You think your life is fucked up? Try living a piece of mine.

Shoving on the Playground


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It was over a hundred guys that all looked exactly alike. It was a gang of straight women who felt comfortable enough to be surrounded by the clone of manufactured boys. The pushing. The shoving. The numerous times that strangers brushed up against This Man and then on top of that, it was the bunch that grabbed my ass. It was a gang of boys attempting to display their feminine qualities. Oh and I can't possibly forget, the bartender who, on the worst night to start a job was attempting to please everyone.
In short, it was Welfare Wednesday at Flicks.
To follow my own advice, This Man decided that what better time to get back out into the gay San Diego nightlife than Welfare Wednesday. I mean, the drinks are dirt cheap. The liquor is one notch above generic and on numerous previous occasions, This Man has had a great time hanging out in the mini lounge. However, of all Wednesdays to pick, I decided to go out tonight. Originally, I'd planned on being out for about 2 hours. Groomed and dressed somewhat decent, all of this would fall by the wayside as I was pushed, prodded and shoved all in attempts for other fags to get drinks for, not only themselves but the other gang of queens that was part of their entourage. It was downright ridiculous! Then tainted by the fact that This Man's favorite bartender wasn't working tonight, I found myself standing in line for damn near 30 minutes for one one dollar drink. Drink in hand, my next venture was to the patio, where (thanks to California law) everyone was smoking. Let's just say that on top of the 30 minute wait for the drink, the 10 minutes of pushing and shoving to get outside and finally manging to find a small corner in which to enjoy my cocktail & cigarette, by the time all of this was accomplished, This Man was no longer in the mood to be social or cordial. Everywhere I looked, everyone looked the same, they talked the same and (I'm sure) they even fucked the same!
Frustrated but observant, it'd finally dawned on me that there was a reason why I'd taken myself out of the "scene". It had all become so premature and there was no reason that This Man could think of why I would continue to torture myself by being there. But I have to say, the best part of the night was when a guy, barely standing next to me looked over and asked why I looked as if I was having a miserable time.
"Because I am..." This Man responded. And I'm sure that drunk homo has no idea how much sense he made when he asked, "Then why are you here?" It was with that comment that This Man trashed the drink, stubbed out the smoke and headed to my car. But I couldn't help but start to question myself and why I was miserable in a place that I'm normally so comfortable in.
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Then the answer came to me; it had all gotten tired. I didn't go out to meet men. And the crowd of boys and girls weren't exactly people that I would even want to waste time getting to know. So I drove myself back home and concluded that I was happiest being home alone. I didn't need to be out being deafened by music that I didn't enjoy, I didn't need to be snubbed by complete strangers and I just didn't need the nightlife. This Man figures just because it's expected doesn't necessarily mean that I should partake, right? And with that being said, I'm finished with gay San Diego. This Man doesn't need it and I sure as hell won't miss it.


This Man & the fellas


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Last night, This Man spent the evening with some fantastic buddies, having drinks and cruising men at Hamburger Mary's. Nothing too out of the ordinary about it--after all it was Sunday evening and everyone's usually out. So after standing in line for damn near 30 minutes, waiting to get inside, This Man, fellow blogger and good friend JS and two more buds hung out, danced around and had a few laughs. JS snapped these photos and they're too good not to share. Yours truly is in the center of both of them.
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To the fellas, This Man had a mantastic time tonight. Let's do it again some time.


Was I really there?


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"Didn't I see you at Rich's tonight?"
"No, I haven't been to Rich's in ages. Why?"
"There was a guy that looked like you and I figured it was you."
"Nope...wasn't me."
"Are you sure?"

A few minutes later, from the same guy...
"Were you at Numbers?"
"Um, no...Like I said, I haven't been out in a while. And I don't party around lesbians."
"Are you sure? You look strangely familiar. You don't have to lie about it."
"Look man, I have no reason to lie about something so trivial. I've been in the house all night." "I think you're lying!"

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Then came this bunch of messages from a completely different guy.
"Were you at the Brass Rail tonight?"
"Nope, been here all night."
"I could've sworn that I'd seen you...anyway they're stopping Brown Suga night on March 17."
(Good Riddance, Brown Suga night sucked--BIG TIME!)

Then This Man received this series of emails last night.
"Were you at Top of the Park Friday night? At the buffet area with the killer shoes on?"
"No, I haven't been out all weekend."
"That's okay, the guy really looked like are u?"
"I'm good and I'm crazy about nice shoes. What kind were they?"
"Gucci and they looked FLAWLESS!"
"Then it definitely wasn't me."
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From the looks of it, This Man has been missing out on some really good times and I've apparently passed up numerous opportunities to meet some great-looking men. And not only that, but apparently there's a fucking clone running around San Diego, with a great sense of style and meeting all of the men that I could have. It just might be time for This Man to get back out there into the San Diego gay nightlife because staying at home is holding me down.


(Photos taken in and around LaJolla Cove, CA)

On the Left Nipple.


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I guess This Man could've used this entry to whine and moan about not having anyone to cuddle and smooch today. To tell the truth it's not necessary because I'm quite happy with what I have--a wonderful family, great friends and fantastic lovers.
Who could ask for anything more?

Happy Valentine's Day

Oh yeah, and Happy Birthday to Marquise Ahkari...your uncle can't believe that you're 2 years old!


Double Penetrated!


