Caution: Blunk Drogger!

My brother and sister-in-law brought a couple of bottles of wine for me and Dad from a winery where they worked over the weekend. Cool. I decided to polish off a bottle with my Tuna Noodle Surprise for dinner.

Why not? I'm not driving anywhere. Nothing on the agenda besides Boy Meets Boy and Queer Eye for the Straight Guy tonight.

So here I am. Drunk. What does one do while drunk? Well, I decided to whip up a nice bowl of Jell-O Instant Chocolate Pudding. There was a thing on the news (local news is sooooo bad in Philadelphia, but I guess it's bad everywhere) about chocolate, and that got me thinking, "I want me some of that." I found brownie mix in the cupboard that seemed to be providing a home to a gazillion weevils, so opted for the pudding mix instead. Impulse control being what it is presently, I was whisking away in no time.

Boy Meets Boy was sad. I noticed something interesting. Despite all of the parlee about 'romantic connection' and the like, this viewer spotted exactly zero incidences of trouser tenting during the entire episode. I mean, not only is there no sexual tension in the air, but there's no evidence of sexual tension anywhere else. I wonder if they're actually all straight, just playing along in the hope of netting $25k? How did they managed to assemble such asexual gay men? No wonder we got that Supreme Court decision: America at large is thinking, "What were we so worried about? These guys can't even get it together to bed each other, little less our teenage sons." Tragically, I'll be on the site of Inferno next Tuesday night, so I'll never know who gets the glass of champagne. Anybody but Franklin. I think Wes is the straight one. No gay man would go by 'Wes.' It would be 'Wesley.'

Queer Eye was, of course, the most brilliant thing I've ever seen on television bar none. Kyan, Jai, Ted, Carson, and Thom are amazing. And what was with that collar that George was wearing? I would have let him keep that. But I would have taken his hair down much shorter. Like, to none. And maybe throw in some chains. And a nice uric acid scrub would do great things for the complexion.

Such a one track mind.

Thursday, I may go to a meeting of the Philadelphia Bondage Club. They're having a farewell party for local men going to Delta. Alas, I have no gear with me, but I plan to go anyway, just to check it out. They meet in what sounds like a pretty seedy area of Philadelphia. Love that. And the photos of their play space are pretty cool. My expectations run high. Especially after reading Edge's exploits in Montreal, a city seemingly void of even the most basic knowledge of S/M technique. Perhaps Philadelphia will be the same...

Me: Voila! A hogtie!
Onlookers: Oooooh! Aaaaah! I wanna get with him!

Or, y'know, not.

Tomorrow I've got to take the Jeep Liberty in to the local Jeep dealership to get new fluids, belts, and filters in preparation for the drive to Inferno. And--Happy Day!--a reader has offered to put me up for the night in Cleveburg. That is way cool. Cash strapped as I am, I'm happy to be able to save the money I would have otherwise spent on the Motel 6 in Sandusky, Ohio.

Dang. Next week this time I'll be at the Inferno site. There I'll be: in that place, with those men. Pretty amazing. Just what I need.

It had crossed my mind that I ought to get the GMSMA banner to take with me. They hang banners of clubs in the dining area. last year, Diabolique took care of bringing it. Not sure if he'd be in a position to do that this year, although he's driving out with the current Vice President, so perhaps they'll be doing that. Given the limited time that I'll be in NYC/NNJ prior to hitting the road on Sunday morning, I may not be able to make that happen. But we'll see.

Anyway, once I'm to the point where I'm relatively sure I won't have problems with bedspins, I'm going to hit the sheets.

Dig.

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