Ladies, Please Don’t Tell Me It’s Wear Your Tacky Sequined Sweater Top Season All Ready? – Don’t Get Me Started!

I was coming out of the grocery store this morning and there she was, this woman in her mid to late forties full up of I guess the holiday spirit but in fact it was one of those huge bulky circa 1980’s sweaters that was covered from neck to waist in large, small and medium sized sequins, payettes and spangles. She had it all, the very black liquid eye liner expertly and widely applied only under her eyes (which always makes someone look like a mental patient to me) and her “wet look” curly permed hair that was beyond the shoulder in its stringy glory that she no doubt thought made her look youthful in its solid black dyed color but really just made her look like she was wearing pubic hair on her head that had grown to a thin and long length. But it was all about the sweater for her and now that my eyes were damaged by it for me too. She looked like one of those really cheap Christmas ornaments where some of the glitter has worn off and you can see the tracks of clear glue that was used to hold the glitter on it but now that the glitter has worn off, the glue has a piece of tinsel attached to it from last year and some dog fur. And as she glided past me all I could think was, “Ladies, please don’t tell me it’s wear your tacky sequined sweater top season all ready?” – Don’t Get Me Started!

I know that everyone needs a little glamour but how any woman large or small can think that these sweaters are a good option is just beyond me. And I don’t think that if they were even good quality (made by Bob Mackie) that these sequined tops are right for anyone other than Liza Minnelli at her latest comeback show. Let’s face it, sequined “tops” were designed for cabaret performers (female and male – God rest Peter Allen’s soul and Neil Diamond’s wherever he is today) and not for the common folk. I know that you ladies like to wear them for an evening out or holiday parties and most especially on New Years Eve but for all our sakes please make a resolution this year to put away the sequins and wear something that looks good on you but doesn’t make you look like the back of a Sparkletts water truck! Okay, we’ve taken care of the sequined top issue now let’s deal with these themed holiday sweaters.

I have a friend who has always fought me on the whole holiday sweater thing to begin with as she had always wanted one and when she finally got her wish and got the sweater with the three dimensional little gifts with bows all over it and I think a Christmas tree at the waist (because that’s a slimming thing to have on your waist) the first time she wore it I burst out into laughter and although I’m sure she has worn it again (and again and again, as holiday sweater wearers are want to do) she never wore it around me again. (I do have to mention at this point that it is normally you Christians wearing these sweaters and not us Jews. Probably not because of better fashion sense, though I’d like to believe this is the case or that Jews don’t love sequins, it’s just that you can make Christmas trees tiny and everyone gets what it is while tiny menorahs tend to just look like pitch fork from the deviled ham can – which is not Kosher!)

You see, I’m not pretending to be some fashion guru with my own show on TLC (although if someone wants to give me my own show then by all means contact me immediately, I’m ready) but these holiday sweaters just don’t make sense to me. I don’t care that you think you look cute in it or that you like that they come over your butt that you think makes you look thinner but in actuality it just highlights your butt because there’s a God damned reindeer on your ass for Chrissakes. What is wrong with you people? Am I the only one who sees this or gets this?

Hey, maybe these people just don’t know that they look awful (so of course, I’m more than wiling to let them know about it). Just because Jeanne (the “Head Quack” from the Quacker Factory – a woman who sells her clothing line on QVC while she herself wears an Olivia Newton-John “Physical” headband as wide as my waist when she’s three hundred pounds and while I’m sure it does catch sweat it’s not from any kind of physical exercise) just because there are manufacturers like Jeanne making it, doesn’t mean you should buy it much less wear it.

Oh little town of Internet readers we must put a stop to this and do it this holiday season. So I need your help. It’s time for drastic measures. I want you to forward this blog to anyone in your life who owns, has ever worn or knows someone who has worn a holiday sweater (with or without glitz). Together we can make a difference. Screw being more “green” saving the environment, saving chinchillas or any other critter for ten minutes and let’s save some acrylics who are being slaughtered unmercifully to make these holiday abominations against our Lord, Fashion Sense! Amen.

