Zippy and the City

My Daddy, Typical Gay Guy, has been so busy trying to find a job that he hasn't been posting on his blog like a good boy, so I decided to be a good dog and write a blog post for him because I love my Daddy! Since I'm a dog and don't type much, I apologize in advance for any typing errors and if I get randomly sidetracked from those damn squirrels.

So Daddy took the plunge and moved in with Uncle Sean and of course brought me with him. It has been hard for me to get used to living in the big city. I miss my backyard and there are SO many bicycles here. In case you didn't know, I hate bicycles. I think they are unnatural, and when I see them, I just want to chase them. Humans should walk or drive, bicycles are just like big metal squirrels to me.  Besides all the bicycles, there are a few other adjustments I have had to make regarding city life. 

First of all, squirrels here are just plain dumb. They prance around in front of me, thinking my daddy won't let me loose because all the other pretentious New York dogs know it's bad to eat them. My daddy encourages me to embrace my natural instincts and I finally caught my first squirrel. He ran around the tree trunk instead of going up it and I jumped and grabbed him while I was in mid air. I took that bitch down, but he wasn't going down without a fight. He latched onto my lip while I was shaking him to death. I did not care for it, but it didn't prevent me from trying to kill another one. This time it was personal. Also, there are black squirrels here, which I've never seen before. All the squirrels where I live are grey. I think the black ones taste better, but I have yet to catch one to confirm my theory.

Secondly, I miss my back yard. I used to go to the back door and Daddy would open it and I could run around all I want. Now, if I want to go outside, I have to go into the magic box. I walk into the magic box, the door closes by itself and then when it opens, I'm transported to another place where I can easily go for a walk. I can feel my ears pop while I'm in the magic box, but haven't figured out why. Also, I can't figure out why all these strangers come into the magic box with me. They must have to go outside to pee as well.

But there are some good things about living in New York. There are random food scraps all over the street! I keep finding food and trying to eat it, but Daddy tries to pry it out of my mouth. Sometimes I let him have it, sometimes, I swallow that shit whole! I'm always finding chicken wing bones on the ground. Daddy says that's because we live in the ghetto, whatever that means.

All in all, I'm happy to be wherever my Daddy is. When he tries to leave the apartment, I sometimes shake uncontrollably and guilt him into not leaving until Uncle Sean comes home. Sometimes it works. I need to be entertained! Well, hopefully my daddy will write more about New York soon. He got a job bartending at some hotel, or so he says. Supposedly he needs this "job" so he can buy me nice things. As long as he realizes that it is all about me, all will be okay. Until next time... Zippy.

All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth!

Two things disturb me. One is the embarrassing state that I was in this past Halloween and the other is how many images you get when you type "drunk pumpkin" into Google. You all can check out the Google images yourself, so let me tell you about my Halloween. 

In hindsight, I should have known that the night was probably not going to end well considering how it started. I got a part time gig sampling wines at supermarkets and liquor stores, so I drove down during the day to do a wine sampling at one of the local supermarkets in DC. That lasted about three hours and it was pretty uneventful except for the random "urban" customer coming to my table and asking the two most annoying questions you can get at a wine tasting. Those two questions are, "Which one is sweet?" only to be toppled by the ever classy question of "Does it have liquor in it?".  After I left the wine tasting, I asked the management what they would like for me to do with the open bottles, thinking they would take them home to their family or use them personally since they were already paid for. Their response was that I could just put them in the trash because they did not want them. By trash, I took that to mean they meant the trunk of my car, or boot depending on which country you are reading this from.

So when I left the supermarket, it went from raining to snowing. Just what you want when your costume involves wearing shorts. But that was hours from now. For now, all I wanted to do was hang out with my boyfriend and start on all these open bottles of wine we had. Oddly enough I wasn't that thirsty, probably cause the wine really wasn't that great, but moreso because I was starving and food was more important than liquid at this moment. We ordered take out, AKA take away and just chilled out for a few hours until it was time to go to the multiple house parties we had planned for the evening. 

So the time was finally upon us to get ready to go out for the evening. One of Sean's friend arrived and dressed up as the Heisman trophy, complete with gold paint and football. The picture is there on the right, so I won't bother explaining our outfits, but FYI, the Heisman trophy also had a matching gold helmet that she wasn't wearing in that picture. Looking back on that picture, I can see I'm pretty plastered already, but it clearly doesn't hit me until later on in the night. And the reason you ask? I blame the witches brew! The witches brew was a concoction made by the host of the first party which is composed of kiwi, mint and vodka. Oddly enough, those first two ingredients easily hide the last one, to the point that you down the shit like it's Snapple. After about an hour or two at this party, we ventured to the next house party, which was only a few blocks away.


