Holla Back Boy...

Yes, it's true. I've been gone for quite some time now, spending time helping refugees fleeing Uganda from guerrilla forces safely to the States, or I tried all twenty eight beers on tap at the bar down the street. you decide. The important thing is I'm back, and after ODing on the cheerfulness of being in a relationship, and some higher doses of Cynodan I'm back to being me.

I'd catch you up on all the fuzzy details of my life now, but I'm to giddy to control myself now. James (or as most know him, Wimjimjams on Youtube) has recently started reading my blogs. Most of you don't know who he is or what this means but it's as good as Katy Perry opening for a Lillith Fair concert. He is by far one of the funniest people I've ever seen in my life. Ok, if I'm a stalker, he's Kevin Bacon. So this is my shout out to him, and I will continue to bring you all more laughs and cynicism.

**

More so to catch you all up to speed, Readers Digest version style, I figured I'd bore you with my life for a bit. Twinkie and the other roommate have seemed to make a flip flop for my affection, as now Dirty Hippie is gone and Twinkie has proved to be a decent drinking buddy... with crap tollerence. Can't win them all. So Dirty Hippie is gone and and the three gays are moving into a stunning new flat which shall now be known as the Butt Cave(ok, that's lame, but I'm working on it... Ha, working on the Butt Cave). School is pretty much set and Superman is doing fantastic. Twinkie is banging Highlander, who I've yet to meet, and Chocolate Snatch is gracing us with her presence in two months.

Well I've got to head out to my local phone store as my current one is complete horse shit. I promise upon all that is holy(The 3 S's; Sex, sushi, and scotch) that I will continue blogging weekly at least. Oh, and happy late 4/20 all. I'm retired from the stuff, but support the cause... minus Dirty Hippie. Catch ya laterz!

Bradley James

Brad Reflects...

I've been doing the whole relationship thing for like three months now and I'm pretty cool with it. The honeymoon is over and now we've just fallen into pattern. We watch movies together, we read together in bed, we have and hour or so of foreplay/sex, and finally pass out. It's actually kind of nice. Or so I thought.

I guess you can't have your cock and eat it too. I haven't realized it, but some of my friends are starting to see me drift from them. They say I don't call or text as much and it very well may be so. I've even checked my phone as far as texts and calls and low and behold an inbox full of Superman texts and missed calls. At what point does this internal power shift from going out with your friends and staying in with the significant other? I see some of my friends that have dated for a long time and its true, you rarely see dating couples go out unless it's with other couples. It's like the grass is always greener and the ass most consistent, but once you pass the city limits of Couplesville you have to leave all your single friends behind. Is that right or even fair? Is it learned or subconscious?

So here I am with a moral dilemma(which is not an issue when the answer is generally what will profit most for me), do I give up time I could be spending with Superman reading to go out and get hung over? I guess this is hard for me as I've never met a formittable foe to my friends, but he's walking dangerously close. The idea of scheduling Superman versus Friends time makes me start to have convulsions, so I've decided to say fuck it. I'm going to do what the hell I feel like, and right now that is staying in with my boy. If you want me to come out I'd be happy to and you all have my number. Does this mean that he's more important? Not until we have a joint bank account and morgage, but that's the way we're headed. Glad we had that little chat.

Bradley James

FACT:

Cinnamon Raisin bread is the shit!

Faceless Facebook?

I apologize to everyone for my blogging hiatus. It's been very uneventful these past few weeks aside from Superman's birthday bash and my great aunt's passing. I wanted my comeback to out do Britney's, but how can I compete with her lip syncing abilities, rivaled only by Ashlee Simpson. I guess I'll have to take second string.

I'm sure all you Facebookers out there have seen the onslaught of the horrible pictures and the people that tag you in them. I've lost quite a few friends recently due to them(Is there a word for these pictures?). I thought I'd do a breakdown of all these characters and tell you what they say about you.

The Good Guy I feel sorry if you get tagged in this one. You may as well set up camp in the friendzone because you are never getting laid by anyone that sees this picture. Untag yourself immediately.