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Have I Begun To See The World Through Gay Colored Glasses? – Don’t Get Me Started!
I’ve never been one of those gays who think that everyone I meet is gay or wants desperately to be gay. I’m one of those gays who gets that there are straight people in the world and (in case you’re wondering) it’s okay with me (that’s a joke, people). So I surprised myself when recently thumbing through one of my favorite catalogs, Red Envelope. I wasn’t surprised so much by what I saw but my reaction to it. I love this catalog because of the items but as an old professional department store gift wrap boy from way back, a lot has to do with the presentation of sending items that arrive in a red box with a red envelope that tells a story about the gift you’re giving. Love it! (If you don’t know about this catalog, visit them at www.redenvelope.com and fall in love) The thing is that as I was flipping through doing my own version of watching fireworks (I like to “ooh” and “ahh” out loud as I see things I like to make the catalog experience more interactive) I came across one ad with two women and then an ad with two men and a little girl and suddenly all I could think was that the marketing people for this catalog had found a very subtle way to let us gays know we were being represented. “Hmmm” I thought. Could it be that it has finally happened? Have I begun to see the world through gay colored glasses? – Don’t Get Me Started!

Once again I need to reiterate that I never really think of myself as someone who is looking for gay subtext in every movie or news article yet here I was (perhaps projecting because it’s a white guy and black guy on the one page like me and my partner – although we have no daughter unless you count our one female cat and come on, I’m not one of those people who run around talking about my cats like they’re my children. Well okay, not to other people, only to my mate when he’s out of town and I have to say, “You should see what your daughter got into today.” Okay, dammit, I’m a sicky sick animal lover like those I make fun of okay I admit it. Is that what you wanted to hear?) But the more I looked at these pages I was like, “Come on, if these people aren’t gay, they get my vote for the gayest non-gay people ever to appear in a catalog!”

There’s a practical side of me that knows that it probably was a gay marketing person in their own modest way trying to represent us gays and at the same time not offend. After all, these models are pictured on other pages with enough people to make you say, “Are they with the man or the woman?” or “Okay, that’s the father, that’s the mother…but is that the sister or the luvah?” And then there’s another part of me that knows many of you are wondering why the hell I’m spending so much time worrying about the relationships of the models in a catalog, right? I honestly don’t know but I guess it’s like wondering who the person is in the frame you bought at the store that has the stock photo in it. I had some friends years ago who decorated their home with frames that came with photos of people they found attractive and/or interesting. It was always a hoot when someone would ask them, “Who is that?” And they would answer, “I have no idea. He came with the frame and we came just looking at him so he’s a part of the family now. Or at least the den!”

I want to believe that deep down inside I’m open-minded and not one of those gays that cringe at straight people (or the thought of women and their private parts) and I know that I am but then how to explain the thought that the gays are taking over the pages of a catalog that doesn’t come with a rainbow anywhere in it, men’s underwear or a cock ring? I have no answers only questions.

Maybe there is a part of me that wishes my guy and I were the guys in this catalog, fawning over a child that is ours? We don’t have a life that was meant for children with all the travel we both do for work but as you grow older whether you’re a man or a woman there’s a biological clock ticking for some of us. So perhaps if I can’t have it in life I can at least see that it exists on the pages of one of my favorite catalogs. So whether or not they meant it that way, I just want to say, “Thank you, Red Envelope.” And as I get older and need glasses to see more and more anyway, I’ll resolve myself to the fact that it’s okay to see the world through my own gay colored glasses! – Don’t Get Me Started!

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How Was Your Thanksgiving? – Don’t Get Me Started!

It’s the Monday morning after Thanksgiving and no doubt the most asked question of the day will be, “How was your Thanksgiving?” – Don’t Get Me Started!

Just in case any of you are wondering, mine was great. My brother and sister-in-law came to town with one of my nieces and two of their dogs. It was a good time had by all. We had so much fun in the kitchen cooking together, laughing together and even just being around one another that the whole thing was swell. Boring, right? Not up to your expectations of a Some Like It Scott Thanksgiving, right? Well, although it may not have wild zany antics of the turkey blowing up or the cranberry sauce sliding off the plate and into an open dog’s mouth it was a swell Thanksgiving and I’m thankful for it.

