To borrow a quote from another blogger, I’m feeling worse than hammered shit.

I have gout in my right wrist and thumb (which makes typing extremely painful and holding a pen damn near impossible), I’m catching some sort of cold (most likely the precursor to H1N1), and Lola’s hip has gone out, necessitating that I spend at least 2-3 hours after work at her place (doing dishes, laundry, making dinner, etc.). Add to that already full plate the fact that I start my part-time job with The Fella tonight and you’ve got one very tired faggot.

And how’s your week…?

Know what’s ruining my love of THE AMAZING RACE this season?

Flat Foot and Tall Drink of Water. Or whatever their names are. 

I’m not sure if it’s their repeated mentions of Hurricane Katrina early in the season or the fact that they couldn’t even read a damn watch or that one of them is really tall. 

Whatever it is, they just really get on my nerves.

At least I can take comfort in the fact those poker player chicks are gone.

Lily invites uncle-daddy Neil over for dinner (a fabulous pot roast dinner she found in some 50’s cookbook from Trumble’s Used Bookstore). Uncle-daddy worries she is taking on too much in her condition, but she allays his fears by telling him she will throw that shit in  the crockpot and relax.

Chloe tells Chance she’s proud of him for telling Phillip how he feels, even if the manner in which he delivered the information was a bit…loud. Nina tells Phillip she’s glad he let out the emotions he’s been keeping bottled up and hopes this will lead to better communication and Chance getting to know his back-from-the-dead gay daddy. Chance tells his mother that he doesn’t want to get to know the man that abandoned him. Chance excuses himself to go shopping for waders (he’s going fishing with Old Boy Murphy) and invites Chloe along. She takes a pass, citing a meeting she has. They are so adorable together.

Nina, however, looks like she’s about to throw up in her mouth a little bit. (How awesomely real is Tricia Cast? This is so my mother looking at me and my boyfriend. Give this woman a real story, Y&R!)

At the GCAC, Jill is talking to Paul about finding The Cryptkeeper’s real daughter. Why not find your own mother, the private eye asks. Because Old Girl has less time for closure than I do, Jill replies. Ouch.

She relays the story of Old Girl’s secret baby once again: The Cryptkeeper was married to Brock’s daddy, Gary Reynolds, and the two became estranged. During their seperation, The Cryptkeeper got knocked up by another man and had one of her drinking buddies, Charlotte Ramsey, take the crib lizard and drop her off at a hospital where Charlotte put her own name on the birth certificate to protect The Cryptkeeper. Paul asks if Charlotte is still alive. Jill says she has no idea; she hasn’t seen her since the old gal told her this story 6 or 7 years ago. She tells Paul not to tell The Cryptkeeper about this; she doesn’t want her upset if it doesn’t pan out.

Billy gets another call from an advertiser cancelling their ads. Like any company would pull ads from a publication that was selling in this economy. Scruples in the business world? Whatevs.

At Crimson Lights, Emily confronts Jack about the job offer she received courtesy of his machinations. “I’m not for sale, Mr. Abbott,” she tells Jack, all pursed lips and super tight vuh-jay-jay.

Today’s hunk du jour is the super sexy Jon Hamm who plays Don Draper on the wickedly awesome MAD MEN. Jon Hamm = sex. Even The Fella agrees with me on this one…

The week kicks off with Vicboria once again smacking Billy.

“That’s my way of saying thanks, jerk!” she tells him before turning face and stomping out. You need to take a chill pill, Vics — you’re the one that fucked Deacon, not Billy. You made the news, he just reported it.

Daniel and Amber show up dressed as something stupid and blast Billy for his “expose” on Saint Vicboria.

Meanwhile, Abby and her new pal Daisy (is there any doubt this girl is trailer trash trouble with a capital T with a name like Daisy?) — dressed as Amy Winehouse and Gwen Stefani — try to score some drinks.

At Crimson Lights, a stressed Ghastly is still searching for Abby. (Is she fucking retarded? The coffee house isn’t that big and has like 6 patrons.) She runs into No-Duh and MIA-for-months Lispy McFivehead who tell her they haven’t seen Abby all evening. Ghastly realizes that Abby probably crashed Billy’s party and dashes off.

As J.T. waits to board his plane, Vicboria goes back to Newman Enterprises where an employee gives her his letter. Perfectly good split screen effects are wasted on these human yawns.

Ryder remembers something that happened during his childhood via voice-overs and is overcome with emotion. Or stomach cramps. It’s hard to tell. “I didn’t mean for it to happen…” he chokes out.

