looking back

Happy New Year... almost! I'm going to close out 2006 the same way I did last year with a month-by-month recap of posts.

Suffer.

JANUARY

Re: The Muppets
Here began what turned out to be a 13-part series. It chronicles first love and my process of coming out. Independently, those can both be brutal experiences. When you combine the two, it's completely overwhelming. I almost didn't survive it but hot damn, I made it through. Go me.

I haven't really gone back and read this all the way through after posting it. Occasionally, I'll catch a glimpse of paragraph or passage and honestly, I don't even remember writing it. It just sort of flowed out in a way that I can't explain.

I was scared to poke around in old memories and really hesitant to bare my soul like that to the world but something inside just told me to go for it. And I'm so glad I did. I feel like I finally put that part of my life to rest.

An added bonus to sharing my story was the response I got from people all over the world -- gay, straight, confused, male, female, transgendered, Christian, Jewish, Muslim and everyone in between. Some were too shy to comment and instead, sent highly personal emails to me sharing bits of their own lives and thanking me for sharing mine. It struck a chord I never could have anticipated and inspired a few people to write their own stories. I can't even properly articulate how much that means to me.

Thanks again to everyone who read the story and cheered me on as I labored through the tough parts.

Okay, enough mush. Next!

FEBRUARY

Cottonmouth Au Jus
Here is yet another of the many gems uttered by my beloved niece.

An Open Letter to the Building Facilities Person(s) in Charge of Ordering Paper Goods for the Bathroom at My Job
The custodial staff at my office building feels the business end of a complaint letter composed by yours truly.

Judge Not
Who knew Peter Cetera could set off such a firestorm of controversy?! (Psst! Read the comments on that post.)

MARCH

Erin-Go-A-Cup Bragh
A retelling of the acquisition of my first bra and an unfortunate nickname.

Courtney & Tina: A Theory
Were Kurt's widow and Jennifer Keaton one and the same?

APRIL

The Terrible Twos
My blog became toddler this past year. In case you're wondering, the whole potty training thing is still a work in progress. Don't rush me!

A Not-So-Good Friday
Another tale of Catholic hi jinx.

MAY

An Announcement
Fans of off-key oversinging everywhere rejoiced at the birth of American Midol, the smart-assed brainchild of Mejack, The Lovely Jess and myself. The new season starts soon so stay tuned for more shameless plugs!

In the Criminal Justice System
A footnote (pun totally intended) to the tale of my tortured tootsies.

On Why the Newspaper Guy Must Think I'm a Complete Asshole
This one got a Gawker link, bitches!

JUNE

What's Grosser Than Gross?
Ham & Cheese on Wry goes interactive! Here are the results of a poll on the most disgusting television commercials currently on the air. Caution: the term "nail bed" is used.

Duh, Baryshnikov
Mejack and I discuss plot holes in the Soviet-era film White Nights. You know, typical conversation...

My Way Gay Tale of Even Gayer Gayness
Here's the piece I read at my first-ever public appearance as Curly McDimple. Not only did my story garner a few laughs, I also didn't shit my pants. Success!

JULY

They Feel the Need, The Need for Speed[os]
Photos of Brighton Beach's finest on parade.

He Will 'Rize' Again
The Lovely Jess and I make suggestions to improve the Catholic Mass. Oddly enough, the Church didn't heed our advice. Fools.

Oh man, I'm going to have to say a good Act of Contrition for that.

AUGUST

Rule Of Thumb... And Pinky, Middle, Index & Ring
The results of a manicure given by my six-year-old niece.

Are You There God? It's Me, Curly
An appeal to a higher authority for my menstrual cycle to fuck off.

SEPTEMBER

Rod 'The Bod' and God Side-by-Side on the R Train
Screw The Naked Cowboy. This woman has the hottest act in all of NYC.

My 'Porchret'
The niece takes up portrait drawing as a hobby. Behold the birth of an artiste!

OCTOBER

Toreador, Don't Spit on the Floor
I got all fancy and went to my first opera with The Hot Russian. And it totally didn't suck and stuff.

On Altruism and Inadvertent Anti-Piracy Measures
Another Gawker link! They just love to showcase when I make an ass out of myself.

NOVEMBER

Our Version of Rate-a-Record
The Lovely Jess and I go toe-to-toe on the appeal of Faith No More and the Dave Matthews Band. Caution: The term "mushy peas" is mentioned.

DECEMBER

Acting? Thank You!
Save your pennies for some Broadway tickets and set your TiVos to record the next Tony Awards. 2006 is the year I became an actor!