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From the moment that we stepped into the H&R Block office in Mission Valley, This Man knew that it wasn't going to be a good afternoon.
It was time to pay the government.
Normally, whenever tax time came around, This Man would always look forward to getting a nice lump of change back only this time, that wouldn't be the case.
I was going to have to pay the government!
After the tax preparer went through all of the numbers and even stopped to double check his work, it was finally evident that he didn't, in fact make any mistakes and this would be the first year (I'm sure of many other years to come) that I wouldn't be getting a refund.
What did this mean, This Man is sure you're wondering? Well, it means that I won't get to look forward to the time when my bank account would suddenly, one day, have more money in it than the day before. It meant that I wouldn't be able to treat myself, L or my son, D to anything as a token of another tax year gone by. I meant that I would have to set up a payment plan to arrange to pay just over 2600 dollars back!
Just over two thousand six hundred dollars!
There were two things that went wrong in This Man's household this year. 1.) I'd received a tax-free bonus. and 2.) Some how, some way, there was more money coming through my house than I'd imagined. That's odd because looking back now, This Man can't seem to recall where any of it went.
So it's official, I'm actually having to pay taxes this year. As if I hadn't been raped enough this year by the government now I'm going to have to pay for the double penetration.
What else could possibly go wrong?
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Oh yeah, funny I should ask. Did I mention that Friday morning, This Man was in a car accident? Don't be alarmed, I'm perfectly fine. I was rear ended by some Minnesota college chick blonde dreads, an expired license and insurance that she wasn't on. She rear ended me. The damage to my Jeep is very minor, but she's going to pay as soon as I get out and get the estimates.
More on that one later...


A Couple of Fuck 'tards!


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There's nothing like spending a late afternoon with my best friend in the world, L!
Today, once she'd gotten off of work, This Man and L went running around town. Actually, we went to the bank, followed by a brief trip to the neighborhood park and just hanging out before picking my son, D up from school. Even though it was the early evening, it was still sunny and nice out and she and I took full advantage of it. Thankfully, the line at the bank was short and she and I, talking at the top of our lungs, causing everyone to send us evil stares didn't falter our spirits. We were truly the poor folks version of Whitney & Bobby--only This Man was acting like the crackhead and L was the level headed fool!
From the bank, we dashed up to the neighborhood park so This Man could take some pictures, purposefully for this blog while L engaged herself in some "herbal refreshments". Since there wasn't too many objects of interest, I ended up begging her to photograph me on the playground. Forty frames later and her complaining about This Man having too much of a good time on the swings, we captured our shots and headed for the school to pick up D.
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D hopped in the car, exhausted as usual--but even he couldn't get us down. L and This Man were in the front seat, laughing, singing and cursing about pretty much anything that came to our minds.
Finally, it wasn't until our trip to Tardville (aka WalMart) that she and I really acted like a couple of asses! We got into the store and instantly grabbed two shopping carts and granted we would be taking everything into the same household, we played it safe and paid for the purchases separately. And even when L somehow got separated from This Man and I surrounded by the riff raff that patronize WalMart (me, personally, I'm a Target kinda guy) and just as I was tempted to scream across the store, "Please, please don't leave me amongst these FUCK 'TARDS!" , we ended up back together, paid for our things and headed back home.
And in true fag form, This Man finally broke down and bought the Kelly Clarkson CD (I'd been meaning to get it for quite some time), L and I were singing, in my Jeep at the top of our lungs--like the 'tards that we truly were!
All in all, the perfect evening and I wouldn't trade it for anything.
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No Gag Reflex


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Okay, so there's good news and bad news. This Man will start with all of the good news that's happened since I last blogged.
After somehow managing to go the whole weekend without speaking, L and This Man are back on speaking terms. It's so funny how we can actually go a whole weekend from Friday until Monday and not speak to one another. Usually once the gag order has been lifted, we'll find ourselves sitting and getting caught up on everything that's happened from the time that we stopped speaking. I know that sounds so crazy and unhealthy, but hey, it works so we don't fuck with it.
Somewhere between my birthday and this past weekend, my old chat buddy and I started back speaking. It started when JJ invited me to a movie and dinner for my birthday and to return the gesture that I'd done for him once when he was at a low point in his life. Needless to say, This Man didn't take him up on the invitation, but we did run into each other and just kinda picked up where we left off--5 months ago! I'm happy that we're back on speaking terms, but I'm still a bit disappointed that he's up to his same old tricks. And sure, This Man is so tempted to tell JJ about himself, only now, I use restraint.
Here's a piece of bad news. Right now as I sit here at the desk, typing this entry, my fucking car is acting up again! It's seems to be some kind of electrical problem or maybe the connection to the battery is all fucked up again. Whatever it is, the problem has really fucked up my afternoon and I'm dreading having to walk across the alley to my neighbor's house to pester her to give me a jump.
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Well there was supposed to be a long list of good news and a few things that were bad. Before I actually came in to blog, I had a long list of things to mention and now, I can't remember shit (don't you hate when that happens). Oh yeah, one more thing before I end it.

Happy Birthday, DB!
I know This Man sent the text message a few days early, but I did remember. Have a good one, buddy!


Say What?!


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Come to find out, it is possible to leave comments on This Man's Life.
"How is it possible, This Man?"
I'm sure you're asking. Here's how...

Next to every title of my blog entries is a number (usually a zero). Place your cursor on the number and a link to "comments" comes up. Click it.
At the bottom of the blog entry near "Leave a Reply." You'll see an area for name and your weblog URL. In both areas, there's a LONG string of code. Highlight and delete all of it. Once that string of code has been deleted. Type in your name then your blog URL then add your comments or remarks. Hit post.
And that's it. Trust me, I've been testing it and it works. The key is to delete all of that unnecessary code.
It works--for now.

Happy Birthday to my nephew, TOW!


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