It is at this point that the night becomes blurry, but thank goodness for Sean unfortunately remembering most of the night. When we arrive at the next house party, I am so plastered that I sit down in the lobby of the apartment building and tell Sean, "We have to go" in my sexiest drunken slur. He happily agrees and we step outside trying to hail a cab because it's below freezing, wet and I'm wearing rugby boots. After multiple tries to acquire a cab, my boyfriend starts yelling out racial slurs at these foreigner cabbies who can barely speak English. I supposedly am very upset with my boyfriend's attitude, so I punch him in the face, so pathetically, that three people on the street see us and don't even bother making a comment. I didn't even leave a mark on his pretty face, I wish I could have said the same for my pretty face. 


Rightfully so, Sean walks off in a tizzy for what I did and I do the same. It quickly hits him that I'm staying with him and we both have to go home. It quickly hits me that I don't know where the fuck I am and neither does Sean. I don't remember how I got home or what happened to the three hours in between me walking away and me finally getting home, but during that time, I do recall a few things: 

1.) Trying to hail a cab and failing miserably, which turned out to be a good thing, since I had no money on me.
2.) Arguing with a police officer in what I believe was a 7-11 about why I was so drunk and he suggested I catch a cab and I said, "I would LOVE that!"
3.) Getting a call from Sean's friend since I had Sean's phone and left mine at his house for costume logistical reasons. And telling this friend that I was in Southeast DC, which would have been impossible since I was miles from there.
4.) Falling flat on my face while jogging on icy sidewalks in rugby boots.
5.) Meeting a nice man, who I think was named Joel who informed me that I was bleeding (from the fall)
6.) Finally making it home (perhaps thanks to Joel?) and finding my way into my boyfriend's apartment building.
7.) Knocking on his door and him not answering because he was asleep since I had been gone for hours.
8.) Passing out on the landing right in front of his door like a dog, but not before realizing just then that when I fell, I cracked my two front teeth. 

And the next morning, having this picture taken of me.  That picture says so much, so I will say no more for now. Until next time... TGG.

Therapy!

Okay, right after I announce my popularity, I disappear and don't leave a post for over a week. I am a bad, bad blogger. Please forgive me! I've been seeing a therapist because I'm so distraught over how much I have abandoned my viewers. It's tearing me apart inside. Well, I have been seeing a therapist, but really it's not all about you. It's all about me. You should know this by now.

I've actually seen two therapists in the past couple of weeks. The first one was Sean's therapist. We've been bickering a bit over some menial things lately, so we both thought that it would be a good idea to get a professional opinion. I originally blamed our bickering all on Sean's craziness, but after he went to a few sessions, I agreed to stop by and have a couple's session. I went to two sessions. The first session was a bit awkward and after talking for a few minutes, I started to realize that all the reasons we are bickering are really just our own issues, so I investigated going to see my own therapist. Not having a job and not having health insurance, I had to make sure that I would be able to afford it. But until then, we still had a free session with Sean's therapist, so I figured I would give it one more try, but this time I was prepared to talk about some of the issues that we have been bickering over. 

This story will not be funny until you try to visualize Sean's therapist, who I lovingly refer to as Broom Hilda. Imagine Dr. Evil's girlfriend from the Austin Powers movies and you pretty much have a good visual of what I am talking about, complete with the thick German accent and standing maybe five feet tall in heels. So there were two issues that I wanted to bring up during this second couple therapy session. The first session was that I was feeling a bit smothered, worried that perhaps Sean was a bit too needy. Broom Hilda knew exactly what to say. She said, "Well, he adores you. You should take that as a compliment." Who can argue with that? I went from having what I thought to be a needy boyfriend to one that adores me. I can't blame him that I'm so irresistible. 

The second issued had to do with our sex life, specifically in regards to the pitcher/catcher dynamic. You see, my boyfriend is what I like to call a "healthy boy" and no, I'm not referring to his weight, so when healthy boy tries to go where "no man that large has gone before", it causes a problem. So I tried to be as politically correct as possible with Broom Hilda when trying to explain to her the dilemma that we are having and she pauses as I wait for another piece of enlightening wisdom to come from her lips. She responds with, "Have you tried Crisco?" with a completely deadpan face and my jaw just drops. Not any questions about why anal sex is such an issue when there are other forms of intimacy or maintaining balance in the relationship, just, "How about Crisco?" And as fucked up and completely random as that was, it made me realize, "Maybe I should try a different lube?", but there is no way those trans fats are going anywhere near me. My ass is big enough, I don't need it getting any larger by injecting it with Crisco. Unfortunately we haven't been able to try out Broom Hilda's recommendation due to some other factors going on, but that's for another post. Until next time... TGG.

