www.homohouse.com

So I saw this ad on Craigslist and totally went bitchcakes! What a sweet set up this would be. It has a bar room -- ROOM!! Santa Maria! Numerous decks, bathrooms, bedrooms, libraries, parlors. Whew! And split 5 ways, it actually isn't that expensive. But to make ends meat -- pun intended -- I would install cameras all over the place and set up a Web site called homohouse.com, patent pending. Within a month we'd have so much money our landlord could suck it, which would be a very special episode in the fall and require a $10 pay-per-view surcharge.

$7000 / 5br - CALL TODAY TO SEE THE GORGEOUS MANSION!!
Reply to: fas3401@aol.com
Date: 2007-05-30, 12:13PM EDT

This absolutely FABULOUS renovated HISTORICAL Mansion is Available June 1st has too many OUTSTANDING features to list but here are a few. . .

*1st Floor
*HUGE Foyer
*Magnificent GRAND STAIRCASE
*HUGE Twin Living Rooms (Parlors)
*Bar Room
*MARBLE Bathroom with ORIGINAL CLAW FOOR TUB
*Library/Bedroom

*2nd Floor
*HUGE Bedroom
*Large ALL MARBLE Bathroom
*HUGE Eat-In Kitchen with ALL AMENITIES and MATCHING GRANITE FLOORS and COUNTERTOPS
*Formal Dining Room
*Outside Deck

*3rd Floor
*HUGE Bedroom
*Large Storage Closet
*Full MARBLE BATHROOM
*HUGE 2nd Bedroom with Deck
*Private Rooftop Deck
*Circular Staircase through back of House off Deck

Additional Features on the House are:
*5 Skylights
*3 Separately zoned A/C/ Systems
*Washer and Dryer
*Wine Cellar
*Thermal Pane Windows
*Original Hardwood Floors Throughout

Please contact Robert at 412-401-1034 to schedule an appointment or email us at esmgt@aol.com

17 St NW at P St

Children Of The Torn

I've been saying this since I was 13. "I hate children." Even as a child I hated children. And today my hatred of them only intensified when my new pair of Banana Republic pants got a hole in them. Children are bad at everything. They can't even do a simple hem. Now I have to take my pants to a tailor to be repaired. A Chinese tailor, of course. I'm no fool.

I Don't Know, Maybe This Is Too Much

Buddy Cole, I Miss You

Reach Out And Touch Someone

This cleary shows why this was one of the greatest shows on television. (Just watch the first two minutes.)

Within A Few Weeks You Can Look Like Me

People are always asking me how I stay so thin. “Jason,” they say, “How can I be as skinny as you? I want to be thin enough to sleep in a dresser drawer.” Well, after much persuasion, I am finally giving up my secret to obtaining a nearly transparent waistline. The secret is exercise. I’ve created a workout schedule that both pushes your body and rewards you for working hard.

Every night after work I run to the liquor store. This isn’t exactly by choice. Seeing as how I get off work at 10 and liquor stores close at 10 – and I can’t control time and space, yet – I have to make a mad seven-block dash just to get some beer.

And there isn’t a second to spare. As soon as I leave my office I set foot to pavement and start hoofing it as quickly as possible. So if you’re ever in my neighborhood around 10 p.m. on a weeknight and see a thin man running down the sidewalk, arms akimbo, in black trousers and Ferragamo shoes, tie and tongue waging, don’t stop and say hello, because I will push you out of my way.

And the reward I mentioned earlier -- you guessed it -- exercised never tasted so good.

This Decision Is Worse Than Sophie's Choice

I didn't think it was possible to love Madonna any more than I already do, but then she goes and does this and bam -- I'm smitten all over again. I feel like the Grinch when his heart grew 10 times too big. I better be careful, though. An enlarged heart is a serious medical condition.

Finally, something original to put in my wardrobe.

Which one should I buy?
Shirt One
Shirt Two
Shirt Three (has a pic on the back)

I think the third one is my favorite?

FREEZE! This is a set up!

As much as I like to write, I don’t like putting words in other people’s mouths. I’d much rather put something other than my thoughts in those delicious, watery holes. But what I’m talking about are On-Demand compliments – patent pending – which I am no longer responding to.