The Long-Distance Friend What can I say here? It doesn't say much about you aside from the fact that there is a state or two buffer between tagger and tagee. You're safe from criticism.

The One With the Cute Baby You may have an adorable baby, yes, but your friend obviously can't find something nicer to tag you in. Or your baby may not be cute, but you're their only friend with a baby. Hmmm.

The Athlete You are obviously not the DUFF(Designated Ugly Fat Friend) of the group. This is a compliment in the mindless Facebook world.

The One Who's Always Smiling And refills their Valium regularly.

The One You Can Depend On Some would call you reliable, and others will call you "husky."

The Flirt Much like superlative, this just means you're a whore. =)

The Work Buddy You are employed and don't touch my stapler. We're tight.

The Pretty Blond One Bottle blond or not, you're smokin', move to Park Place. If you pass Go collect $200, it's on the nightstand.

The Hopeless Romantic Let me guess, your lifelong plan is to get married and be a stay at home Dad/Mom?

The Sarcastic One I can't say anything, cause we're already friends on principle alone.

The Pinky-Swear Friend I'm not sure what this means, but were I a betting man it would involve a bottle of Jose' and a pregnancy test...

The Good Friend Some cultures call this their BFF, either way you are in the clear just steer away from tequila.

The Funny One A mushroom walks into a bar. The bartender tells him they don't serve to his kind. The mushroom replies "Come on man, I'm a fun guy."

The Political Guru You mention Dan Quayle's foriegn policy once and all of a sudden you're "that political guru."

Well there you have it broken down, but what does this say about the person tagging you? Well more than likely it says they are bored and want to remind you of your relationship to them and remind you that their birthday is coming up so you will leave a comment on their wall. Later kids!

Bradley James

Thank You Global Warming...

I'm sure most of you are wondering why I haven't blogged all week. This is partially due to the fact that it has been in the mid sixties or more this week, but mainly due to the fact I'm been with Superman for most of the week. This is good because I love hanging with this cat, but not so good as now I have so much to say and you only have so much attention to give. Am I right? So I've decided to break down my week into the Reader's Digest version.

I met SM's family out for his brother's last night in town before going back be with his lying skank of a wife (or so I'm told). They have me meet them out at a bar that was less than trendy shall we say. It looked like the Cheers bar if it were owned by the Clampetts. I'm talking deer heads on the wall and any kind of fried animal or vegetable you could imagine. The rest of the night was rather uneventful, but a good prelude to the next night when I met his father and stepmother.

His stepmother is hairdresser (need I say more), who I would describe as the hillbilly tanorexic version of Joan Rivers. His father who I've also met in passing only stumbles in the door half in the bag and stats telling stories of his childhood. Oh, and may I interject and say how I was referred to as SM's "friend," air quotes included, throughout the night. His father is that guy who's family has every senator, judge, and mayor in the tricounty area in their rolodex. So of course SM's father was that rich kid who was always getting fucked up at school and in trouble with the law. I heard one too many stories of watching his children after doing a few bong rips and a couple hits of LSD and we were out. Don't get me wrong, his dad is a cool guy to talk to but it's hard not to judge, eh?

After that we hit up some dinner and a very nice chat. We talked about all the things that went wrong before, how we've changed, and a few sore subjects for instance his ex boyfriend. I could not think worse of this guy and how he hurt SM every way you can. Not to mention the few times I've met the kid he was less than cordial so I may or may not have told him he should be doing my dry cleaning instead of being dry with me. Did I mention he is asian? Regardless there was no subject too messy for our discussion. It laid the track for the next few months of our relationship and as one who doesn't deal with surprises very well, I was pretty relieved.

On a completely separate note, I got to meet Mr. February. A restraining order could not have kept me from hugging that prepubescent kid and thanking him for all his charitable work. SM laughed while everyone else stood dumbfounded. I'm sure this kid is terrified of me, a feeling shared with Twinkie that will hopefully hold their sad "relationship" (again with the air quotes) together. YAY!!