The thing is that when anyone asks me just how my Thanksgiving was, I am loathed to give them the same response everyone else will be giving, “Fine.” And as someone who has always pushed the boundaries of life and discourse, being just “fine” is simply not up to my standard. I’ll no doubt have to answer it today from people at work to friends who are getting back in touch after a weekend of turkey hangovers so I’ve decided to prepare some responses I think will be more interesting. Feel free to use them yourself too. I think you’ll find these will work for any holiday or other occasions as well so save these and use as needed.

The standard response made better – this is the typical, “I ate too much” type of response but will a little flair added to it.

“Thanksgiving? Who can remember any of it? I ate so much that I’m not sure if it was the tryptophan from the turkey, the six Xanax I took to remain calm or the wine but all I know is that I ended up with a turkey baster in my ass and my Aunt Helen isn’t speaking to me. All in all, I’m pretty sure everyone had a good time but boy is my ass sore.” This will stop all comers in their tracks. The minute you get to the turkey baster in the ass line, they won’t know whether to laugh or be concerned for you and Aunt Helen too. This is exactly where you want them, on the edge of their seat! 

The mystery response – this is the response you use when you really don’t want anyone to know exactly what happened but you also want to seem  as though something exotic, mysterious and above all, interesting happened.

“Oh my God, you don’t even want to know. Let’s just say that I’m glad to be back to work, does that give you any indication?” This response will cause the person you’re talking with to absolutely want to know what happened and although you’ve all ready stated that they “don’t even want to know” they will usually respond with a, “No, I want to know. What happened? Are you okay?” Once again, you have them exactly where you want them. They think you’re interesting and they want to know more. Well, just like performing, you always want to leave your audience wanting more so don’t give in to letting them get any details out of you. Your response to the above should be, “I really can’t go into it, maybe another time when I have enough vodka in my hand to be mistaken for a celebrity on their way to rehab.” After delivering this line you should always walk away or change the subject (if you’re on the phone). It adds to the air of mystery and it won’t be long before someone else in the office will ask you, “Lisa said you had a crazy Thanksgiving. Are you okay? What happened?”  Remember, don’t answer. Don’t be fooled by the second string coming in to ruin the mystery you’ve just created!

And finally, for the weak of heart or weak of lying, try the boomerang response – this is designed to send the question hurtling back at the person asking you to begin with and if done properly, they’ll never even notice that you didn’t answer the question.

“Thanksgiving? More importantly, how was yours?” This makes the person you’re talking to feel more important than they really are and at the same time they mentally think you answered the question with a standard, “fine” in most cases. Let’s face it, there are a lot of people who ask the question not because they really care how your Thanksgiving was but because they feel they should ask you or they want to tell you about their Uncle Bob getting so drunk at their Thanksgiving that they found out they were adopted or born the opposite sex.

Any way you look at it, people are going to either be truly curious about your holiday or they’re going to feel compelled to ask you how it was due to one of society’s unwritten laws; “ask unto others what you want asked of yourself.“ If you’re like me (never wanting to disappoint your audience) you’ll want a better answer than what Chuck in accounting is delivering or the standard, “fine.” So I encourage you to be bold this year and even if you choose to use the “boomerang” response, you can take heart in knowing that you didn’t just answer with the typical response most expect. Start practicing now so you can move up to the mystery response by Hanukkah, Christmas or Kwanzaa. So how was your Thanksgiving? – Don’t Get Me Started!

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Remember, Is A Place From Long Ago… – Don’t Get Me Started!

There’s a song called, “Remember” we used to sing in A.C.E. (Advance Choral Ensemble) at my high school. Of which I of course was not only a member but also did some staging for the group that was known for it’s polyester Angel Flights pants and vests with contrasting colored “silk” shirts for the boys and Danskin leotards and wrap-around dresses of the same color as the men’s vests/pants on the girls. Although this was the late seventies, early eighties we looked like Saturday Night Fever wannabes and we thought we looked great! Well, this song, “Remember” was given to me by a dear friend from my high school days for my birthday recently and as I listened to it, I couldn’t help but have a wash of emotions and memories come flooding back. “Remember, is a place from long ago…” – Don’t Get Me Started!

The more I think about holidays the more I think that someone somewhere had a good idea with this whole thing. I’m not talking about the fact that there should be gross commercialism over supposedly the son of God’s birth or that we should even be celebrating the fact that we took the land from the American Indians and left them holding the cob without any corn (or should I say, maize) on it at all by the time the deal was done. No, I’m talking about how we all seem to get introspective as the holidays draw near and unfold.

