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So my friend Dan and I have this running joke about how it's impossible to buy condoms with anything else without creating a narrative. It started when I kept loosing my padlock for the gym and ended up buying padlocks and condoms from the same checkout girl twice within the space of a month.

So yesterday I go to Target and got to the checkout aisle with:

Apples to Apples (a board game)
shaving cream and razors
200 sq feet of tinfoil
granola bars
condoms

As I'm putting the items on the conveyor belt I start giggling. So I'm trying to stifle the laughter and end up with a ridiculous smirk on my face.

I could see the checkout girl pause briefly, trying to come up with something other than her normal exit greeting before-uncomfortably-saying,'Have a good evening.'

Suprising Number of Gorillas Found in Congo

When I saw this headline I thought about how perspective can be so important. Because while they were surprised to find 125,000 western lowland gorillas in the Republic of Congo, it would only take one to surprise me in my living room.

The Poo Story

1.

My mother and my sister Marci came to visit a few weeks ago. Marci’s now 6 months pregnant and starting to have issues with constipation. So she was eating some of the delicious prunes that I had. Prunes have the worst rap. They are very delicious; sometimes they call them dried plums, because that’s what they are. I love them. So Marci was eating quite a few of them, thinking they might loosen her up.

She was popping one in her mouth, when she stopped her hand before the prune reached her mouth and asked, ‘do prunes give you gas?’

‘My god, yes. I had to stop eating them,’ my mother said. ‘They nearly got me fired!’

2.

So T and I are at a barbeque at a friend of his, whom I had not previously met. Everyone is in the backyard of the apartment and having fun. About 3 or 4 hours in, I have to use the toilet.

So I go and as I’m about to pee, I realize it’s going to be a bit more involved than that. When I sit down, I realize how complicated it is.

I’m hoping I can make it back to the party without anyone noticing that I’m the one leaving the bathroom, but when I open the door someone is waiting. I get back to T, lean in and say, ‘We have to go, I just destroyed their bathroom.’

3.

So Stephen Soderbergh (no relation) and I are at the Decemberists concert and this cute little couple is behind us getting all slobbery and kissy. They were cooing and starting to annoy me, so I started farting. After a little while, the smell calmed their passions and allowed me to concentrate on the show.

4.

I stepped into a little bar for happy hour and as I ordered my first drink I suddenly had to get to the toilet really, really badly. One of those times when even a 50 foot walk to the toilet could require a change of underwear. So I got past the dirty urinal and closed the broken stall door as fast as I could.

Within 2 minutes it was completely foul in there. Just fucking repulsive.

I was almost through when someone came in and—before even making it to the urinal—let out a disgusted groan. After a pause—still in disgust, but now with a bit of attitude—he said, ‘I’ve never seen someone take a shit in a gay bar before.’

By that time I was finished and stepped out to wash my hands.

By way of explanation and—I hoped—apology, I said ‘I think I had too many nachos at the movies today.’

The guy just shook his head at me and walked out, not even washing his hands.

A Boy Like That

My friend T and I went to an afternoon party last Sunday. He's Turkish, so people are often asking him about his ethnicity. Because it comes up so often, he often turns it around and asks people to guess mine. They don't guess it correctly, so I say, "half-Cuban, half-North European mix."

Sometimes when I give the reveal it's met with the chorus of, "you don't look Cuban." If I'm ornery I'll say, "Actually, I do. I just don't look like what you imagine Cubans to look like." But I'm not ornery too terribly often and today the conversation sails along.

So a little later we move to a nearby table and someone asks about T's ethnicity and we talk about Turkey and then T asks them to guess mine. This guy at the table, who had been all smiley and flirty with T and I says, "Mmmm, I'd say half-Cuban, half-North European mix." Using the very words that I had said 10 feet away 30 minutes prior.

T doesn't make the connection and asked him how he guessed it.

"Well, he's from Miami," he said. "So I thought, like, Cameron Diaz is half-Cuban."

I'm annoyed that he doesn't own up to overhearing the conversation, so I lie saying, "Cameron Diaz is half-Mexican, not Cuban."

"Oh, well, it's like in West Side Story," he says, retreating a bit, "all the Cubans are--"

"Those," I say, "were Puerto Ricans."

"Well," he says, "same di--" He cuts himself off, I guess realizing what he was about to say.

"He was about," I say, turning to T, "to say 'same difference.' At which point I would have climbed across the table and throttled him."

Do I have something in my teeth?

1.

On Tuesday evening, I was at eating outside at Thai Village and a couple was seated next to me. They were in their late twenties and dressed like a first date. The guy pulled out his chair so his back was to the sun, saying, "You're wearing sunglasses so why don't you face the sun?"

I was thinking what a tool he was, but looking at the woman. When I looked at him he was staring at me, with this big, beefy tongue hanging half out of the side of his mouth, chewing on it. I looked at him for a second, but he didn't look away. He just kept staring at me and chewing on his tongue. I looked at my plate.

The rest of the meal, he didn't really look over at me again. Odd.

2.

