Anyway, here's an honorable mention:
I think the pseudo-mullet suits you - m4m - 27
I couldn't help but notice a small fleck of red wine on the liner of your Jack Spade messenger bag. You seemed the type who would take his man-bag seriously. I tried to catch your eye to let you know, but you were speaking German very loudly with an accent that sounded like you were from the San Fernando Valley. Maybe we could meet up at the dry cleaners?
At first I was going to answer the ad to tell the writer that it might not be a good idea to post so soon after dropping acid, but then I thought a) right after you've dropped acid is probably the only time to post an MC ad, and b) I've never dropped acid, but whatever this guy was on was obviously some good shit, so I should write him to ask for his supplier: I'd probably be sure not to have a bad trip.
2. Last night I was at choir practice (I live a complicated life: deal). We're auditioning potential replacements for our current music director, so we all show up early, and the auditioner rehearses us for forty-five minutes and then we discuss his or her performance with the search committee. Last night's auditioner was a very cute, mid-thirties guy who until now appears to have been an itinerant assistant conductor for opera choruses. And a vocal coach. Every time we did something right, he'd say "Bravi."
Musically, I was very impressed with him. He made us sound terrific. He may also have been the gayest man I ever met. I don't mean swishy, I just mean gay. I enjoyed singing for him, but most of the time I was wondering whether the fact that he's a choral director for a living means that in his personal life he prefers a more submissive role. What our choir really needs is a director whom I can fuck to get a solo. Mind you, I'm good enough to get solos without tying the director to the bedposts, but doesn't it seem like a win-win arrangement? If I had to guess, though, I'd say that he's probably got a partner, and the two of them are monogamous, except for the threeway they have with a hunky Italian baritone after their annual trip to La Scala. Not that there's anything wrong with that.
I mentioned to some of the other basses that he was one of the gayest men I'd ever met, and they gave me disapproving looks and said, "that doesn't matter." I replied, "A) I'm allowed to say that, and b) who said it was an insult?" When we were discussing his vita after the audition, one of the altos asked why someone so accomplished would want to lead a church choir and then said "Is he married," and I piped up with "Not in this state." Another alto smiled at me and gave me a thumbs up. She's a lesbian, and she and her partner are both in the choir, and they're pretty cool.
Later when we were having coffee, someone opined that I couldn't be sure that the auditioner was gay. After giving him a "puh-leeze Maria," I gave him the standard joke:
Q: How many straight male choir directors does it take to screw in a light bulb?
A: Both of them.
This jokes works equally well with organists.
3. My stalker keeps calling me. The frequency has gone down to once or twice a week, but I'm amazed at his persistence. For a while, I just didn't open the phone if it said "private number," but after a while I figured that it couldn't always be him, so now I do answer it, and about half the time it is him.
It might be annoying if it weren't so funny. And, ok, a little bit sad, but mostly funny. I'm thinking that maybe the next time he calls, I should get into a hot phone kink scene with him. Tell him how I'm tying him to the bed and getting out the whips and candles to punish him for, well, something. Maybe I can punish him for using the greengrocer's plural. He and I don't communicate in writing (we communicate by him saying "Hey" in about three syllables and me hanging up on him: it works for us), but he certainly seems like the type to abuse apostrophes.
I suppose I could go old school and punish him for touching himself, but how fucked up is that? Really, if we (not we personally perhaps) went into the middle schools of America and taught the students that a) masturbation is good, and b) the greengrocer's plural is bad, we'd have a significantly better country within forty-eight hours. Imagine my eighth grade English teacher sending a note home to my parents: "Teddy abused an apostrophe today; consequently, he should not be allowed to abuse himself tonight." Not, you understand, that I would ever have erred in punctuation.