I'm so popular!

OMG! I am so popular! I just surpassed the 500 view milestone. And no, it's not from me looking at my own blog. I blocked myself from tampering with the numbers. This isn't Enron. There is no creative accounting going on with my statistics, although I do have a feeling that a certain boyfriend may be stalking me on here a little more than necessary, so we'll have to have a talk with him about how his performance is negatively affecting the conglomerate that is the typical gay guy.

So much pressure now to keep you coming back! I feel like the past week has been a bit uneventful, mostly because I have been sitting on my ass most of the week. There are two main reasons for that. One is that I recently got a new tattoo that has taken longer than expected to heal properly, so I haven't been able to work out as much as I would have liked. Or maybe I'm just passive agressively using the tattoo as the reason for my lazy ass not exercising. The other reason is that I have not had my Zippy with me lately as he is visiting his Grandma and Papou so that I would have more time to focus on my job hunt. Papou is Greek for grandfather and my dog understands that Papou is my father. Yes, my dog is bilingual. 

With all this free time, all I've been doing is putting an indentation in one of couch cushions with my large ass and then periodically visiting my boyfriend in DC more often than usual. Lots of exciting things are coming up in the next weeks though. I have two therapy sessions, one with my crazy boyfriend and one for my crazy ass. Tomorrow I am volunteering at a wine event featuring 250 different samples within a four hour period and Monday I am off to New York for a job interview with a wine importer. So the next weeks should be eventful for all my many fans. I just blocked my boyfriend's browser from affecting my statistics, so if I don't get to 1000 views in the same time as I did 500 views, I may cry a little bit. So to prevent that from happening, please tell your friends how super awesome I am and check me out. Until next time... TGG.

Meet the parents!

I just had an amazing dinner with my boyfriend for my birthday! What better way to spend my birthday weekend than to meet part of my boyfriend's family for the first time?  

Although I would have liked for the above statement to be going through BF's mind, I'm sure this was not the case when we drove to Philly for an extended family outing, where BF met not only my parents, but my brother and sister, their respective partners and their children as well as my sister-in-law's parents, neighbors and even her grandfather. Without an advanced Excel spreadsheet, it's pretty confusing, so let me try to give you a brief downplay of who was there.

BF met my mother and father in Baltimore where we drove up together in my dad's Mercedes. My father will drive 10 miles out of his way to save a dime a gallon on gasoline, but at age 70, he decided to buy an E-series outright. My father insisted upon driving. My mother and I insisted on yelling at him while he drove like a crazy old man. We drove to Philly to see my brother and his new wife and her two kids. Meanwhile, my sister and her husband and her two kids drove up separately. Additionally, my sister-in-law's parents were there, as was her grandfather and later on, her neighbors. I wished I had met the neighbors earlier because they seemed like fun folk, regularly enjoying a box of wine and going dancing once a month to keep the relationship young. I have no idea how old they were, but they were easily in their sixties if not older. The more I think about it, I think a PowerPoint slide would be more useful than an Excel spreadsheet, but clearly this is the MBA education in me overtaking my mind. Why don't you just look at the picture and try to guess who is who. The main point is that after his birthday, BF had to meet 15 strangers and there were rumors that it would be a dry party. AWKWARD!

Shortly after our arrival and a lot of awkward introductions, Simona, my sister-in-law, asked if anyone would like anything to drink. I asked what was available, hoping wine would be an option. Thankfully it was and I didn't feel like a raging alcoholic drinking it since other people besides my immediate family were partaking as well. I must admit that I was not happy with the wine glass selection. They were old school Waterford Crystal type glasses like my parents used to have. Essentially they were the wine glasses for people that don't drink wine. I mean, look at those glasses in the picture above. You can barely see them! And guess what, the 3oz of wine that they hold at a time is simply unacceptable! I personally prefer my Riedel Stemless Pinot Noir glasses because 1.) They hold close to an entire bottle of wine in one glass if you aren't a swirler like myself and 2.) They are dishwasher safe and 3.)They have no stem so they don't break when you put them in the dishwasher and 4.)They sometimes land flat on your couch when you accidentally push them off your counter. (So I've been told. Not that it is happened to me before)


The highlight of the night had to be when, after playing with my nieces for over a good hour, BF decides to take a break and join the adults downstairs. My nieces were not happy that BF had left them so they both decided to come downstairs, one dressed as a Wal-Mart executive and the other as an Indian princess. My younger niece, Cilia, interrupted the grownups to declare that she was looking for Sean. Yes, boys and girls, you finally get to find out BF's real name and please be prepared to accept that I may from this day forward sometimes refer to him using his actual name. It's crazy I know. But anyways, she was wearing big adult sized black framed glasses and was holding a clipboard. Cilia decided to announce in front of all of us that she was from the car insurance division of Wal-Mart and that Sean's policy was overdue. She is only eight years old and it was SO random. On the ride home, I later discovered that while Sean and Cilia were hanging out alone, Lady Gaga somehow became the topic and these were the exact words from Cilia...