Well I'm out for a few days, so Happy V Day to all my loyal readers and I will catch you later. Fin.

Bradley James

Goodbye My Lovers...

So things with Superman are going very well, well enough that I've reached a decision. We all have fuck buddies, or as Chocolate Snatch calls them distractions. These are the people that fill your sexual needs during droughts of actual relationships, like renter's insurance for your penis. But now I'm making an investment in a stable relationship, to continue the metaphor I'll call myself a first time home owner. It's nice and though it may need a little work it's still yours.

It's come that time that I've moved in and it's time to forget my renting days. I'm sure I've lost you all by now but the jist is it's time for me to delete my fuck buddy's numbers from my phone and life. I think if I'm willing to put my all into it I shouldn't have an escape route planned out. Whether Fritas knows or not, she asked me if I wanted to make this work and what I would do to keep it that way. When I realized offing Twinkie was not even a remote problem I realized it was that time.

So this is a farewell to all of the men that made my 30 day project, my "distractions," and a few good friends that just made some drunken decisions with me (actually these I'll keep, as they were not even friends with benefits). It doesn't count if the hangover outshines the sex, plus we actually have conversations. I will let you know among these are Johnny Angel and Big, and if you think it's a bad decision TOUGH SHIT.

So here's to my promise to put my all into a great thing I have going. Here's to Fritas who (unknowingly) gave me the push. And lastly, to the many great fucks I've had so many year through. May you all find a new cock to sit on.

**

Come to think of it Johnny Angel has met Superman too. It was while we were dating previously and he came down for some such reason and met me a Waffle House. They only met in passing though thank Allah. Life really is a Shannon Doherty sized bitch. Love her.

Bradley James

PS. Ask some friends to read my blog since you are sitting there at your desk while I do the footwork. I'll keep posting if you keep reading

The Mouth Breather...

Before meeting for lunch with Fritas and Superman I had to pay my monthly respects to one of the gods the gays must worship, hair salons. I walked in as I usually do and asked for my regular stylist. Seeing as it was a snow day I was sure to jump right in and be out in an hour, only to find my stylist moved back to Virginia. WTF? Is it me or do hair stylists have the life expectancy of Buffy: The Vampire Slayer?I had no time to do soul searching and interviews with other stylists So I asked for a recomendation. I didn't however have the time to specify my qualifications for said person such as keep chatting to a minimum unless I know you, and I don't. Bad idea.

I got sat down with a very large non descript salon gal. You know the type, 17 different shades of what I would call brown hair (though for them it's Swiss carmel and chocolate mouse) and enough product to keep a high rise from leveling during an eathquake. She was bubbly and seemed nice enough, so I told her what I'd like done and she seemed to get me pretty well. I got my shoulders rubbed and went on to the shampoo station. She then proceeded to talk with her salon friends instead of talking to me. Again good, I don't want to be fucking interviewed by some chick here to do me a service and leave, much like a hooker.

We sat down in the chair and she started shearing and chatting. Fuck, FUCK! Where do you work? How's the weather? Can I have a blood tpye and urine sample? I started getting shorter with my answers until she realized I'm sure that I was not in the mood. Then it happened, she leaned in closer when checking consistancy of length on either side of my head and I heard what I thought was the heating vents... only not. It took me seconds to realize she was a mouth breather, and a bad one at that. In case you are not sure what I mean by this is someone who is so large that the physical weight of their upper body is crushing their lungs to the point the are breathing like the wheezing kid in Hey Arnold or Darth Vader. How gross!!! I couldn't start up another conversation with her to save my life and couldn't hum descretly enough to drown our the sound. I had made my bed and now I had to lay in it with the mouth breather.

As soon as she finished I bounded out the door leaving enough for the cut and a tip. Here's a tip bitch, since you do nothing but stand around all day at work go out and take a jog or some laxitives after work. And now I'm stuck searching for a new stylist, fuck.

Bradley James