An On-Demand compliment is when a person makes a negative comment about himself for the sole purpose of soliciting a positive comment from someone else. For example, if I wanted my friends to say something nice about my fantastic body, I would tell them I thought I was fat – and just like ordering up the Sopranos on my Comcast On-Demand – they would automatically answer: “That’s ridiculous. You are anything but fat.”

Over the years I’ve developed an acute ear for such set ups. The girl who wishes the size 4 dress was made in her size, only to hear me respond what a knock-out body she already has. The boy who claims no one wants to date him because he’s too ugly, only to hear me tell him how adorable he is. The wife who throws a dinner party and apologizes for only making three desserts. You get the point.

In fact, I was recently discussing On-Demand compliments with my friend; which caused me to blog about this. Immediately, he confessed to using them almost daily. Instead of telling him how ridiculous he was, I agreed with him, and faster than a politician, he reversed his previous admission and said I was ridiculous; that he was not that pathetic. Apparently, this actor hadn’t learned the lines he wanted to hear.

Now I’m not complaining about complaining. Lord knows I do my share – case in point – but there is a difference between getting something off your chest and purposely laying a trap for someone to boost your self-esteem. And while everyone needs to hear a compliment every now and then, overdosing on On-Demand compliments is a serious problem that requires help. Just don’t ask me for any.

J.Spew

So last weekend a couple of queers and I moseyed on down to Charlottesville to attend a horse race. Normally, when I watch horses galloping around, it’s at Charlestown; where a stiff scotch and a carefully placed bet on a dead sir in the third spread can buy you a butterfly-shrimp plate bigger than your head.

Anyway, we were told this festival had a dress code. When I heard this I immediately knew what I was going to wear; my fantastic madras pants, which I only wear once a year. As soon as I put them on they made me feel like a girl of 16 again, which indecently, was how old I was when I bought them. It really brought a smile to my face to know that my binge drinking over the past decade, which has probably destroyed my liver, hasn’t altered my killer figure at all. (Seriously, any woman would kill for my physique.)

Clad in my fetching pants and polo shirt -- my friends in similarly styled outfits -- we stormed the turf of Foxfields looking like we just stepped out of a catalogue. We were not the only ones. Apparently, everyone consulted the same stylist we did. All 3,000 people work kaki pants and polo or linen shirts. It looked like J. Crew threw up all over a small plot of land in Charlottesville. I’m sure astronauts from space looked down at us and asked, “Why does Virginia have a pastel-colored mole?”

To coax us into going to the races my friend told me it would be an entire day of beer and beautiful boys. (He had me at beer.) Sadly, though, the latter was not true. Of all the thousands of young college boys there, only a handful of them were hot. And I’m using the definition of hot after one has had dozens of beer.

We all agreed the hottest boy was our newly-made friend Patrick. An oddly attractive boy with thick eyebrows and a Jersey accent, he was strong yet possessed a sense of warmth. He was definitely not boyfriend material. He was the kind of boy who would break your heart, but not before he broke your back.

Sconed To Death

When will this war end? It feels like it’s been going on forever. Everywhere I go, I’m reminded of it. I can’t even go to Starbucks without it being thrown in my face. So there I was the other day, trying to get a cup of coffee, when this ongoing battle once again took center stage in my life: Jason vs. fat people.

All I wanted was a simple cup of coffee – black. But first, I had to go through a wall of my arch rivals. Granted, there were only two of them, but their 300-pound bodies side-by-side created a barrier so impenetrable a scud missile couldn’t have gotten through.

Immediately, these hungry, hungry hippos starting giving me the stink eye. In clothes so tight – with seams magically holding together, baffling the most talented tailor – they proceed to place their orders. “I’ll have a super-grande white chocolate cappuccino. Better make it non-fat. I’m watching my figure.” (Well honey, you’re the only one. This extra large Starbucks Mega-store is way too small for me to step back far enough for my eyes to digest all of you at once.) Her friend then places the same order, makes the same comment and giggles, which cause various parts of her to jiggle for quite some time.

Finally! My turn at the register. I order a cup of coffee and slide over to the waiting area. There isn’t any room, of course, because its occupancy is being maxed out by two oversized people. I get my drink before them, shoot them my patented evil eyes and saunter out of Starbucks, causing them to rethink their calorie-laden cappuccinos. I hope they changed their orders to coffee – black. I did a long time ago.