 "You know, Lady Gaga doesn't even really have her own look. She just keeps changing outfits."

That girl is going to make some gay boy a fabulous fag hag when she gets older. Until next time... TGG.

BF's Birthday!

Sorry for the late post, but wanted to tell you about BF's birthday. My sexy, smart boyfriend turned 29 this past Friday. He was never big on birthdays for some strange reason, while I believe the Earth literally changes it's rotational pattern once a year to revolve around me on my birthday.

So Friday, I picked BF up from the train station and he was still dressed in his suit he wore to work and I made a feeble attempt to dress up as well. Well, my clothes were tighter, so therefore more fashionable in my mind. And although BF arrived early from the train station, we decided to go to the restaurant early and have a drink at the bar. Once I finally found the place, I valet parked my car in the garage (for free!) and was ready to have a wonderful dinner. As soon as we arrived at the Prime Rib, the door was opened up for us by this obviously gay host dressed in a tuxedo. When he opened the door, he said "welcome" and I was so nervous from never being in such a nice restaurant that I said "welcome" back to him like a retard. 

So we had a seat at the bar where I ordered a Hendricks martini and BF had a Stoli martini with blue cheese stuffed olives. I knew we were at a swanky bar when they had blue cheese stuffed olives already prepared and gave us no attitude when we asked for them as most traditional establishments do. The Mad Men style decor, with dark hard wood and leather, in addition to a jazz trio playing music during our meal, only added to the upscale ambiance. And the cool ass cocktail napkins (see picture) were the bomb!

I decided to take my boyfriend to this super swanky establishment because 1.) He's worth it and 2.) I had a Groupon for the place. While we were sitting on the bar, I decided that I had to log onto Foursquare to gloat about how I was eating at this amazing place and to show a picture of the awesome napkins. When I checked in, I saw that there was a special for two free glasses of wine and a free appetizer with any dinner reservation. I had a coupon on top of a coupon, I was in Jew heaven. (Now only if I were Jewish...)


When we sat down to dinner, we were greeted by our server who clearly had been working there since the dawn of time. At first I was not too excited about being waited on by a senior citizen while I was taking my boyfriend out to dinner for his birthday, additionally having to explain to our waiter, Chuck, about this coupon I had from this newfangled thing called the internet. Once he confirmed with someone under the age of prehistoric, he was ready to go with our freebies. I ended up ordering soft shell crabs and BF had the blackened Chilean Sea Bass. Yes, we went to a top tier steak house and never ate steak. 

As a native Marylander, it was very odd at my age to have never eaten soft shell crabs, but they were amazing. By the way, I am very aware that I use the word amazing way too often, but deal with it. For those of you unfamiliar, crabs allegedly shed their shell as they grow or something and you only have a few hours before they regrow their shell. The benefit of soft shell crabs is that you can eat them whole opposed to an incredibly laborious process for eating hard shell crabs. For more info about soft shell crabs, click here. I can't be bothered to give you an aquaculture lesson. It'll get in the way of my wine drinking time.


Well our prehistoric waiter turned out to be amazing! (You should have known that was the word I was going to use to describe him) Very attentive, truly a pleasure to talk to and even brought out a free dessert for BF, although I ate most of the dessert since BF hissed at the sight of carbs like a feral cat. We ended our meal and then went home where I had a cornucopia of presents awaiting for BF. As I am lazy with the wrapping process, I put all of his presents in a large, glittery Disney Princess gift bag and stuck some tissue paper on the top. I ended up getting him a variety of presents, well seven to be exact. Damn you Amazon and your two day shipping! FYI, if you are a student or still have access to your student email address, .edu only, you can get a free one year subscription to Amazon prime and it's highly addictive. Anyways, I won't go through all of the presents, but one of the ones he liked the best was the copy of Bridesmaids, which is the movie we saw on our first gaydate. The other present he was super excited about was the Sportsheets Under the Bed Restraint System, but in the spirit of keeping this blog somewhat family friendly, we won't go into how much he liked that gift. At least not for now. Until next time... TGG.