They Do Know... They Just Don't Care
Band Aid was a noble effort. Really it was but dear God, those lyrics! Here I take Sir Bob down a notch... or twelve.

mmm... cirrhosis

Good morning! Guess who just woke up? Rolling out of bed at 1:00 PM is all sorts of fun. Actually, bed is not quite accurate... it's more like loveseat. I didn't quite make it to my bed, you see. I got home last night, took off my coat, turned on the TV and then passed out about two seconds later fully clothed, makeup still applied, hat still perched on my head and glasses dangling from one ear. So hot. Shocking that I'm single, no?

I've pretty much been inflicting damage upon my liver for about two weeks straight. 'Tis the season, after all! Last night's round of vital organ abuse came in the form of The WYSIWYG Talent Show. I was there along with Joe.My.God., Aaron, David and Tom rooting for the incredibly awesome Helen Damnation as she took to the stage in her first WYSIWYG appearance. I love the girl for many reasons already (farting on a homophobe, hello?!?!) but anyone who can lead a Springer chant of "WE LOVE LESBIANS!" after her set is okay in my book. Forever.

Last night's show was themed "I'm Not as Think as You Drunk I Am." Helen's hilarious tale of copping a squat in Times Square earned its rightful place in the annals (tee hee hee -- I said "annals") of the WYSIWYG archives. Well done, my friend. Well done.

I was also thrilled as thrilled can be to see Dan Renzi in the flesh. Dan, you see, was a cast member of The Real World: Miami season. I ain't even gonna front -- I love The Real World. Each and every increasingly ridiculous season of it. My love for RW is exceeded only by my adoration of The Real World/Road Rules Challenge. In fact, I've documented this love often on this here blog. See here, here, here and here.

Emily Epstein treated us to a tale of bungee jumping while bombed. I dare say it would take more than alcohol to give me the nerve to fling myself off a bridge tethered to a big ol' rubberband. Coincidentally, I saw Ms. Epstein performing the night before at Chicks and Giggles at Mo Pitkin's in the East Village. Total happenstance, mind you, but it's like Emily Espstein is Phish and I've become her ardent follower. See you tonight, Emily?! Hee hee.

I was at Mo Pitkin's for a Hanukkah party thrown by my friend Amy. Even though I've never spinned a dreidel before in my life (SHOCKING considering my tri-state area upbringing), I proved to be a real ringer. My speed, velocity and spin were quite impressive for a goy like me. The Jews at the table were impressed. Mind you, I didn't land on gimel but whatevs, I displayed a lot of style in my otherwise unsuccessful attempt. I represented the Gentiles well, I dare say.

I'm now on a well-earned vacation. I've barely started my Christmas shopping so I've got my work cut out for me the next few days. I know I promised a series of reviews of holiday specials (something you were all dying to read, I'm sure) but well, fuck it. I didn't have time. Next year.

I will try to check in before I go home but if not, Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah. You'll just have to wait to get your Kwanzaa greetings next week, bitches.

my way gay tale of even gayer gayness

I survived my first-ever WYSIWYG Talent Show! I stressed out majorly before going on but I really had a great time up on that stage. I think my story went over well. Um, I also think that there's a whole new crop of people out there who think I'm a complete bitch based on my scathing critique of dates gone bad, but hey, them's the breaks. People are bound to find out sooner or later that I'm a real asswipe, no?

A big thank you to Chris, Andy and Dan for allowing me to get my WYSIWYG on. It was an honor and a pleasure to share the spotlight with Rod Townsend, The Spinster, Greg Walloch, dj:ayden, Joe.My.God and Joel Derfner. What illustrious company I keep!!! Thank you so much for the opportunity. You were all amazing!

For those of you who couldn't make it, here's the piece I read last night:

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Sometime last year, my fellow WYSIWYGer tonight, Joe.My.God, sent an email to a bunch of us homo bloggers and posed the question: What is the gayest thing you've ever done?

I thought it would be easy enough to answer. After all, I'm one of The Homosexuals and therefore can easily rattle off a list of things that make me a big ol' lez.

For one, there's the whole aversion to cock thing. Secondly... actually, wait... I guess that right there makes it an open and shut case, no? I don't like dick. Simple.

But believe you me, there are a litany of ways in which I earn my Sapphic stripes so I felt like I was more than up to Joe.My.God's challenge... until I started trying to write about it. As I sifted through my memories trying to find something that demonstrated my over-the-top dykedom, I couldn't find shit. I had not a single, salacious story to share so I just ended up slapping together some lame nonsense about the overly-schmoopie things my ex-girlfriend and I used to do for each other.

