Posts tagged ‘frecks’
Is it possible to get alcohol poisoning off Mimosas? I think we proved yesterday that it isn’t, because we drank about 15 each. It was Nicky’s birthday yesterday, which was especially nice since his present (the official birthday gift of my group of friends) is to have power over the rest of us for the entire day. Nick was especially considerate of us on this day, because on my birthday I make my friends do foolish things like break up with their boyfriends and stick spatulas up their asses. We had gone out the night before to XL (which was an ordeal in and of itself, which I will get to later) so Nadia and I woke up alone in JMO’s apartment wondering if everyone else had been raptured. This would have been ironic because if anyone is going straight to hell in gasoline panties, its JMO.
I quickly discovered the Nicky had gone back to our apartment where he passed out in the nude surrounded by lit candles. I woke him up with two shots of vodka, and we decided to head to brunch. I don’t know if you have been to Pier 9 in Hells Kitchen, but we were blown away by it! Not only was the hostess super friendly (she even convinced the DJ to play Candy Rain, by Soul for Real, which was an idea that sounded awesome in our heads but ended up being lame as fuck-thank god we were shitfaced). The server refilled our unlimited mimosa’s every thirty seconds, and the food was absolutely impeccable. Our fruit salads contained nary a slice of cantaloupe, which is impressive in and of itself.
Since we started the day off wasted with cocktails its unsurprising that cock talk followed. Everyone went around the table discussing the worst places for bodily fluid, Emsy basically ate with one her legs up on my shoulder, and Nadia deep throated a mimosa glass. Frecks showed up 2 hours late dressed like a substitute teacher that got lost in Jurassic Park so I spent the rest of the day trying to let people in on that joke without him finding out. Oh, and there were children all around, which didn’t stop me from flirting with the guy at the next table over. I can’t get over how friendly the staff was though, it really was the perfect brunch.
I think we must have had at least 15 mimosas each, which I guess explains why Nadia ended up taking photos of my asshole on Ninth Avenue. Emsy and Nadia secretly made Nicky a cake, which I accidentally told him leading to Nadia putting the tranny smackdown on me by smearing my face with frosting, which I somehow forgot about even though I was basically snorting an 8 ball of sprinkles the entire time. Nobody had a candle, so someone (I am 100 % 50/50 that it was me) had the disgusting idea of using a lit cigarette instead, which is even more ironic since none of us smoke. Then, everyone was so fucked up they actually ate the cancer cake. Then, since we apparently love wasting alcohol we decided to Read more…
The title to this post is a little misleading. I am a trickster–just ask anyone who has ever believed I have AIDS or am in Jail on April Fool’s Day can attest to. (That would be every single person of importance in my life–as evidenced HERE. )
As I may have mentioned the key components to an amazing vacation are equal parts crazy time and down time. This post is about the times when I thought to myself: “Well fuck my ass, I am really lucky to have best friends like these. Not bad for a kid who used to sit at home watching Queer As Folk in Panama City and think: ‘One day I will move somewhere bigger and have a group of gay friends that I can call family.’”
Logan got the drop on me. He pulled the wool over my eyes. He bamboozled the shit out of me. While I was chatting up some North Carolina guys he said “Can I talk to you privately for a second?” I assumed he wanted to talk shit and went with him, completely trusting since I am normally the only sneaky bitch in the group. He took me over towards the pool and shoved me the fuck in, right in front of god, drag queens and queers everywhere. I wasn’t even upset that I had a drink in my hand. This prank was that awesome.
Birthday Shitstravaganza Pt 2
*My birthday dinner was a hot mess. I say this knowing full well that a birthday dinner is really a reflection of a person–so mine was disorganized, crazy, drunken, and quite an adventure. A complete shitshow. I’m actually proud. In order to save time I have just inserted the facebook message I had between Jats and I regarding the dinner,which he missed because he was day-drunk and passed out.
The Hangover Diaries: Birthday Kickoff Went Swimmingly
First of all, I should explain that the headline is a pun since my birthday kickoff was a pool party. I know it isn’t like me to make an innocent joke, but would it help if I said that I have no idea what happened to the speedo I wore and woke up naked and so hung over all I could keep down was a slice of ham?
