Barnstorming!

It's a good thing I'm a gentle, easy-going, forgiving soul.

Or else there would be hell to pay.

I had quite the weekend! For starters, I got up way early on Saturday morning, and drove up to NYC to have breakfast with a bunch of guys in town for the Tattoo Convention, organized by Whip Cracker from Atlanta GA. So I get into town, find parking, and head to French Roast at 6th Ave and 11th Street (thanks for the recommendation, Diabolique!). I walk in the door, and there's WC, a couple of tattoo boys, and none other than That Provincetown Guy I met at MAL.

That Provincetown Guy. 'Member him? He's amazing. A beautiful man. And he's got stuff in that handsome head of his. During MAL back in January, there I was at the Hot Ash social, and in he comes, introduces himself, and we proceed to make out like crazy. And it was wonderful. Sublime. We made plans to have lunch together the next day.

So I'm getting ready to leave to meet him for lunch, and the phone rings. And it's That Provincetown Guy. Calling from the road. He told me that he had had enough, and was heading home to Massachusetts.

Say what?

Since then, I've sent a couple messages his way, emailed him a couple of times. No reply.

And now here he is sitting next to Whip Cracker. And get this! He's giving me all these smoldering looks!

Looks like Schlitz has a contender for wearing the crown of Master Of Mixed Messages.

What up wid dat?

Overall, breakfast was fun. Afterwards, I thought these out-of-towners would appreciate a look at the grass pier. Unfortunately, while we were eating, the temperature dropped about fifteen degrees, so when we got there, icy winds were whipping off the Hudson. I was thoughtfully wearing my saved-my-sorry-butt orange hoodie, but the out-of-towners were underdressed. Although they showed a lot of pluck! Kudos there.

Then it was off to play softball. In Bloomfield, NJ.

I was one of only three of the original Ball Breakers there (I'm warming to the new guys, and I even know many of their names!). My teammate Ben and I took an immediate dislike to the other team. They were all so young and scrubbed and fun! And roughly evenly divided between men and women. And they had racial and ethnic diversity on their team. I swear, it was like they were sent by the Logo channel.

And they handed us our asses. (The Ball Breakers are not having a great season, win wise.)

I had two at bats. First time, I struck out. Second time, I hit a passable ground ball, and once again, flew like the wind down the baseline, beating the ball to first. There was a verrrrry bad call by the umpire--in my favor!--at second base. And eventually I ended up crossing home plate for a run scored.

But, I could ony stay for the first game, because Jersey Guy was whisking me away to shower and change at his nearby apartment so we could go to the NYC Tattoo Convention together.

Jersey Guy looked great as ever. Great to see him again after so many weeks.

We managed to get back into the city without too much of a hassle, and soon found outselves at the Tattoo Convention.

Okay. I've been wanting to make this for years, but haven't managed to. And at the softball game, I found out why. It's the same weekend as the NYC Erotic Art Fair, a benefit for the Tom of Finland Foundation. Of which I'm a member.

So how come I didn't get a "Hey You! Sign Up To Volunteer For The Erotic Art Fair!" email this year? Dang! Because the Erotic Art Fair means the very evil (in a good way!) Dirk guy is in town. And I've wanted him for as long as I can remember.

So the Tattoo Convention.

I have to say it was pretty ho hum. Not half as much eye candy as was to be beheld at the Bike Show. And I noticed that something about being heavily tattooed and lack of social skills go together in many cases. There you are, walking though this dense crowd, and nobody is meeting your eyes. A couple of times I said "Wow! Great ink!" to a couple of people as openers, but got blank stares or they mumbled something at me while looking at their feet, the way an 8th grader would respond. I did get woofed, thankfully, from a verrrry hot man with a dense pelt of fur on him, all but obscuring his many tattoos. I sure hope our paths cross again sometime.

Although it won't be at the NYC Tattoo Convention. Been there. Done that. Buncha ink nerds is what they are.

Jersey Guy was fun to hang out with though.

When we were watching the contest, one of the contestants explained that on his back he had tattooed portraits (I hate tattoo portraits) of everybody in his family who had died. I observed to Jersey Guy, "That would sort of be a downer when you were fucking him up the butt, huh?" To which Jersey Guy responded, "Oh my God! Uncle Sherman died! I didn't hear! When?" while pantomining giving it to the boy.

I decided to try and see if I could catch the tail end of the erotic art fair, so I left the Tattoo Convention at 6 pm, and didn't have too much trouble getting downtown or finding parking. I arrived at the Center about 6:45 and learned, to my horror, that the Erotic Art Fair and Evil Dirk had closed up shop at 6 pm.

As Stewie would say, "Blast!"

So I consoled myself with a few good hours of NYC Time.

I headed to Gray's Papaya at 6th Avenue and 11th Street, because I suddenly had an all but overwheling craving for hot dogs. I love Gray's Papaya. Although I always forget that their papaya juice has a faint aftertaste reminscent of the aroma of a three day old roadkill in midsummer. (I swear!) It's not too strong, but it's enough to notice. But the hot dogs--I like mine with mustard and saurkraut--were amazing. As always. And for $2.75, what's not to love?

Still a little bit hungry, I headed over to Gourmet Garage on Seventh Avenue and picked up some take out sushi. I found a nice stoop on a quiet block of West 10th Street and had myself a little picnic. Then, I walked up West 4th Street (I love West 4th Street! If you get from Christopher Street to West 13th Street by walking up Hudson, it takes forever, but West 4th Street is like some kind of wormhole. I've never been able to figure that out.) I stopped and got the Sunday New York Times (a day early, and including the City Section; when I buy it out here in the Howling Wilderness, I get some weird New Jersey section I couldn't give a rat's ass about). I went to Starbucks on Greenwich Avenue, got myself a latte and a chocolate cupcake, and took in a couple of sections of the Times. (Have you noticed that with the Same Sex Nuptuals listings, they always get a picture? Always! Even if it's bad and grainy and unflattering, like it was for two dykes who tied the knot recently.)

That was sweet.

Then, it was a long, long drive down the Jersey Turnpike to Philadelphia. I had a date with a worldleatherman guy from Fort Lauderdale.

Hmmm. Just a random thought. Y'know how they say that homosex is better than heterosex, because one man knows better than a woman what a man likes because he's a man, too? Well let's just say I have clear and convincing evidence that this is not always the case. Very clear evidence that's not always the case. Like, unimpeachable evidence. We're talkin' Iron Clad.

Get me?

'Kay.

Nuff said.

I did get a good night's sleep though, and woke up looking forward to having brunch with Young Doctor Cub. On whom I'm very sweet, and with whom I had a smokin hot date last weekend. (Missed softball! Worth it!)

I was driving up South Broad Street, got out my cell phone, and before I dialed I though, "He's not gonna pick up. He's 28 years old and it's 10 am on a Sunday morning. He's sound asleep.

And sure enough.

("Blast!")

So guess what I did! No, c'mon! Take a guess! Take a wild guess! C'mon! Just guess!

Did you guess, "Go to Starbucks"? Then you'd be right.

There's a new Starbucks (new to me anyhow) at 9th and South Street. Best Starbucks in Philadelphia that I've found. Some hot queer men passing by, doing their shopping at Whole Foods, tables out side, delightful.

The Baron's phone isn't working, it tends to go out whenever there's a storm, and we've had several. So I walked over to his place and rang the bell. No answer. So either the Baron was visiting his mom in Delaware or he was fast asleep and not answering the phone. And it had better have been the former.

But reading the rest of the Times was nice. And it was a good drive back.

About 2 pm, Young Doctor Cub called me. He had just woken up.

*sigh*

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