Damn you Katy Perry!

Don't worry Katy, I really do love you. So much so that you physically caused me harm. In my attempt to tire my dog out and get back my six pack, I decided to turn my regular leisurely dog walk through the park with a semi intensive exercise session. So I whipped out the Sony mp3 player (no, I do not own an Ipod), put on my running shoes, put on Zippy's special walking collar and was ready to go.

Zippy is extremely high strung, so he is sometimes annoyed with a leisurely jog and easily keeps up with me when I sprint at full pace. So in hopes of conditioning myself back to where I used to be, which was able to play an entire 80 minute game of rugby, I decided to walk for a bit and then randomly start sprinting. I was feeling good and looking good and then I traveled into the woods, where there is this stone path that circles through the woods. It's a very twisty path, so I imagined myself weaving in and out of angry rugby players coming after me as I sashayed (very manly sashaying of course) through this crowd of imaginary men. There was even a small bridge that had been shut off with caution tape from damage due to Hurricane Irene, and I decided to use the tape as a running hurdle instead of as an actual warning. 

So I'm almost out of the woods (no pun intended) and the pathway starts to incline, so I figured this would be a perfect time to sprint. Katy Perry was blaring on my headphones and I was in the zone. I even trusted Zippy to walk off leash since I was so confident he wouldn't be able to run from me. Lest I forgot about the slightly mossy film that covers the path near the entrance as I rocket across the pavement, slip on the surface and belly flop right onto the pavement. Figuring my dog would be worried about my welfare, I look up to see where he is and he is more interested in peeing on a random bush then worried about why his daddy has just flopped to the ground. I was not feeling the love. I brushed myself off and briefly thought about walking home, but I got a second wind after my knee stopped bleeding and I went another mile. I was quite impressed with myself.

Feeling so butch from my adventurous jog with Zippy, I decided to brave CrossFit the next day again and quickly questioned my sanity. Why am I exercising to the point that I feel nauseous for hours afterwards? After I saw BF later that day and took my shirt off in front of him, I saw a weird look on his face and was wondering what he was thinking. Supposedly, even after one CrossFit session, I had new found muscle definition and essentially was told that I will be going back again. Hopefully I can find a workout partner because exercising alone to the point of exhaustion is a bit difficult, but if it turns my man on more, I guess it's all worth it. Maybe I'll just bring my mp3 player and blast Ms. Perry. Obviously that makes me lose any common sense for a moment. Until next time... TGG.

Tattoo time!

BF has been wanting to get his first tattoo ever since his grandfather died eight years ago, so when I heard about this, I was very excited to take him to get it. I currently have two tattoos myself and will soon be getting my third and largest one next week. It will actually be a two-parter and I will have to come back one or two weeks later to get the tattoo completed. But this post isn't about me, although it should always be about me quite frankly, but rather about BF's first experience at the tattoo parlour.

So you may be wondering why if his grandfather died eight years ago and we've been dating since the the middle of June, why we took so long for him to get this tattoo. Well the reason is simple, we had to find the right guy. And by right guy, I mean the one that did my two tattoos because I am a bit picky when it comes to permanent decorative scars on my body. For those of you in the market for a new tattoo and living in the Maryland area I highly suggest Brady Duncan at Orange Tattoo Company.  



Brady did my two (soon to be three) tattoos when he worked at a place in Baltimore and I hunted him down at this new place in Annapolis. Little did I know that this new place was the gay tattoo mecca. As we waited for Brady to draw out BF's tattoo, we took a look at the wall inside the studio and saw some things that seemed to good to be true. 


The owner of Orange Tattoo, Frankie Orange, tattooed a number of celebrities because he used to manage concert tours. He was the one that did Justin Timberlake's famous cross tattoo on his arm, as well as Britney Spear's first and well-known fairy tattoo. The owner of this tattoo parlour tattooed Justin & Britney. How freaking cool is that? I was in the presence of superstars. I have to admit, I was having a quick change of heart when I found out this was the owner of the parlour. Brady was great and all and did a great job with both my tattoos, but how cool would it be to be tattooed by the same guy that did Britney and Justin? I later found out that Mr. Orange no longer can tattoo due to some type of muscle damage or something, so I felt even more comfortable knowing that Brady was considered good enough to be working at this establishment. 


Well the time finally came when Brady was ready to start carving into BF's back and I figured BF would be fine since my first tattoo was on my back and although very uncomfortable, I eventually almost fell asleep during the process. Clearly my initial impression of BF's tattoo pain tolerance was dreadfully and somewhat hilariously wrong.


