Tuesday, August 24, 2010

Fancier boi.

I'll always be over-caffeinated and underfed, but starting today you can read me over at my sparkly new site: jjwienkers.com!

You're welcome.

Monday, August 23, 2010

You know how everyone else knows I'm gay, now? 1:4

I wear cologne to play organized sports.

Even when they take place outdoors and the scent of sunscreen will most certainly overpower that which is manufactured by Gucci or my own sweat glands.

A boi'z gotta do what he can if he wants to Capture more than just the Flag.

Friday, August 20, 2010


Well, not quite yet; but in anticipation of the 62nd Primetime Emmy Awards, next Sunday, my friend and filmmaker Cameron Ca$h asked me to write up a post concerning my appreciation for Fox's raging success, "Glee."

Although the musical dramedy has garnered 19 nominations - more than any other show this year - Cameron was among the ranks of those who saw such high regard to be excessive and undeserved. I did my best to convince him otherwise.

Click on over to his blog, C-Squared Forever, to read my piece and find out whether or not he's still spitting dissent or singing praise.

And if you're not already a fan yourself, perhaps I shall convert you as well. If not, please don't hold it against me. You may, however, throw a Slurpee in my face.

Just make it grape and let me know when it's coming, so I can open my mouth.

Thursday, August 19, 2010

Careful, cowboy.

Desperate and painfully lovelorn singles aside, excessively flirting with someone in an attempt to gain the attention of their friend never works.

Jealousy and competition do NOT inspire lust within the self-actualized person.

It is enjoyable, though, watching the realization flash behind an arrogant cocksman's eyes the moment after he shoots himself in the member.

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

Ready yo' rods.

When I'm in it deep, you can dangle your worm just out of my reach for months and still - I'll gladly bite.

Just know, though: you're free to take a pause, wipe your brow, and even fuck someone else; but if you get cocky or overwhelmed and let the line spool back out, chances are high that I'll snap free and my affection will drift away forever.

Promiscuous though I may appear to be, I don't love for sport. This heart ain't for amateurs. If you can remember that, then come on, boiz -

Hook me.

Monday, August 16, 2010

You know how everyone else knows I'm gay, now? 1:3

On my family vacation in WIsconsin, last week, I took both my credit and debit cards and all of the cash I had previously withdrawn. Every - spare - coin. My V.I.P card for the Factory, West Hollywood's hottest Friday night dance spot, however...

THAT I left behind in the safety of my quadruple locked bungalow.

Had I lost my wallet, I wouldn't have been able to gas up my car or put food in my mouth, this week, much less pay to check my bag on the flight home, yesterday. Come the weekend, though, I'd have no trouble securing free access to all the Lady GaGa, B.o.B, and Beyonce a boi could ever hope for. I'll bet I could even caress a few biceps and flirt my way to inebriation, too.

"...You really need to rethink your priorities," I can imagine my mother saying after a long pause.

Don't tell her, but in this instance:

She would be right.

Operation Don't Fuck It Up.

"What should his code name be?" My friend Liana asked as we speed walked to dodgeball a couple Tuesdays ago.

“Nothing! I love his name!” I gushed. “I want to say it all the time!”

“Maybe not in West Hollywood, though,” she suggested. “What if someone overhears?”

“Let 'em!” I continued, manically. “It'll all be good. I'm not going to say anything TOO crazy.”

"Yeah...” Her tone didn’t match the consensus usually implied by the word.

"Do you think I'm already getting too crazy?!" I gasped.

"Not yet," she smiled, "but it's just that everyone's red alert button is at a different sensitivity level and you never know what might scare someone else off."

"Hmm...Fair point,” I acquiesced. “I’ve never met another gay man with his same name. What should we call him, then?"

Dishes! We both concluded at once.

Inarguably, linking this piece to the stream of other, thinly veiled references to this particular crush negates the stealth method of classification Liana hath suggested. Especially as his commenting, “What a fortunate homeless man,” beneath my Facebook post directing friends to the first instance made it quite clear that he knows I am writing about him. However, Dishes has already disregarded my affections. Thus, while unfortunate, exposing his alias is no longer kamikaze in nature.