For example, she wrote me tons of free-verse poetry and gave me lots of dolphin brick-a-brack and in exchange, I adopted us a whale and made her dozens of mix tapes which, in retrospect, were quite heavy on the 10,000 Maniacs. Now, that might seem like an odd and incongruous musical choice but it was a two-pronged approach really. I felt like I could not only woo this girl with some of Natalie Merchant's more syrupy lyrics, but I could also raise her level of awareness of things like child abuse, illiteracy, corporate greed, the Great Depression, teenage pregnancy, freedom of choice and oil spills.

But, as I fully expected, my less-than-tawdry tale barely ranked as queer next to some of the others in Joe's compilation. And I'm not sure how my account tonight will stack up on the Way Gay meter so, instead of trying to outgay anyone, I'm opting instead to stick with what I know best -- making fun of people.

So, without further ado...

I went out with a woman last year and how do I put this delicately? I banged her on the second date. A day or two later, after said banging, I received an email from her that went a little something like this:

Curly,
I just wanted to thank you for the other night. It was wonderful spending time with you... and making love with you. You are a gifted and amazing lover.

OH.MY.GOD. I wasn't even that freaked out by the level of intimacy she had assumed about us. No. No. I was more concerned that I had just fucked someone who actually used the term "making love" in all seriousness. As well as the word "lover." Without irony. Or a funny accent.

Now lest you think I'm an ingrate, I must say that I appreciate a nice thank you note as much as the next person but well, in this case it's a bit unnecessary. The screaming orgasms -- note the plural -- and the scratch marks down my back were all the thanks I needed, really.

About two years ago, while perusing the online personals, I came across an intriguing profile. I was immediately taken with her cool name. It was the same name as a rather crunchy city in Arizona, which I just assumed was where she was born or conceived or something. Actually, I had envisioned quite the back story for this woman based solely on this name. I theorized that her parents were hippy-dippy academics and she was their free-spirited daughter who favored peasant blouses, flowing skirts and bare feet and probably always had a good stash of weed on hand.

We hit it off over email and agreed to a date. I was really looking forward to meeting her. I arrived first and nervously waited for the beautiful hippie of my imagination to appear. I was all atwitter over the possibilities.

A few minutes later, in bounds a woman with stringy brown hair, pale, dull skin and the same build and carriage as Jar Jar Binks.

When she thrust out a bony hand and introduced herself to me, my heart which was so puffed up with hope and expectation deflated and shot around the room like an unsealed balloon.

Instead of the envisioned bare feet and a flowing skirt, she was wearing lug-soled shoes that were far too large and clunky for the tapered-ankle high-waisted Mom jeans she was wearing. And in place of the delicate peasant blouse was a thick black Champion sweatshirt. Actually, I could tell it used to be black but by now, it was more of a charcoal gray because of age and repeated exposure to detergent.

And there was no killer weed to be found on this girl. The only type of drug paraphernalia on her was an EpiPen. Turns out, this chick was allergic to her own snot. And her allergies were so bad, she couldn't risk eating or drinking anything that she didn't prepare herself so she brought a small cooler bag containing quite the nut-free, gluten-free, dairy-free assortment. Oh, and some orange shit in a Poland Spring bottle that I didn't even want to know about. And then she offered me some of her hypoallergenic stash with the same ease and expectation as if she was offering me an Altoid.

The outlook was not good but I held out hope for some stimulating conversation. I don't know what I was thinking. There was a better chance of monkeys flying out both our butts. Actually, that's probably not the best choice of expression because knowing her allergies, monkeys flying out the butt was probably a side effect she suffered as a result of eating, I don't know... soy or something.

So, needless to say that stimulating conversation never quite materialized. Instead, she spent most of the time talking about her various reactions in gruesome and excruciating detail as well as the life-saving benefits and properties of epinephrine. Um, in case you were wondering, talking about anaphylaxis on a first date? Soooooooooo NOT hot.

But her name still interested me so once I got her to stop yapping about her freakish swelling and violent vomiting spells, I inquired about its origin. It turns out that after one visit to, uh... for the sake of protecting her identity, we'll call it... uh, I don't know, Flagstaff... she decided that she liked the "energy fields" and the "unique aura." So much so that she needed to rechristen herself... Flagstaff.