Amber and Chloe recognize Abby and go over to the table where Daisy asks the women to buy them drinks. They do — virgin, non-alcoholic drinks– and soon the two teens are toasting with Amber, Daniel, Ryder, and Kevin when Chance comes by and cards them. Even though they are underage and in a bar trying to score drinks, Chance cuts them a break and tells them he’ll overlook it this time but makes them leave.

Vicboria goes to the ranch where The Moustache no longer lives but is holding court anyway and tells her daddy that her marriage is all kinds of fucked up and she needs time away from Newman Enterprises to patch up the boo-boos. The Moustache tells her to do whatever she needs to do; family is the most important thing. Yes, Vicboria — if leaving town forever will heal your stupid marriage, leave NOW.

Phyllis puts Special Needs Summer to bed and calls Shit For Brains out on his preoccupation since he saw The Saint with NuAdam. “If you need to go tell the dumb bitch that NuAdam is big trouble — go,” Phyllis tells her gorgeous-but-so-fucking-dumb-it’s-annoying hubby.

Lola was very interested in the responses from gay readers regarding the advice columns she and Elle did for Gay History Month, so I read them to her. 

Her reaction to the positive feedback was…interesting:

Lola: You know what? I think I ought to go see Elle and me and her ought to go ride a gay float in a parade. I could be on tv and everything.

Cue me rolling my eyes.

I don’t anyone is ready for Lola Mancuso, The Face of P-Flag.

“…Homosex-shuh-ality is not God’s best. I come from that value system of the scripture. I can’t pick and choose….I just try to love them and treat everybody with respect.”

You can’t pick and choose? Um, excuse me, but obviously you can — you choose to focus on persecuting gays but then totally skip over all the other directions given to you in the Bible like stoning adulterers and putting folks to death who dare work on the sabbath. And how respectful is it to treat a certain group people as lesser beings and not worthy of the rights of everyone else? Choose your words a bit more carefully, Joel — the ones you’re spewing now make you sound as stupid as your hair looks. 

And what the fuck is with Barbara and Whoopi not throwing a verbal beat-down on this guy’s ass? And Joy Behar — what’s with the kid gloves with this jerk? Open your mouth and call that “life-coach-slash-minister” out on his shit on behalf of gays everywhere.

Who do you think is watching your sad sorry show anyway, ladies?

Hello and welcome to the inaugural edition of a little feature I like to call “Dirk Mancuso, Big Gay Personal Shopper.” With the Christmas/Kwanza/Hanukkah holidays a scant 50 days away, I know the pressure of finding that perfect gift for a friend or loved one (or big gay boyfriend!) can be overwhelming and often lead to lapses in judgement during those last minute shopping frenzies. Well, no more! In a true show of love for my readers, I have scoured high and low, near and far in an all out effort to help you put a smile on those cherished faces come holiday morning and retain your reputation for impeccable taste and sterling quality gifts.

This week, I am tackling the dilemma of shopping for those most fickle of consumers — babies. Finicky, prone to dramatic mood swings, and known to grow out of things in a matter of months if not weeks, infants and the gifts you give them are basically a waste of money but to maintain good relationships with their often overbearing parents one must make an effort to at least have put an ounce of thought into a gift. Let’s get started…

Everybody knows that with the exception of polio, nothing generates bigger laughs than shaken baby syndrome and the folks at Spreadshirt have tapped this thus far unmined tragedy for comedic gold with shirts and bibs proclaiming parental abuse:

 

Hideous bald baby ruining what would be an otherwise cherished Christmas family photo in years to come? Freakish hairless crib lizard embarrassing you at Mommy and Me classes? Bear the stigma of being “that kid’s” parent no more thanks to our friends at Baby Toupees. For under $25, your precious offspring can be sporting a head of locks Fabio would be jealous of:

Anyone who knows me knows that if there’s anything that cracks me up faster than monkeys in clothes, it’s babies in make-up. Well, there’s a new sure-fire giggle getter in the toddler department: high heels for babies! That’s right, that chubby lump of flesh you tote around in those designer Baby Gap fashions can now take that look to the next level and enter the arena of high fashion courtesy of the geniuses at Heelarious:

Who wore it best? That precious babe in the last pic. (Although I’d recommend The Lil Kim to complete her look…)

Everyone knows tats are in, but many parents are too pussy to man up and choose ink for their precious bundle of joy. Thankfully, a nation has heard the cry of pre-preschoolers everywhere and has created an interim alternative alternative for the under 5 set:

And finally, for the parents who can’t bear to leave their baby unattended for even a moment (or the welfare mom who can’t be bothered with the latest addition to her money makin’ brood when there’s a new MAURY at 11 and the next potential baby daddy dropping by with some donut holes and Beaujolais at noon), there’s the Zaky Infant Pillow. The headline proclaims “it’s like leaving a part of you with your baby” –which lent itself to a lot of leperosy and artificial limb jokes that I have foregone in the interest of  good taste.