Like so many other people today, I am a busy person. If I’m not setting up a meeting or sitting in a meeting, I’m on the phone, on my several email accounts (either on a computer or the Blackberry or both at the same time), tweaking the website, writing, getting in touch with people for future stuff for the site, feeding and petting my cats, talking to my mother and trying to find time to have a life with my guy. We all “over” schedule ourselves these days and for those of us who actually had lives where our hips used to be vibrating with the thrill (or lust) of romance instead of an incoming call or email (we felt we had to answer immediately) I believe we had more time to think, to experience life and just be. Not to sound like the old Beatles song, but I know I wear my mother, father, mate and everyone in my life out to the point where all they want to say to me is, “Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be. Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.” The problem is that my mind is shouting at me and those whispered words too often aren’t heard or answered by me. They go to some voicemail I never check or that I delete without listening to the message. (Enter high blood pressure, bad cholesterol counts and pills to sleep) Thus the holidays are a time for me to listen to those “whispered words of wisdom” that were inside me all the time. Much like Glinda says to Dorothy in the Wizard Of Oz, “You don’t need to be helped any longer. You’ve always had the power to go back to Kansas.” Now, I’ve never been to Kansas (also don’t know that “I’ve been to Paradise but I’ve never been to me” as the song goes) but the point hits home for me (and not just because I’m a Jewish, Judy Garland, Over The Rainbow, Oz-loving, gay!)

You see, as corny as it may sound, we all do have the power to get home to ourselves. We’re just too busy making car payments, working out and working our jobs to utilize the power. (Oh my God, I have just written the first two sentences of my new self-help book – God forbid!) But it’s all true and that’s also the reason why I don’t read all those self-help books. Because you need to personalize any philosophy or new thought process with references and tangibles you yourself can understand. I don’t get the visualizations or “practices” in the self-help books I’ve tried to read. Look, I’ve lived my life waiting to hear the swell of the MGM orchestra starting like every musical I ever watched (over and over again). So my personal references are movie musicals and lyrics from songs because that’s what hits home to me. And hey, it works for me…usually. It’s just that the older I get the more tired I get waiting to hear the conductor’s baton tapping his music stand giving the orchestra its cue to begin.  

And thus we’re back to holidays and their power to force us to remember. You see there have been times in my life where I’ve heard the music loud and clear. There was the first time I ever took a dance class. Sure there was music in the classroom but it penetrated so deep that it hit me somewhere in my soul. The same thing with the first time I ever stepped on stage. Saw my first Broadway show. Met the man I’ve been with for over nineteen years. (To some it may sound impossible but I DID hear music when I met the man who would become my life mate – sure we were auditioning for a musical at the time but you get the idea). And so at holidays I think it’s important to remember all the times we’ve heard this music inside us, celebrate it and figure out a way to get that music playing again. No regrets or melancholy, we should just feel the way we do when a song comes on the radio you haven’t heard in years. Dare I call it, “happy?”

So thank you to my friend Dave for sending me the song “Remember.” It certainly has made me remember quite a bit and at the same time it’s given me a chance to take some time to think about the future as well. Funny how the past and future are so linked, huh? So as the holidays begin this week, I hope all of you hear your own music again (and/or whatever it is for you) and that you don’t get sad about the past but take the time to enjoy and remember. Remember is a place from long ago… - Don’t Get Me Started!

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As A Matter Of Fact, I HAVEN’T Lost Any Weight! – Don’t Get Me Started!

Can someone explain to me why it is exactly that when I’m at my heaviest (weight wise, not in a Sammy Davis, Jr. kind of “that’s heavy, babe” way) that it’s always the time someone tells me how thin I look? Maybe I’m doing a good job of wearing so much black that I either look like a Hassidic Jew, a woman in mourning from the turn of the century or as if I’m wearing a birkah but the fact remains that as a matter of fact, I HAVEN’T lost any weight! – Don’t Get Me Started!