BF began by taking his shirt off and commenting how chilly he was. Within five minutes, after the process had begun, beads of sweat started to form on his forehead. Less than five minutes later, the sweating was so intense that I had to pat his head dry so that the sweat didn't run into his eyes. Brady began tattooing the coordinates first and after about 3/4 of the way done with that part of the tattoo, BF had to take a break. While I'm talking about the coordinates, let me explain the tattoo. The cross is the same that was on BF's grandfather's coffin and the coordinates are the birth and death place of his grandfather. I really thought it was a great idea and a great way to pay homage to his lost family member.

So there was still a good 20 minutes of tattooing that needed to be done to finish the tattoo and BF was fading fast. During his initial break, he seriously considered coming back for the remainder of the tattoo. I convinced him that would only be worse and he should bite the bullet. His tattoo experience quickly turned into the equivalent of how a gay man would act if he were actually giving birth. He was holding my hand, squeezing my thumbs to the point that he almost broke one and breathing Lamaze style, all while giving me the stare of death. If his eyes could speak, they would be screaming in my ear, "Get this tattoo out of me!"


Of course, as soon as the tattoo was finished, BF was already talking about getting another one. So we made sure BF tipped appropriately for the amount of drama that Brady had to deal with and I made a deposit for my third tattoo. Best quote from that day was when Brady said, "At least you didn't faint or vomit on yourself." My appointment is for October 3rd. I'm presuming I won't be such a girl, but I am going by myself, so I'll never admit it if I am. Until next time... TGG.

My butt hurts!

No, that is not what you think from a blog written by the Typical Gay Guy, I've just been working out a lot and I have some muscle soreness. Seriously, you people need to get your mind out of the gutter. After recovering from my CrossFit session, which, by the way, took over three days to recover, I was hoping I would make the effort and go to rugby practice, but instead I decided to try out another type of exercise class with my Groupon, Sports Performance Training.

According to the website, Sports Performance Training (SPT) is" scientifically designed to help athletes become faster and more explosive. This is certainly not your average treadmill workout." I was immediately intrigued because the last time I played rugby, I felt like my body shut down way earlier than it normally does. I blame that mostly on the lack of carbs, but also on my lack of regular fitness. When I lived in England, I had a gym membership that was a five minute walk from my flat and a workout buddy who made sure I went more than I wanted to go. I miss you Chris!

So my dilemma is why all of a sudden do I not want to play rugby? I mean, it was my life, the thing I looked forward to all the time. I flew to Seattle, just to be in a gay rugby tournament and I had an amazing time. I also got laid twice in a three day period, but that just must be coincidental. It's the rugby that I loved so much. 

There are a number of reasons why I haven't enjoyed playing in DC as much as other places. Probably the main reason is that it is in DC and practice is twice a week. To get there on time, I have to leave my house in Baltimore by 5:30pm to get changed and be ready for a 7pm start. Then the practice goes for at least 2 hours and then I go and hang out with some of the boys after practice. The camaraderie involved with rugby is a big part of why I enjoy it so much. It's kind of like an international fraternity without all the pretentious douchebags that you associate with regular fraternity. It definitely has similar levels of alcohol consumption, which is a welcome similarity. So by the time I get home, it's after 11pm, my dog is looking at me like, "Why the hell were you gone so long and not carrying a bag from Target?" and a two hour workout session has turned into a six hour ordeal with a $20 cost including gas and tolls.

Now that I think about it, there are a myriad of reasons why I am not going and the longer I sit here, the more I think of and the more I think of, the more stressed I get, and when you get stressed, you retain body fat and that is NOT AN OPTION! So off to the gym I go for another session of SPT, this time with an incredibly sore ass. Until next time... TGG.

I made mayonnaise!

No, there is no sexual innuendo there with my blog post title, I went and bought a Cuisinart food processor and made mayonnaise, but the reasoning behind it is an interesting story...

Truth be known, I'm a bit gassy. That's right, I tend to fart more often than the regular individual, or maybe I don't and I just think I do. To put it into perspective, my dog has become trained to know that when he hears me fart in the morning, that I am in fact awake, and runs to the door to go outside.  I've never been one of those men that was proud of his farts. My farts are meant to be expressed during my "me time". That might explain why I have lived alone for the past decade. I did have a flatmate when I lived in Manchester, but that was out of necessity and she was warned of my "loud but harmless" outbursts that were a part of living with me.