Now, I don't know about the rest of you but when I really like a place I visit, I just buy myself a nice magnet or a coffee cup or something. Granted, I realize I don't have much sway in arguing against renaming oneself as I stand before you as Curly McDimple (not my real name) but then again, I'm not demanding that family, friends, coworkers and random people I meet on Nerve address me as such. Uh, just you guys here.

And the thing is, Flagstaff's real name was, like, Elizabeth or whatever. And well, the whole thing is just silly especially when you consider that there's a perfectly good city bearing her Christian name right across the Hudson over here. I mean, one could argue that Elizabeth, New Jersey also possesses "energy fields" and a "unique aura." Sure, the "energy fields" will most likely give you inoperable cancer and that "unique aura" possesses a smell that's akin to a dirty diaper hitting you in the face shit-side up, but still, Elizabeth's not without its charms.

I didn't always rely on online dating. When I first came out, I tried to meet people the old-fashioned way. I enlisted the help of my dear friend from high school, Filomena. Unfortunately, I think she took the whole "old-fashioned" thing a little too literally. In one of my first ventures out into the scene, she took me to a dance... sponsored by SAGE.

For you breeders in the audience, that acronym stands for Senior Action in a Gay Environment. In other words, it's for old people. Don't get me wrong, I have nothing but massive amounts of gratitude and respect for our elder statesmen. I just don't necessarily want to slow dance to "Always and Forever" with them.

And while I really appreciated Filomena's efforts, it was just a bit much for my first time out. Seriously, we were there not five minutes before a woman closely resembling Leather Tuscadero hit on me. And then right after that, Donna Summer's English-version remake of that Andrea Bocelli song blared from the sound system much to the delight of the aging throngs and it suddenly turned into motherfucking Soul Train in there. I saw one old lady using her walking stick as a go-go pole of sorts and a bunch of old biddies engaged in some hard-core bumping and grinding and I got all overwhelmed and started to cry right there in the middle of the dance floor. So we left.

But Filomena was trying to be supportive and didn't want the night to be a total wash so she suggested that we go to Rubyfruit but then she couldn't remember where it was and I had never been there so I was of no use, so after wandering around the West Village aimlessly for a bit, we just went home. In retrospect, it was a good thing because I've since been to Rubyfruit and the clientele is not that much younger than at a SAGE dance. In fact, there's a lot of demographic overlap.

I finally braved Rubyfruit about a year or two ago and it looked like a fucking softball clinic in there. One woman gestured to me and I wasn't clear if she wanted me to dance with her or lay down a nice bunt. Had we gone there that night after the dance, I would have been permanently scarred. Primarily because a lot of the women in there looked like Ms. Neuschwander, our scary freshman-year gym teacher who favored polo shirts tucked into pleated, khaki shorts and was prone to slapping young girls on the ass as they got on and off the pommel horse.

So, after all my name-calling and ridiculing is said and done, it should perhaps come as no surprise to you that yes, I'm still single. Yup, I'm available and ripe for the picking, ladies. Not sure that's an enticing proposition because by now you might be thinking I'm judgmental, a bit immature, a tad obnoxious, slightly shallow perhaps, emotionally stunted even. And to that I say... uh, well, nothing, because you're right.

But hey, I'm not without merit entirely. My time is up so I can't go into my finer points at length. But allow me to leave you all with these four words: GIFTED AND AMAZING LOVER.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Thanks to everyone who came out to support me. Last night was a whirlwind so if I didn't get to properly thank you face-to-face, I promise I will do so. Extra special thanks to The Lovely Jess who served as therapist, cheerleader, wardrobe consultant, personal manager and so much more. You're the best. Thank you.

wysiwyg reminder!

Hooo lawdy! It's only a few days until I perform at The WYSIWYG Talent Show. Let the trembling and panic attacks begin!

If you'd like to see me wage battle against my nerves, please stop by the Bowery Poetry Club on June 20 and cheer me on along with these fabulous bloggers whose company I am honored to keep:

:: Greg Walloch ::
:: Spinster ::
:: Joe.My.God ::
:: Rod Townsend ::
:: Joel Derfner ::
:: dj:ayden ::

UPDATE! The Bowery Poetry Club doesn't sell tickets in advance. Doors open at 7:30 so please arrive early to secure your spot. This show will sell out. Fear not about the early arrival time -- there's a well-stocked bar to keep you entertained until showtime.

Please visit the WYSIWYG site for more info. Hope to see you there!

dude, that's soooooooo gay

Next month's WYSIWYG Talent Show line-up has been announced. Kindly join me and this very talented roster of fellow homos as we tell our "Way Gay" tales at the Bowery Poetry Club on June 20.

