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.