With things getting serious with the BF, we are spending every weekend together at my house in Baltimore, so there is no "me time" and no better way to ruin the honeymoon phase than starting to fart all over the place. So my brother's girlfriend at the time, who three weeks later is now his wife (Noticed how I skipped over the fiancée part, my brother did too) suggested a "food experiment" where I eliminate certain foods from my diet for a total of three weeks and then gradually add them back in one day at a time, looking to see if and how my body reacts. I started this diet the day after Labor Day, and since then, I have not eaten:

Corn

Gluten

Soy

Yeast

Dairy

Nightshades (Potatoes, tomatoes, eggplants, peppers)

Alcohol

Coffee

That's right, I know you are freaking out as much as I was. How could it be true? How could a gay man go three weeks without vodka  AND Starbucks? I can say it hasn't been easy and I've been a bit moody, but I'm halfway through it already, so I figured I would go for the long haul. Since I was cutting out a lot of grains at the time, I figured to go all out and make it a modified form of Atkins. So no carbs, no booze, no coffee. I wasn't the most pleasant individual.

The whole point of this rant is that I was feeling fat, so this was all in an attempt to make myself a healthier individual. By the way, you are probably wondering how mayonnaise fits into this healthy lifestyle, well, it's all about healthy fats, no preservatives and Omega-3's. I love me some Omega-3's. So instead of the traditional soybean oil based, preservative-laden store variety, I made fresh mayonnaise with canola oil and free range eggs. Super healthy! Well, as healthy as mayonnaise can be. 

So, Friday came along and I finally made it to CrossFit and after that, the diet has pretty much gone out the window. It was my first session and it kicked my ass! And it wasn't even a half hour long. I worked out for a total of about 23 or 24 minutes and now, three days later, my abs are still throbbing, but once I finally recover, I'll be going right back. Healthy carbs are back in the diet because I want to eat them and I figured if I could work out as hard as I did during that CrossFit session, I can eat whatever the hell I want. As long as I look pretty, I'm a happy boy. So hopefully I'll be going to rugby practice tomorrow, to maintain my fitness level and then eat whatever I want. Just hoping I'll be able to move without hurting otherwise rugby will not be that much fun. Until next time... TGG.

Namaste bitches!

So I have yet again to make it to CrossFit. I have a feeling my subconscious is making me miss it on purpose. In exchange, I decided to go to yoga, which I used to do more on a regular basis than I do now, but I figured I could use some good stress release. Plus, I was starting to feel fat since I haven't done any exercise this week besides taking the dog for a walk, so I needed something where I would actually sweat. It's hard not eating carbs!

So why was I so annoyed at yoga, more specifically my yoga teacher? When we were laying down and she is telling me to just visualize my bad thoughts and watch them drift away, why was I imaging her face drifting down a babbling brook? Well, I've been bad with the rugby this week and didn't go to practice, out of an attempt to be more productive at home. That could have something to do with it. I love the release involved with strenuous exercise and tackling people to the ground, but the commute is a killer for me and I knew I wasn't playing this weekend because the game was about 2.5 hours from my house. I think I know what the real problem is...I just really need to get laid. BF better watch out tomorrow! Until next time.. TGG.

Rabbit season!

So my day did not go exactly as planned. I couldn't go to the CrossFit class that I was hoping to go to because I had to sit at home and wait for the washing machine repair man. I ended up having to pay $250 to fix an appliance that I only paid about $500 for originally. Needless to say I was not pleased, but then I got to wash my decorative pillows and all was good in the world again.

So my fixed washing machine sent me into a crazed cleaning binge and I started with the kitchen. By the time I got to the stove, I realized that the light above my stove had burned out. Actually I knew it burned out, but my lazy ass never did anything about it till now. So off to Lowe's I decided to go. I prefer Lowe's to Home Depot simply because it's just gayer. I feel like I need to be wearing a tool belt or be a lesbian to be shopping at Home Depot.

It was starting to get late and I knew it would be dark soon, so I decided to be a good father and take Zippy for a much needed walk. But I was still in my cleaning rage, so I decided to take out the recyclables for pick up while I was taking the dog for a walk. Let me just preface this incident with saying that generally, when being walked, Zippy is a total gentleman; walking next to my side, staying near me without a leash as we walk through the park and even strategically pooping in the most random secluded places in the park so I don't have to pick it up. He once actually pooped on a tree stump. I literally had to lift his ass to make that happen. It was quite impressive.

Anyways, I thought Zippy would be a good boy while I carried out this large bin of recyclables that I was carrying in both my hands. I set them on the curb and Zippy ran back to the car thinking we were going for a ride. Supercute still, but then... I see his ears perk up and his tail curl and I know the look - it's rabbit season.