:: Greg Walloch
:: Spinster
:: Joe.My.God
:: Rod Townsend
:: Joel Derfner
:: dj:ayden

Please visit the WYSIWYG site for ticket info, directions, etc. See you next month!

what about prom, blaine?

Last night I had a front-row seat as The Lovely Jess triumphantly returned to the WYSIWYG stage to tell the throngs her personal tale of Prom Trauma.

I sat nervously anticipating her turn and silently willing her luck, confidence and mojo as Jess made her way to the stage. Turns out, she didn't need my help. Girlfriend grabbed the mic like an old pro and entertained the audience with her tale of cheap vodka, backstabbing friends, child corruption, crying boyfriends, Rage Against the Machine sing-a-longs and late-night games of Spit. You were awesome, my dear!

Joining Jess on the bill were the equally-awesome Lang Fisher, Fiffe, Jason Boog, Nichelle and The Vandervoorts. Excellent job, everyone!

Oh and guess what? Next month, it's my turn. Yes, ye loyal followers o' Ham & Cheese on Wry, I'm making my illustrious WYSIWYG Talent Show debut on June 20 @ The Bowery Poetry Club. I will be joined by some of NYC's finest and funniest 'mos as we kick off Pride Week with Way Gay: Even Gayer Gay Gayness.

Won't you come and get your homo on with us? I'll totally vouch for the quality of the evening. Last year's show was a total wheeze-fest for yours truly. Here's hoping I can return the favor and inspire a few chuckles next month.

Oh man, I've already got the jitters. Mmm... Valium.

sexual highjinks and a sticky hymn

I loves me some WYSIWYG, rally I do. Last night's "Worst. Sex. Ever. III: When Bad Sex Happens to Good People" was as hilarious as I imagined it would be.

Once again, my hooting-type laughter blew out the eardrums of those unfortunate enough to be sitting near me. Uh... sorry 'bout that, guys. Let me know if I can kick in a few bucks to help defray the cost of your sign language lessons.

The entire line-up was amazing but Emily Deprang really had me howling with her tale of oral sex gone just a bit awry. I mean, to be able to somehow equate her technique with a pantomime seen on Who's Line Is It Anyway? Well, that was just genius, in my opinion. Well done, Emily.

I look forward to checking out all of the bloggers showcased last night. Here they are if you'd like to do the same:

-- Todd Levin

-- John "Jonno" D'Addario

-- Hanne Blank

-- Greg Walloch

-- Desiree Burch

-- The Assimilated Negro

-- Audacia Ray

-- Emily Deprang

-- dj:ayden

On an unrelated (I think) note, I have "Nearer My God to Thee" stuck in my head this morning. Um, make of that what you will...

last night

Last night's WYSIWYG Talent Show was another rousing success. The Lovely Jess more than held her own with her charming tale of fierce competition for the elusive single boy at summer camp. I was a bundle of nerves for her as I sat in the audience waiting for her to perform. But Ms. Thang stepped up to the mic, struck a sassy pose and delivered her spiel with a winning combination of confidence and excellent comedic timing.

Eventually I'm going to get up on that stage and tell one of my ridiculous stories and when I do, I hope that I'm as composed and kick ass as Jess was. I'm so proud of you, toots!

I just have to say that I completely adore these shows. Each month I cackle hysterically and discover fabulous new writers to add to my already unruly Blogroll. Last night's finds were Susie Felber and Jonny Goldstein. The two of them actually had me yelping with laughter. Not chortling. Not guffawing. Yelping. Um, speaking of which... my apologies to my neighbors to the right. I hope the ringing in your ears has subsided by now.

Well done, everyone!

save the date

The Lovely Jess will be taking to the stage at the hallowed P.S. 122 on Tuesday, July 19. Jess will entertain us with tales from Christian summer camp in the certain-to-be hilarious Greetings from Lake WYSIWYG: Stories from Summer Camp. As you'll recall, I laughed like a hyena at last month's WYSIWYG and I have every intention of doing so again. Get your tickets now!

P.S. As part of her continued quest for world domination, Jess's Bedroom Blog is also featured in this month's Cosmo! Pick it up now!

whoa, nellies!

Last night I attended one of my new favorite things in the whole wide world -- The WYSIWYG Talent Show. And I had quite the time. And just like the last one, I made a complete and total spectacle of myself with my less than dainty laughter.