It happened today of all days. Here I am, feeling so fat and bloated that I’m waiting for the Macy’s people to contact me about putting some strings on me and walk me down Broadway with my pals like Snoopy and Garfield as a balloon in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade and you’re trying to tell me that I look thinner to you? Yeah, right where did you get that from your calendar with the daily compliments on it? “Today tell someone enormous that they look as though they lost weight, it’ll make them feel better and get you a little closer at making it into heaven with God possibly forgiving you for not calling your mother back and that threesome in 1992.”

The first thing that always goes through my mind is that if this person actually thinks I look thinner when I’m heavy enough to catapult any small adult on the other end of a seesaw then obviously even at my heaviest there was a time I appeared to be even heavier. This is a thought far too depressing to contemplate so it’s right on to thought two – I don’t trust this person, what do they want from me? This person is obviously buttering me up (more than I did to the six rolls I had at dinner last night) to get something from me. Whether it be that they just ran into my car or they need to borrow a paper clip, no doubt this person wants something from me.

To all you “half-full” glass people I know you’re all thinking that I’m paranoid and need to take the compliment and move on. But to those of you who think that way I would have to ask you to understand that if I don’t have my anxieties I have nothing to hang onto and more importantly, nothing to write about. You see, there are some of us who even doing yoga (trying desperately to become one with ourselves) are thinking about what we need at the grocery store, why so and so hasn’t emailed us back wondering if they’re mad at us and whether or not we offended our aunt when we told her she looked so much thinner. I’ve tried to get to the whole inner peace thing really I have but the harder I try the more things that run through my mind. I’m in warrior pose and as I’m focusing on my outstretched hand as a focal point, I’m thinking about how old my hands are starting to look. Honestly, I think it would take a lot of alcohol and a blow to the skull to set my mind at ease. Namaste, dammit!

Okay, who knows maybe I DO look thinner to this person but no getting around it, they just lost some credibility points with me. I suppose the flip side to this is that you don’t want someone to say you look heavier than you ever have to them either. Look, I know the problem is me because with people like me, our problem is that we can’t keep our mouth shut. Instead of quietly taking the compliment and moving on I invariably blurt something out like, “What are you on the crack? My crack is as wide as the Grand Canyon at the moment! If I gain any more weight I’m going to have to get a scooter for Chrissakes! Lost weight? Honestly get your eyes examined will you? And don’t take that job as a carny guessing people’s weight, okay?” In my heart I know that they mean well but well, as a matter of fact, I HAVEN’T lost any weight! – Don’t Get Me Started!

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Stop The Holidays I Want To Get Off – Don’t Get Me Started!

It’s official this week begins the holiday season and I for one am just not ready, physically, emotionally or any other way. I need the holidays just not to happen this year. Any chance of that happening? Who do I call to turn in that request, huh? You see, it’s for no other reason than I’m all ready fat and tired, which is what the holidays are all about, right? Stop the holidays I want to get off – Don’t Get Me Started!

The stores started months ago. Before the cobwebs were out for Halloween there were all ready Christmas trimmings sneaking their way into the stores. I mean, they started so early this year that I had to wonder whether or not it wasn’t just last year’s stuff left out on one of the shelves or something. With the way retailers are pitching this stuff earlier and earlier to us they may as well just leave it out. (Of course, not the Hanukkah stuff. That they really do put away each year and then drag out for the pathetic display for the end cap of an aisle which ends up being one dradle, three bags of chocolate gelt so stale you could chip a tooth and one electric menorah that was on sale the end of last season because unlike the magical oil so long ago that lasted eight nights, this had a bulb out so you got a discount but you only got seven nights out of it. It is now full price again but don’t worry, the Jew who buys it this year will save the receipt and you can bet they’ll be returning it on the eighth night of Hanukkah before the return policy and the holiday is up.) My point is that I’m immune to that holiday feeling now that it comes in September. There’s no nip in the air in September (and Al Gore will tell you why, global warming of course) so call me old fashioned but I’d like a temperature below 75 degrees with my holiday season if you please.

Even the networks can’t wait to get the holidays here and over. They’re showing the Peanuts Thanksgiving cartoon on Monday of this week. Come on people, couldn’t you at least wait until, oh I don’t know Thursday so the whole family can be passed out from the traditional meal half asleep while the kids watch the Peanuts for Chrissakes? Or is the family even having the meal this year? Apparently some of the stores that wait and wait for “Black Friday” to come can’t wait either. That’s right, some stores are going to even be open Thanksgiving night so that you can get a jump on all the craziness with the crazies who wait for “Black Friday” but have no idea that Thursday is apparently goingt to be the new black.