I went out to The Continental with Steven Soderberg last night. We were drinking refreshing Gin & Tonics. There's no smoking inside bars here in Chicago, so many people were making frequent trips outside to smoke. This guy got up to leave and he was looking at me as he walked. I made eye contact with him and he held it just long enough to run smack into the door. Odd.

I guess he was expecting it to be open.

Doctor McPlayer?

What's going on this week?

Yesterday Dan sent me a link to this trailer, saying it made him think of me. Today my dad sends me this article:

Paging Doctor McPlayer

By TIFFANY MILLER, SPECIAL TO PAYSCALE.COM

Dr. Jim Henry follows a strict personal policy -- never mixing business with pleasure. So Dr. Henry makes his $350,000 salary work for him and dates outside the workplace instead.

With five years of slave-to-the-job residency before moving on to 80-hour work weeks, physicians typically have limited time to party. While this can lead to break room hook-ups, the gossip is usually better than the actual sex. As for the opportunity to have McSteamy sex at work: "It does happen, but it's definitely not happening in my life," Dr. Henry said. The 32-year-old orthopedic surgeon says he's never been tempted to break his policy, even when a patient tracked him down at his San Francisco home.

If you knew Dr. Henry by day, you'd assume he had no social life. Everyone does need to sleep after all. But then, not many people really know Dr. Henry.

"There's a business face and a social face," he said. It should be noted that the surgeon doesn't sleep much.

"It's truly amazing what the human body can adapt to," he said, admitting that he does catch up on zzz's once in a while, grabbing a non-stop 14-hours on those rare moments off.

So let's get to know the real Dr. Henry. Here is how he spent last week:

Went on a first date with a 21-year-old on Tuesday, one of those braniac college chicks who worked every summer to start her career as fast as possible. Says he had no idea she was quite that young. Took her to Red Devil Lounge, a club that is both intimate and posh. Brought her home to show her the crazy sex he knew she'd never had.

Went on a fifth date with a 42-year-old single mom on Thursday. She's old enough and certainly hot enough to be a cougar. But Dr. Henry's too old to be her boy toy. Sprung for hot dogs and beer at the Giants game. She showed him a thing or two in the bedroom.

Saved Saturday night for the 32-year-old career gal, a two-month relationship he's sure is close to its end. Enjoyed the night anyway and coughed up the big bucks at the very exclusive restaurant Limon.

It's the life of a serious playboy.

"You walk this fine line. When you're getting physical, a lot of assumptions are made. Even though nothing has been verbalized," he said. "But I'm not awful. I never commit. I'm not cheating."

That didn't stop one of his longer flings from throwing a water bottle at him. He's right, assumptions are made.

Just as a preemptive, if you're thinking about telling me how emotionally damaged I am or how I have difficulty forming deep emotional attachments: I've already gotten the memo, thanks.

Stevie Nicks, minus the lace

This weekend International Mr. Leather was held here in Chicago and my rugby team, the Chicago Dragons, had a booth at the Leather Market. We sold T-shirts and raffle tickets and promoted the club. The booth next to ours had a video dealer that had lots of horse and goat porn. They also had things like poop eating and what have you. It was funny to look over and if it was just someone jerking off or having regular sex, you'd get that pit in your stomach feeling you get when watching a slasher flick and someone suggests they hide in the basement--you know something awful is about to happen and you have to keep watching to see what it is.

I met someone who had bought a leash and collar with his friend. They bought it as a joke and were having fun with it. (I originally wrote 'they bought it as a gag,' but realized in this context that could be confusing.) When I grabbed the leash, he tried to bite me, but then we all became friends. And let me tell you, leading someone around on a leash got me into all kinds of parties that night. The spanking party was probably the most fun to watch. At one point, we got a vacuum out of a storeroom and walked the halls of the hotel. When we heard a party going on, we knocked and called out "room service."

I spent most of Sunday afternoon working the rugby booth again, then wondering around the Leather Mart. There is a whole community of people who are into B&D, which seems to be the preferred term for S&M, that's into dressing the submissive one as a dog. This seems an oddly specific fetish, but I got to scratch some of them behind the ears, so I thought it was cool. These hoods are very pricey. My friends tried to get me to buy one, but I couldn't figure out when I'd wear it. I liked the idea of ordering a pizza and then putting it on before the delivery driver showed up.

I made friends with someone at the Fort Trough booth. He was wearing these bleached out jeans that had a zipper on the backside. He showed me how they worked, but I had trouble zipping them back up. It took both hands finessing the zipper for quite a while before I closed it.

Sunday night was the after party at the House of Blues. The Dragons had an opera box to hang out in. That was nice. The leather people shun deodorant and Friday and Saturday that was probably okay, but by Sunday they made the whole place smell like ass. (The chaps, leather jocks and harnesses probably added to this as well.)

I ended up playing kissy face with this Cajun. I'm a little unclear what happened, but all of a sudden he was all wet. I think one of the other ruggers threw a drink on his back or something. He went off to the bathroom and I didn't see him again.

Then someone showed up in our box wearing a leather kilt and claiming, I think, to be Mr Leather UK. He showed us his penis. It was very large. He suggested we kiss, but I didn't think that was a very good idea.

Today's been about sleeping and watching TV. I'm on vacation this week.