to get some cherry flavored Kool-Aid.

I think I wrote this guy off because, ideally, I want to be with someone with more imagination and creativity.

I didn't give him a second thought. 

And I thought about the dancer on the box when I jerked off that night.

He Don't Even Know! - Imaginario!

Hola, Miguel!

Here's my Latin "Love" Imaginario

who loves that I do 

CHICO'S ANGELS

He's so into it that he comes to every show 

and insists on helping me carry 

all my drag crap!

I've been tempted to recommend him
to be a show hunk,
but I want him all to myself!

Cutest Frieda fan, ever!

This Is Why I Am Single - Glenn

Hey, remember my Die Alone Buddy, Glenn?
Well, he's got a little to say about dating,
And it goes something like this...

LOSE USE MY NUMBER

by Glenn Gaylord

People always tell me I should write a book about my dating disasters. My rote response has always been, “This is my life. It’s not funny. I don’t gain anything from rehashing it.” Sure, I could commiserate with others, or save another lonely soul from making the same mistakes, but will my musings stop people from canceling at the last minute? Will they make people nicer? God, I hope so! Here goes.

I’ve been more or less single for the past 8 years and I can count the number of dates I’ve had, well, not on one hand, but let’s just say that I can count them, and that ain’t good. I blame Los Angeles. I blame my ever-increasing age, or my big nose, my not being super rich, or my failure at not having a 6-pack! I blame myself for poor judgment. I blame a culture supportive of the fact that more excitement is just over your shoulder or at your texting fingertips. I’ve thrown the blame around so much that it’s not important to me anymore. I’ve grown tired of advice from others if it includes the directive, “Stop looking and something will come along when you least expect it.” As Kristen Wiig’s SNL character, Aunt Linda, would say:

That advice doesn’t work for taxis, jobs, or eating, so why should it work when it comes to love? Believe me, I’ve tried it, and my life experience has proven to me that nothing gets dropped in your lap, except for bird poop. Yes, a bird once pooped in my lap, but I looked at the bright side. At least it showed up!

My dates tend to text at the last minute that they’re tired, despite confirming hours prior, or they just don’t show up at all. I’ve learned the ones who flake are most often the same people who tell me how much they hate it when people cancel at the last minute.

Now before you label me a bitter, old queen, I’ll defend myself by saying that I’m a pretty fun date. I have a wide variety of interests, from movies, hiking, biking, skiing, travel, and politics. I care about the world and have dedicated most of my life to making it better. I show up showered and fresh, and I’ll probably open a door for you at some point. Oh, I also play a mean game of footsie if you float my boat.

I just don’t count on that boat to dock every time. I expect the cancellation so that I won’t be surprised if it happens. I’ll have a soft Plan B with a friend, and sadly, exercise that option more often than not. The bright side is that I have a lot of wonderful people in my life who ARE there for me. I used to rant and rave at my almost-dates. I’d remind them of their shortcomings, call them rude, ask who raised them, and finish with a very curt and very final, “Lose my number!” The momentary satisfaction was nice, but I felt my soul being sucked out of my body. Now I just don’t respond. So if you feel the same as I do, then HMU, as the kids say. I promise I won’t bite if you cancel. I won’t say anything at all.