I get it. We’re in desperate times where there are more homes for sale on the block due to foreclosure than there are people who put those ridiculous farkakte “holiday flags” out with the turkey on it nowadays. So isn’t that more reason to focus on the family (okay, I can’t believe I just wrote that – that’s the name of one of those right-wing asshole groups…oy, see how upset I am)? Shouldn’t we instead of buying that snow globe that trills “Oh Holy Night” in a tinny rendition almost unrecognizable for a hundred dollars be paying our rent or something?

I know, to the holiday lovers out there you’re livid and I will no doubt be hearing from you big time. Look, I like the holidays too, I love the sidewalks busy sidewalks dressed in holiday style as much as the next guy but this year I’ve been working around the clock like crazy so much so that my cats don’t even recognize me and the greatest gift of all for me would be a couple of days without shlepping or having to please someone other than myself. I don’t need a bow on it, I don’t need it to require batteries like something from Sharper Image, sure I want peace on earth but more importantly, in my own mind.

I’m not The Grinch. In fact after writing all this I think I’ve decided that (much like Johnny Mathis once sang) “it’s not for me to say” who has the holidays and who doesn’t. In fact, I say, go ahead and have your holiday, I don’t begrudge you or want to take it away from you it’s just that much like PE class in grade school, I don’t want to participate. Do they make a card that says, “Hope you have a wonderful holiday but please leave me out of it this year?” Can some of us practice holiday abstinence without being ostracized? I know that the answer is no but a Jew can dream, can’t he? Stop the holidays I want to get off – Don’t Get Me Started!

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I Should Have Gone For The Unscented Deodorant – Don’t Get Me Started!

Have you ever been about to leave on a quick trip and wanting to take all carry-on (and abide by the TSA’s rule of nothing over a 3oz bottle and all of your 3oz bottles must fit in a quart sized (no larger) Ziploc bag? Well, I find myself doing this all the time. I travel to LA at least once a month to our corporate offices so I keep full-sized products in my office there (problem solved) but when I go anywhere else it’s suddenly either start pouring all my products in tiny containers (looking like Igor from the Frankenstein lab) or go out and buy the “travel” sized products. Well, for my trip this past week I chose to go buy the products. Looking for everything that had the thinnest profile so I could cram it all in the quart sized baggy. Since they rarely have your brand in the travel sized stuff it’s an opportunity to try something new. And perhaps that’s where my error began. I saw this deodorant that was supposedly cucumber and something else and the container had a look of a spa or something. And so it went into my basket. I should have gone for the unscented deodorant – Don’t Get Me Started!

Now I’ve been to spas where after the massage they give you cucumber water and it’s all very soothing, cooling and refreshing so it made sense to me that who wouldn’t want to feel all those things under their arms? Even if only for the three days I was going to be away. Well, the first morning I put this stuff on, I of course smelled it first and it smelled a little sweet (which I don’t get as cucumbers aren’t really a sweet smell to me) but nothing so smelly I didn’t think I’d be gagging from the smell in a mere ten minutes. I got dressed and started out of the hotel to begin my day.

What you need to know is that I’m a very fast walker. Most people think that I’m the fastest walker they have ever encountered. I don’t know if this is because I’m so short that I’m trying to make up ground to stay up with the rest of the world, if it’s because I’m an east coast guy at heart and Lord knows in NYC, you’d better keep up or what but for whatever reason I walk fast and therefore while I didn’t break out into a sweat per se (and by the way, I don’t sweat I “glisten”) suddenly while walking to the rental car and then into the offices where I was having my meetings I started to smell something, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. It certainly wasn’t my Cartier cologne. No, it was sweeter…much, much sweeter.

By the time I got to the office door, it dawned on me, it was the deodorant and what’s more, by this time it had gotten so sweet smelling (I guess activated by my glistening) that I could finally give a name to the smell I was smelling. It was as if I had two watermelon flavored Jolly Rancher hard candies under my arms. Do you all remember how smelly these candies were and still are today? Remember how when you would open the wrapper, you’d start to salivate a little just from the smell? (I’m actually salivating as I’m writing this from just thinking about it)

And so for two days (because I wouldn’t go without any deodorant) I smelled like a watermelon Jolly Rancher candy. I kept asking people I knew well enough to smell me and see what they smelled. I don’t know if they were lying to me or what but they said that they couldn’t smell the deodorant/candy. I’m leery to believe them but I want to believe them all the same.