And at least it was through a face-to-face interaction that our potential pairing was botched. Operation Be Bold And Follow His Text Cues And Him To MJ’s In Silver Lake After He Left The Eagle Without Saying Goodbye Even Though We Had Made It Known To One Another Earlier In The Week That We Would Both Start Our Nights There And Most Likely Finish It And Each Other Off At My New Bungalow – to be as transparent as the Obama administration once promised. Although expertly strategized, his friends’ churlish reaction of, “SERIOUSLY?!” when aghast upon witnessing the completion of my mission confirmed the need to abort any plans for continued pursuit.

Apparently they saw me as more of a STALKER than a romantic warrior. But again, rather that I watched myself shoot myself in the heart than to have had an acquaintance of his do it for me by relaying that a fit, shaggy haired white boy with a propensity for self-made sleeveless attire had been overheard publicly rhapsodizing about falling in love with him after just one date. In that sense: I consider Operation Don’t Fuck It Up to have been a success.

Now on to the next target!

Sunday, August 15, 2010

You know how everyone else knew I was gay? 1:8

Whenever I take a trip back to Wisconsin, we Wienkers always make sure to find the time to sit down together and at least skim through a few of the more hilarious home movies in our family archives. One of our collective favorites features a particularly prophetic scene the night my younger sister, Mary, turned four:

“Geez, you guys don’t give me nearly this much for my birthday,” I lamented as she began to tear through a heaping pile of presents.

“Mmmhmm. You get nothing,” my mom replied, revealing the origin of both my sarcastic disposition and penchant for onomatopoeia.

“What movie is it? ‘Barbie’? Ew. If it’s BOY’S stuff,” I spoke of the gifts yet to be unwrapped, “I want it.”

While we have watched and immediately re-watched that particular bit numerous times in the past, it is the irony of the last statement - more than the signs of a spoiled first born apparent in the opening line - that has elicited the hardiest guffaws since I came out to my family.

Five or six years away from puberty at the time of filming, it’s not surprising that my declaration appears authentically adamant. Still, while I had not yet become conscious of my sexual proclivity, my parents couldn’t have held onto that masculine moment for long. Certainly not once I began plopping down beside my sisters for each viewing of the newly acquired, female oriented flick.

The exact number of times we slid that VHS from its glittering case and into the VCR, I cannot say. It was enough, however, that I will never forget the basic storyline: two irrepressibly spunky teenage girls – one Japanese, one a blonde Scandinavian – gallivant around Epcot in Orlando, Florida, sending Barbie birthday wishes from around the “world.”

Obviously, the hostesses were cute, but it wasn’t their looks by which I was most thrilled. Not – at – all. Like my younger sisters, I was more envious than desirous. And it wasn’t even their faux global adventure that inspired our longing, so much as the neon pink and surprisingly compact cell phones through which they communicated whenever they would zip off in their own personal golf karts to record lone segments in separate sections of the theme park.

“You probably did want that movie,” my mom finally mused after we played the clip of my sister’s fourth birthday again, Wednesday night.


It may have took her sixteen years to come to that conclusion, but the important thing is that neither she nor my father ever expressed disapproval of my joining my sisters each time they hit play. In or out of the closet, they’ve never really been anything but supportive. The fact that I can rattle off the synopsis of what was, essentially, a low budget, straight-to-video, Disney marketing campaign when I can’t remember a single formula from Geometry or Advanced Algebra, however –

That would certainly evoke a sigh of disappointment from the both of them.

Thursday, August 12, 2010

Share the effort.

"Should I message him? No! I shouldn't. Should I? Ugh, I dropped my head into my hands, last Monday, as I waited for my friend Liana’s advice on how to move forward after a weekend of particularly lackluster textual responses from one of my latest crushes.

"It is so weird to see you falter," she shook her head in dismay. "You never falter."

"It's just with men. I hate it. IFUCKINGHATEIT!...No, I love it. Oh Gawd," I began to cackle deliriously. AHHH! Wha’doIdo?”

"Let him come to you," she chuckled. "It's like when I was a kid and my mom told me to do the dishes just as I was about to do them. I’d already planned on it, but then I would get annoyed that she hadn't given me a chance and I would no longer want to do them."

"Hmm...” I frowned. “Well, I never want to do any kind of housework, but I guess I see your point."

"I think the safest and most growing experience for you right now is to allow him the capacity to do them on his own," Liana continued in her role as Grasshoppah. "Doing them for him or reminding him to do them is just going to set up your entire relationship on a foundation where he's not learning and not allowed to grow himself."

As usual, she’s right. Love should never be a chore, but it does take work – on both ends. If I, if any man or woman should ever want to get to a point where we share more than a sexual connection with another person, then we need to learn to be patient and strive for balance.