If you present me with some funny shit, I don't titter politely. I find it near impossible to delicately chortle to myself. My laugh is booming. People usually turn around to locate its source. Sometimes it infects them and others.... well, let's just say that I've been given the stink eye more than once. Sheesh. Engage in an ill-timed fit of loud, uncontrollable laughter during Good Friday Mass one time and suddenly you're a bigger douche than Judas.

Anyhoo, my laugh is much like a snowball rolling down a hill -- it gathers mass and momentum quickly and it can AND WILL flatten all in its path. Sometimes it comes out like a burst of dynamite and others, I emit a giggle that, at first, is well within the bounds of respectability and social decorum. But then I chew on the joke a little bit and it becomes increasingly funny to me and, well, that's when I lose my shit.

You see, I possess the ability (or defect) to copy and paste a well-told anecdote, sight gag or pratfall into the forefront of my memory and keep it there, fully intact, for quite some time. It loses none of its luster or quality in the transfer. I can then rewind and relive the moment repeatedly. And with each replay, a new cycle of raucous laughter begins. The volume increases. I make inhuman noises. My feet come off the floor. My eyes water. I become congested. I cover my entire face in my hands in an attempt to suffocate the caterwauling. But my laugh is like motherfucking Houdini and it will not and cannot be contained.

So yeah, that's kinda what happened last night. As the talented roster of performers regaled us with their howlingly funny tales of Extremely Gay Gayness, I responded in kind with an array of wheezy guffaws and hysterical yelps. I constantly mopped the tears from eyes and worked hard to regain my composure when everyone else did the appropriate thing and simmered down and listened intently. Me? I was gone! I filled the performance space with my ridiculous mixture of sounds.

I honestly don't remember when I laughed that hard. Excellent work, everyone! And thank you for the giggles, or in my case, the disturbing-does-that-chick-need-an-ambulance? cackling. And a special nod to one of my favorite gay boy bloggers ever, Joe.My.God. You were outstanding once again! Oh and Dan Fishback, you are a total find. I look forward to checking out more of your work.

For those of you in the NYC area, get your asses to one of these fabulous events. Even if you're not in the tri-state, make the trip! You will not be disappointed. As an added incentive, The Lovely Jess will be rocking the mic at next month's show (July 19, 2005). I'm already getting all "Sing out, Louise!" on her with my heavy-handed tactics and stage-motherly advice.

Thanks again for a great time, WYSIWYGers! See you next month!

on bloggers, mentioning unmentionables and an alarming use of clowns

Last night, The Lovely Jess, the Charming Sean T. Conrad and I met the Utterly Fabulous Katie of I Am Therefore I Date (or Katie Dating Is Hell as Jess and I have taken to calling her) and we attended the WYSIWYG Talent Show at P.S. 122.

Together, we watched a bevy of talented bloggers tell their best New York stories. My favorite performer of the evening (and the reason I attended) was the illustrious Joe.My.God. He's as brilliant in the flesh as he is on his blog. If you don't read him already, I urge you to start. His observational and storytelling skills are nothing short of remarkable. And he's like really buff, yo.

Meeting Katie Dating Is Hell for the first time was equally exciting. She too is the keeper of a kick-ass blog and held her own nicely with Jess, Sean Conrad and myself. Sean Conrad is no slouch either as he did not even bat an eye when discussion turned to bras, the taboo of sharing underwear and how to accurately determine one's pantyhose size.

The rest of the evening is a bit of a blur as I got uncharacteristically drunk on very few Brooklyn Lagers. I'm more embarrassed about being a lightweight than any potentially ass-y things I may have uttered in my altered state. I do remember rambling about the importance of labor unions and how scary I find that stiff-haired Ringling Bros. clown.

I'm not sure what sparked the latter tirade but I do recall Sean Conrad being oddly protective of BALCO or whatever the hell that clown's name is. Even more alarming, Jess sheepishly fessed up to preaching the word of God through "clown ministry" back in the day. After my shock subsided, I went through a series of mental visuals including clowns in full makeup distributing Communion, singing in the choir and passing around the collection plate. I found it simultaneously hilarious and horrifying.

Jess, now that I'm sober, I realize that I have a lot of questions about this. Like, did someone read from the Bible while wearing big floppy shoes and a red nose? How about wigs and wide-waisted pants? Was there horn honking during the service? Did you engage in religious-themed tumbling? I think we need to set aside some time to discuss this further. Or even better, you can post about it. And feel free to include pictures. This is perhaps the one and only time where I'll welcome clown photography. I thank thee in advance.