But for God’s sake, who the hell would make a deodorant that has this strong of a scent? Especially the scent of a very popular hard candy? And if you are someone who does sweat a lot and stink a lot, is smelling like a Jolly Rancher going to make it better or worse do you think? Maybe they didn’t intend for it to smell this way but believe me when I say, it does and by the way, I didn’t smell a bit of cucumber in the whole thing. And the more the day went on the sweeter and more gaggy things became for me. Sort of like the way Snoopy used to gag on the cartoons. So while I enjoy trying new products and I like scented things I think that when it comes to my body I’m going to let the products that need to be smelly be smelly and when it comes to under my arms I’m going to just let them be as unscented as possible. I should have gone for the unscented deodorant – Don’t Get Me Started!

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Does Anyone Really Need To Make A Scene In Public? – Don’t Get Me Started!

I can’t help it, I keep thinking about the woman I saw in the restaurant the other night that caused a huge scene. The recap is that she was middle aged and having dinner with two men. One seemed to be her husband and the other related somehow. Apparently when they asked for chicken marsala, the waiter had told them that they didn’t have it but that perhaps they would like another chicken selection on the menu that was similar to marsala. Long story short, they didn’t like anything about it and although it was one of the men at the table that ordered the dish, it was this woman at the table that went off. And so I wonder, does anyone really need to make a scene in public? – Don’t Get Me Started!

I’m not going to lie and say that I’m the most patient person in the world, I’m far from it in fact but I can honestly say that I have never caused a scene in public. I just don’t get what there is to get out of the whole endeavor. I mean, maybe yelling at a waiter makes some people feel better but not me. The thing here is that when they called the waiter over and she started her rant, the staff at the restaurant did exactly what they should, they listened to her rant, then asked her what they could do to correct it and then quickly brought them another entrée. I never saw a bill presented to the table and while I’m not thinking the entire meal was comped, I’m sure that at least one of the meals had to have been and yet as if the scene she caused at the table (in an otherwise quiet restaurant wasn’t enough as they left, the two men exited the restaurant and she stayed behind to continue to yell at what must have been a manager. She went off all over again, even after completely emptying their plates and no doubt having been compensated with a free meal or meals.

So I have to ask myself what could she possibly have gotten out of all of this ridiculous display for all to see? Okay, maybe she was angry when it first happened (albeit an irrational reaction in my opinion for such a minor offense) but she calmed down long enough to eat everything on her plate. Was it just that she had depleted all her energy screaming the first time and only after stuffing her gullet with pasta did she gain enough energy to go back for round two of the screaming and yelling? And what of the two men that were with her? They sat there not saying a word at the table and when she went after the manager they were outside the restaurant down several hundred feet away from the restaurant waiting for her. I don’t know about you but only a few times have I been with people who went kind of “off” and in those couple of cases, I always tried to talk the person I was with down from the edge that they had climbed out on. I would be embarrassed to sit there and just listen to my mate or friend going seemingly insane, screaming in a restaurant or someplace without trying to calm them down or saying something. But maybe these men had been through this many times with her and were used to it. I don’t think I could ever get used to it and I think if this was the case (that she did this all the time), I think that I would not go out in public with her anymore.

There is a type of person who relishes sending their food back, causing scenes in public and trying to tear other people down. And doesn’t it always seem the people that try to diminish other people are the ones who have such low self-esteem themselves? No doubt that was the case with this woman, in her gold lame jeans (she was stuffed into), the floral top (that made her look like a slip cover for lawn furniture) and her crowing glory, her stereotypical mall chick hair circa 1981 poofed and sprayed to what I’m sure felt was perfection. Then again, maybe she needed this scene to feel important, to feel smarter than. I just think you always make a mistake when the only way to feel better about yourself is by tearing someone else down.