Zippy decides to jet off before I can grab the leash at what he sees as dinner. I chase after him, but my two legs are no match for his four, in addition to the blood-lust he is feeling right now for this rascally rabbit. I quickly lose sight of him, but I try not to stress that much, as this type of thing has happened before and he always ends up coming home eventually. So I continue my cleaning duties and off to get that lightbulb.

Well I was so distraught, that I actually went to Home Depot to get the light bulb because it was closer. It didn't hurt that there was this queen working there standing at the front that was clearly eyeing me up. The light bulb ended up being cheaper, which was a pleasant surprise. I am half Greek and although the Jews normally take all the credit for being "frugal", the Greeks never turn down a good coupon. So I ran some other errands, including visiting the grocery store to get my low-carb staples and depositing a check into the bank, but the ATM was not working. Damn you Bank of America!

After running my errands, I went back home hoping Zippy would be sitting on the porch eagerly waiting my arrival, but that was not the case, so I drove around the neighborhood starting to worry because it was completely dark outside and a thunderstorm was approaching. After about five minutes of driving around, I see my dog - no where near where I last saw him - trying to tear open someone's trash on the side of the street to get whatever food was inside. Clearly he had not caught that rascally rabbit and had to satisfy that urge to rip something to shreds. I honked the horn at him, thinking that he would somehow know that it was me, but thankfully he knows what my old beat up Volvo looks like. That's right boys, I drive a 10 year old Volvo, gracefully donated to me from my parents because I had to get rid of my BMW Z4 hardtop when I moved to England. Let's just say it's a bit of a downgrade, but now I can store multiple dead bodies in my trunk.

When I got out of the car, Zippy came over, covered in I don't know what, smelling so horrid that I was worried he found a skunk. The smell was nauseating. As soon as we got home, he got a full bath with his 100% natural Mango Tango 2 in 1 Conditioning Shampoo. Yes, both me and my dog have high end skincare regimes. I've never used so much shampoo to get that stench off. I then pulled out the blow dryer to make sure he had amazing volume to this coat. I have an army style "high and tight" haircut, so let me just say how awkward it was to go into Bed, Bath and Beyond to buy this hair dryer because the employees there just gave me the strangest looks. Moral of the story is, wait till duck season before you let go of your dog outside. Until next time...TGG.

Let the festivities commence!

Welcome to the very first blog entry of the typical gay guy, AKA me. Let me first just write a little disclaimer that I am in fact NOT the typical gay guy. In fact, I do not think there is such a thing as a typical gay guy or a typical straight guy for that matter. OK, well maybe there is a typical straight guy, but maybe I think that because I just recently saw a full episode of Jersey Shore for the first time.

So a little background about me. First of all, I decided on pink stripes for my background just because it's stereotypical. I actually do not own anything pink or purple for that matter, but that's a whole other story altogether. I'm 35 years old, living in Baltimore and currently have an amazing boyfriend that lives in DC. To protect everyone's anonymity, we will just refer to myself as TGG and my boyfriend as BF. Imaginative names I know. Considering I used to work at TGI Friday's over a decade ago, you think I would have more flair for the dramatic, but unfortunately I am already disappointing you right off the start. 

I was born and raised in Baltimore and lived there my whole life until I went to get my MBA in 2009 in Manchester, England. That's right, I'm edu-mi-cated and a world traveler! While in England (or whilst as the Brits would say), I took up rugby when I joined the gay rugby team there. They became my family and rugby became a bit of an addiction to the point that I still play now that I am back in the states and drive over an hour one way just to get to practice. There is something therapeutic about being able to legally hit people. :)

So besides rugby and BF, another huge part of my life is my amazing dog Zippy. (Yes, everything is amazing in my life, including me). Since we don't have to worry about Zippy's privacy, here is a picture of him so that you everyone can awe over how supercute he is. I don't know what it is about a bandana, but it makes every dog even cuter. I got him from the local SPCA where I still sometimes volunteer. He was two years old when I got him and I realized after I got him why his previous owners had named him Zippy. He's quite the handful. I bit high-strung, a bit neurotic, a lot like his daddy. (That would be me)

Well, I want to try to keep this blog updated on a regular basis with the things going on in my life, so I don't want to give away too much all at once. Gotta keep you boys and girls guessing! Tomorrow, I'm off to my first CrossFit class, thanks to Groupon. It was supposed to be today, but my lazy ass woke up too late, so hopefully I will have some stories to tell. Maybe I won't, but I'll try my best to keep you all entertained to the best of my abilities. Until next time... TGG.