My mother is totally convinced that I am gay. My gay friends just laughs at me.
But I do like musicals. I appreciate Madonna and Kylie Minouge. I do use products. I can cook and I did wish for a KitchenAid as present. Well, maybe I don’t dress that neatly. But then I haven’t spent 20 years in the closet.
I guess you could say that I’m gay the same way Madonna is jewish.
They say, that when you eat chocolate you essentially experience the same feelings like when you’re in love. They also tell you that sneezing is just like having a miniature orgasm. So I recon that sneezing while eating lots of chocolate may count as pretty safe sex.
I don’t get women. They all want guys with a sense of humor. Still, they can’t take a joke!
I don’t know where this world is headed. But I swear I just saw a webadd reading: “Earn money while you work”.
Geeks. No wonder we invent things, we have fantasty, we need to have fantasy.
“Dear starlog. Today, the janitor double booked the hall for the local LUG and sorority by accident. Guess who was most disappointed?”
Ok, maybe only really geeky dykes gets that one. A highly underrepresented minority.
I can not remember names.
I just don’t do names. I can’t even keep track of my own middle names. I carry an ID-card as percussion — just so people will know who I am.
Because I’m that terrible at remembering names, I usually don’t even try to make the effort. So me and my friends use to play this look-a-like-game at parties: “Paris Hilton warning six-o-clock!”
But you should never, ever, ever tell somebody who you think they look alike. Because a split second before you tell her, you realize your constantly horny brain have compared her with some valspeak quadropod. Then two possible things can happen: a) She thinks you’re a perv. b) She’s flattered — but now you have to explain whom you just compared her with.
I guess I’m closet metrosexual. If that’s the correct expression. And if it is, I haven’t met any other metrosexuals in there. In fact, I don’t think they’re hiding there. Where are they hiding? The drawer? The subway? No that’s just silly. I think in an apartment store trapped somewhere between the cosmetics and cooking utensils. Because straight men can’t do or think of more than one thing at a time. That’s why it’s a hit-or-miss; we can’t stand up, pee and read the scribble on the wall. That’s why they don’t even let us flush the urinals ourselves no more.
Somewhere in India there was a little girl who showed great promise in school. Her parents worked day and night so they could send her to the best of schools, hoping she would get a good job and be able to pay the tuition for her younger brother and sisters. She even took extra math lessons, to learn all the old Hindu tricks for doing arithmetic in your head, so she would be accepted to the toughtest school in the world: IIT - India Institute of Technology. Where she studied and even became a Teacher’s Assistant. And upon graduation, magna cum laude, she gets a job… developing software for a self flushing urinal.
Because when she goes to work in India it’s night on the other side of the globe. She can monitor the efficiency live to improve the code. Because straight men can’t do more than one think at a time.
Why do you think unisex restrooms only works in gay clubs?