When applied, this realization is extraordinarily freeing. In worrying less about the degree to which those with whom we are smitten return the favor, we are allowed to take more time to remember what we like about ourselves. So long as this increased self-awareness promotes confidence, not arrogance, it will only serve to further draw in those we desire.

Plus, you know, when we put a personal limit on the number of hours spent cycling through each and EVERY one of their Facebook photo albums, we might finally find some time to do the actual dishes.

Monday, August 9, 2010


"This feels so strange, just going to chill at a friend's house instead of out to the bar," I told my mom, on the phone last night. "I don't even know who I am right now!"

"It is Sunday," she replied.

"Woman, this is LA,"
I reminded her. "Every night is Friday night."

"Uh -" I could hear her open and close her mouth as she searched - in vain - for a response, once again rendered speechless by the knowledge of her baby boi regularly running rampant 2,000 miles away.

If she knew a sixth of it...

Sunday, August 8, 2010

Gay forward.

"Any boi drama?" I asked my friend, yesterday morning, inquiring as to the events following my departure from the bar Friday night.

"No...Although, this one guy wanted to have sex. He was all, 'Yo boy, group fuck?'"

"That's what he opened with?!" Even I was surprised by such aggressive tactics.

"'How many boys you bringing home with you?'" My friend said the cock juggler continued.

"Zero," was his own response.

"Oh man. How romantic," I laughed.

"Yeah," he concurred. "You had me at 'group fuck.'"

Saturday, August 7, 2010

You know how everyone else knows that I'm gay now? 1:3

"I think I made out with that guy in your photo," I wrote in a Facebook message to my friend, a couple weeks ago. "Does his name start with a 'd'? HA! 'Does his name start with a 'd'?'"

Eesh, I tugged at my collar, grimacing exaggeratedly to myself.

"You know you're gay when..."

"Haha! Yes," he confirmed, quickly. "That's my friend Doug. And you did indeed make out with him a few months back. :)"

Douuug - I nodded at my computer screen. Okay. That's right. Oops!

What can I say? This is Los Angeles. I meet a lot of people. I can't be expected to remember everyone.

Even if we did taste the inside of each other's mouths.

Friday, August 6, 2010

Unsoliciters welcome.

"You're sure about these?" I placed the pair of electric red hot pants that I had just spent the last 20 minutes trying on and asking the opinion of both salesboiz at the West Hollywood American Apparel.

“Oh YES. They are hahhht,one of the clerks confirmed, folding them as best one can fold such little material.

"Alllllriiight; because I've never owned shorts this short and I'm rollin' up to the bar alone and -"

"If you don't get laid in these, tonight,” he interrupted, “come back and I'll return them for you myself."

"I wasn't gonna say anything," another patron – who had happened to walk in on me in the dressing room – chimed in, "but you got a great ass."

"Uh! I gasped. "THANK you!”

"Yeah,” he nodded. “You're THICK for a white boy."

"Mmmhmm," I slapped my own booty. What – a way to start my weekend."

Not to mention my new life, living in West Hollywood. Six days into my residency and already there are gay people and compliments comin’ at me from every direction – whether I specifically invite them or not.

Um...I can get used to this.

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

That's...Not a compliment. 1:2

“You’re way more muscular than any other girl I’ve been with,” my friend’s boyfriend told her when they were first dating.

While that line is sure to get any moderately promiscuous and fitness-minded gay boi into bed, few women – aside from bodybuilders or Jillian Michaels – are bound to receive that gladly. Regardless of your intentions, most will hear “muscular” and read “fat.”

But, duh. Even those of us men interested in other men know weight is NEVER a topic about which one should be flippant around females.

So, come on, heterosexual counterparts; archeologists estimate that modern humans have been on the Earth for almost 200,000 years – get with it, already.

Monday, August 2, 2010


Taking me on a date? Bring chips if you want to sleep over. Tortilla chips. With a hint of lime. And still -

No promises that I won't ask you to leave so I can lay in bed alone and eat them myself.

Chips and flowers, however...

Sunday, August 1, 2010

Verbal abuse.

The problem with talking ALL the damn time, is that every once in a while you get stuck on a specific filler word. Currently, "Riiight?!" is my automatic response to, well, just about everything.

I am trying to minimize my usage by making a concentrated effort to simply nod when I have nothing more than consent to offer. It's a start. And at least it's not, "Totally," that I've been abusing.