Let’s face facts: this blog has sucked ass all week.

It’s okay — you were thinking it, I’m saying it.

And for that, I would like to apologize.

Now while I can’t promise that it won’t happen again (and again and again…), I can tell you that I spent most of last night working on some super duper posts that I think you guys will really like — you know, ones I didn’t dash off in-between handfuls of gummi bears and beating off. No, these are somewhat fairly decent posts about my fucked up family, my disturbed formative years, and cock. Anyway, they are a few spit and polishes away from being ready for general consumption, but with any luck I will have some shit of a lesser degree to serve up to you guys very soon.

Now before I share the latest turn in the seemingly never ending Dirk Mancuso rollercoaster of romance, let me just say how painful last night’s BIG BROTHER was for me to watch. Yes, I wanted Sharon to stay (only because I want to keep Joshuah protected), but I really hated seeing Chelsia evicted.

Cute as a bug’s ear and possessing that rockin’ doo, Chelsia was just the sort of girl I’d gravitate to in the BB house and form a hard core alliance with. And to think she is gone because of her blindness to that cocky and oh-so-tragically coiffed James. Ugh. (And what is up with that bow tattoo on his chest? Jesus, dude — that would look lame on anybody.) Wonder how open she’ll be to a relationship with Pinky once she learns about his rumored appearances in an adult film?

Good bye, Chelsia — you will be missed.

And now this just in from the dating front…

After weeks of chatting with a cute boy (think Jeremy Piven in a sweater vest and Clark Kent glasses) for a couple of months on gay.com, aforementioned cute boy (and I call him a boy because he’s 34 — 8 years younger than me, people! Oy, I feel like I’m a trenchcoat and a visit to the playground away from being crowned Pervy McPervison) asked if he could have my phone number.

Which I promptly gave him without a second thought.

I know that right now many of you are holding your heads and asking “why, why, WHY would you do that, Dirk Mancuso? Have you learned nothing from your previous gay.com encounters?!?!?!?”

The answer is simple: he doesn’t own a pair of Dickies (yes, I asked) nor does he know how to do bird calls (once again, I asked), he had a really sweet voice, loves comic books, and he looks like Jeremy Piven in a sweater vest and Clark Kent glasses.

Seriously, who could resist this:

Jeremy Piven, people.

In Clark Kent glasses.

‘Nuff said.

And so we’re going out for pizza this evening.

Horrific details (are there any other kind in my life?) to follow tomorrow…