Next week: more delightful and unique gifts no one else but you will be giving this holiday season! But in the meantime…

 On your marks…

Get set…

SHOP!

 

The ever witty and mucho adorable cb over at The Magina Monologues posted this meme which he borrowed from another blog and now because I am a shameless whore with writer’s block I am borrowing it from him…

~ What is on your Desktop Wallpaper?

I don’t know what you’d call it, but it looks like this:

~ What is your favorite zoo animal?

I’ve only been to the zoo once (Gregg took me), but I was totally grooving on the monkeys. I have been to Disney’s animal kingdom twice and if that counts then I am totally going with the meerkats.

~ What was your favorite toy as a child?

My collection of Mego Superheroes and Planet of the Apes action figures.

~ What food do you eat too much of?

Gotta go with bread. Rolls, bagels, muffins, by the slice, by the loaf — you name it, I’ll eat it.

~ What kind of hairstyle do you have?

A conservative young Republican cut, although I am none of the above.

~ What was your favorite gym class activity?

Not participating and ducking the showers.

~ What is on the shirt you are wearing right now?

The Flash logo and some of the sweet and sour chicken I had for dinner.

~ What is the nearest picture to you of?

A framed sketch of Disney’s Tarzan that I got at  Disneyworld the year the movie premiered and which I have yet to hang.

~ What kind of salad dressing do you like?

I usually don’t use salad dressing but when I do it’s Italian.

~ What is your least favorite food?

Seafood. Ack.

~ What do you do on a Sunday night?

Cuddle with my guy and watch THE AMAZING RACE, DESPERATE HOUSEWIVES, and MAD MEN.

~ If you could use only one condiment on your food the rest of your life, what would it be?

Ketchup.

~ What color are your bedsheets?

I have 4 sets: blue and white striped; bright red; lavendar and pink stripes; and mint green Alice in Wonderland.

~ How big is your computer display?

Is this a euphemism? I have no idea — I’ll guess 22″ but that could be way off. (You know all about men and size…)

~ What pair of shoes do you wear most often?

My brown Sketchers.

~ What is your favorite game?

Escaped convict and the warden’s son. Or Scrabble. Depends on the venue.

~ What is your favorite Thanksgiving Food?

Turkey.

~ What is your favorite Pizza topping?

Sausage.

~ What time do you plan on waking up tomorrow?

5 am — same as every weekday.

~ What is your favorite day of the year?

It’s a tie: Halloween and March 27th (the day I first met The Fella).

A few weeks ago, The Fella and I went to a David Sedaris reading in a neighboring city. As one would expect, Sedaris was both intelligent and hilarious.

Afterwards, we got a few copies of our books signed.

“Hello,” David smiled at my fella. “What’s your name?”

“Tristan.”

“And you are?

“Dirk.”

“Do you have any autumnal plans this weekend, Dirk?”

I was struck instantly mute. David Sedaris had just asked me a question and despite my best efforts, I could not think of a single witty quip or humorous bon mot to throw his way. Suddenly, a response came to me.

“No.” 

Unfortunately, I was so nervous that it came out as a three syllable word (“Nuh-oh-oh.”)

Obviously struck by my dead-on “…and Jeri Jewell as the orgasmic special needs ‘mo” impression, Sedaris surveyed me for a moment then turned his attention back to my saucy man candy companion. “How do you two know each other?” he asked as he began a sketch in Tristan’s copy of When You Are Engulfed In Flames.

“We’re dating,” Tristan replied.

David looked up, his eyes going from Tristan to me then back to Tristan. “Really? I wouldn’t have taken you for a homosexual.”

Tristan smiled. “Neither would my parents…as they’ve told me time and again.”

“How did the two of you meet?” David asked as he went back to his sketch.

“Online.”

“I hear a lot of people do that these days. How long have you been going out?”

Tristan looked at me and smiled. “A little over a year and half…”

“Are you living together?”

Awkward silence.

“No,” Tristan replied. “Not yet.”

Not yet.

As in “not at this time, but perhaps at some point in the future.”

As in “his snoring isn’t a big enough impediment to us moving forward with things at some point many years down the road provided something better doesn’t come along.”

As in “maybe.”

The rest of our brief interaction with brilliant writer is a bit of a blur because all I could do was stand there with a big dumb grin on my face as I tried to process the fact that Tristan seems to be entertaining the idea of us co-habitating at some point.

“Not yet.”

In the fucked up relationship universe of one Mr. Dirk Mancuso, those are some pretty wicked awesome words.

Yeah, the whole “famous-author-thinking-my-boyfriend-has-a-retard-fetish-going-on” thing aside, it was a pretty spectacular evening.