It was a Tuesday, and 5 days before my birthday. In past years I have celebrated my birthday for an entire week, or at the very least several days. By the time my actual birthday comes around I am normally so worn out I don’t want to do anything. Do I think that I am that important that I need 5 days for my bday? Not really. Do I hang out with the type of people that will take any excuse to party irresponsibly? Absolutely.
So we started the night off at my friend Paw’s apt who graciously offered to host a pregame. First thing we did was take off all our clothes and have a speedo fashion show.
A Gloganvlog Serious Note: Soulmates
The caption on this photo said : Soulmates die together. And that’s completely true. They die of boredom. And just so you know, National Geo-fucking-graphic these two skeletons weren’t soulmates. They were cold because they were garbed in nothing but a hamster pelt when a meteor hit the earth causing a year-long winter.
Anyway, sometimes it is our duty at gloganvlog to post something serious. I wouldn’t normally do this, but the following is an excerpt from my actual personal journal (which I have kept since I was 15. and straight. haha.)
I’m posting it just in case it helps someone out there work through their own shit.
Enjoy. Read more…
I know what you want to say: This isn’t Florida, Gary.
I get that New York isn’t Florida. But I still am. And as long as I still have perky tits and weigh less than 100 lbs sopping wet I will wear a wifebeater whenever I want, do you hear me Oprah on the Color Purple?
So we started out the night late at my friend Mason’s house. He spent the entire pregame trying coyly to get his twink boyfriend to have a threesome with the twink friend they had invited over. I kept trying to sit as close as possible to the twinks, hoping some of their stem cells would rub off and get into my eyes.
Then I found out one of the twinks was a virgin. For future reference–nobody ever tell me that again. I will make it my personal mission that you get plowed. Read more…
It’s The Little Blessings In Life: Symmetrical Nipples
I was staring in the mirror yesterday as I rarely do, and I noticed something. My nipples, while they are a strange shade of dark mauve and have the texture of an octopus tentacle are exactly the same size.
Then I started thinking about the other great things in life, such as a warm glass of white wine with a melting ice cube in it, the way everyone knows you got laid on your walk of shame because you are wearing sweatpants and jimmy choos, and how great it feels to cry when you are incredibly hung over.
But mostly just nipples. Read more…
The Hangover Diaries: My Swagger Is Lost In Space
This Hangover Diary is a little overdue because I have spent the last day or so tirelessly working on my other jobs–i.e. giving HJ’s at the port authority and selling drugs to kids at all the public schools above 66th.
This photo makes sense because it looks like I am hiding something behind my back. That something would be my swagger.
Sometimes you are on your game and sometimes you are not. I will readily admit that lately my game is so off track lately I’ve started calling it Lindsay Lohan’s Career.
I can’t get laid to save my life. When I go out and try I inadvertently get everyone around me laid instead haha.
So it was another Saturday night Read more…
Some Gloganvlog Definitions: Octopus Bottoms and Witch Hazel Hole Health
Lets talk assholes. I am a pretty versatile guy, but as you know I recently had a great date (meaning it ended in sex.) What you don’t know is that it got kind of rough, and he literally went to pound town on my nooks and crannies. Like Gangs of New York rough. Like our gennies had a shootout and my asshole had no bullets. I don’t normally let guys play construction worker with a jackhammer because I’m like “Don’t ruin it for other people,” but this guy and I connected so I figured “Why the fuck not. Literally.”The end result was a sore tuckus the next day. Which brings me to a few definitions that I feel the world needs to recognize: NSFW IMAGE AFTER THE JUMP Read more…
How to Wingman so well that you get a Titty Honk
Reasons I am qualified to write about the art of the wingman:
I once left my best friend a spare key to my apartment when I went out of town so he could bring someone from New Jersey there get cocked. When I got home I found a towel on top of my wardrobe. Stupidly, I touched it. It was so stiff I almost confused it with a plaster-of-paris mold of Jack Nicholson’s muffin top.
I can wingman through language barriers: A recent victory involved hooking a friend up with someone who does not speak a lick of english. Literally. Luckily fucking is a universal language. I think I just went up to him, pointed at my friend, and pulled a wicked “air-hump.” They have been together ever since.
Contrary to popular belief, wingmen do not have to be ugly. They also don’t have to be especially confident. The one thing that any good wingman needs is: Read more…