Don’t get me wrong, anyone who has ever read my blogs knows just how much I adore making fun of other people (and myself). But I’m not trying to be vicious (okay, well not always) and as I think it was Kathy Griffin that said, “I was brought up right; I was raised to talk about people behind their backs, not to their faces.” Honestly I just don’t get what’s to be gained by the whole thing for anyone involved. Sure there have been times I’ve wanted to scream at the top of my lungs but does screaming ever make a difference? And can you get away with it while still maintaining your self-respect? In situations when I get really angry I tend to lower my voice (sounding almost like a someone reading a clinical medical manual for the blind or something). I make strong eye contact, I lower my voice and my words come out very deliberately so that there is never a chance that the person I’m talking to won’t get just how pissed off I truly am. It’s never failed me and never caused a scene. So again I ask, does anyone really need to make a scene in public? – Don’t Get Me Started!

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‘Twas The Night Before Project Runway… - Don’t Get Me Started!

‘Twas the night before Project Runway and all through my head was the thought that again I hoped my blogs would be read. To the Bravo website then the Internet I dashed to make certain I was ready for the season four task.

Life of the Ultimate Fan Blogger for Project Runway isn’t as glamorous or as easy as it may seam (only pun in the blog, I promise). You see, last year to become the Ultimate Fan Blogger I submitted some blogs and then by the grace of a bunch of people clicking for my entry, I was chosen as the blogger. It’s true that I’ve watched every single episode of every season of Project Runway. Not because I loved (or really knew who Heidi Klum was) but because the show sounded interesting to me and it was love at first sight.

But here’s the deal. I don’t really consider myself the “ultimate fan” and mostly because as I was blogging last year I was amazed at the depth of information that the truly obsessed fans for the show had when they commented on my blog. Okay, wait a minute, let’s be honest, most of the “comments” to my blog were like many comments left on websites, not so much having to do with anything I wrote but a forum for people to write their own opinions (or show how much more they knew about Runway than me). Frankly I was amazed at how passionate people got about this television show. It’s true that I like a good competition reality show too but some of these people just went crazy.

I admit that last season was an upset. I didn’t want Jeffrey to win (and still don’t feel that he deserved to win). Although I loved Laura, I have to admit that Uli should have won the show last season from what was shown in “the tents.” But I was just amazed at the people who vowed they’d never watch the show again or that it was fixed or something. People wrote about how disappointed and betrayed they felt by the show. Come on people, it’s a television show, right? Remember? (Obviously some don’t)

Here’s a look inside of how I write the blogs and some stuff that you may not know. First, I watch the show the same time all of you watch the show. (Much to my dismay, I don’t get advance copies of the episodes) As I’m watching the show I’m taking pages and pages of notes. When I watch at home, I usually Tivo it so that I can go back and get quotes exactly right or watch a moment again. (Too often I’m on the road for business and at the mercy of friends who let me come into their home, commandeer their television and tell them to “shut it” so that I can catch everything as it’s happening.) Commercials are essential for rewriting illegible notes and coming up with a “theme” or style for the blog for that week. When the episode is over, it’s straight to the computer I dash to start writing. At first I just write the blog the way I’m feeling about it having just seen it, then it’s all the re-reading and editing that comes next. Bravo put one stipulation on the blogs, that they not exceed 500 words so I decided right away that instead of just recapping the episode I needed to share a viewpoint or focus on certain highlighted moments in the show in order to make the blog interesting. Let’s face it; if you’re reading the blog, you’ve most likely watched the show so you don’t need me to tell you what happened. I send it off to my editor at Bravo and then once again, I see it when all of you see it. Sometimes it’s edited by my editor (and sometimes I’ve found some stuff in there that to be honest I never even wrote) but for the most part, my editor makes the blogs better when he makes changes.

Once the blog is posted I admit it, I read the comments. I don’t read every single comment but I like to get a sense of what the other people who are watching are feeling about the show. (Usually I agree with the other viewers) While I don’t let the comments change how I write my blogs, it’s just good to read how close I’ve come to expressing what the rest of the Project Runway fans are feeling.

And so tonight is the first episode of season four of Project Runway and there are many blogs to write. I’m hoping you’ll all read along on Some Like It Scott  or at www.bravotv.com . Last night I was watching television and feeling a little nervous about starting the blogs for Runway again and then the Gods of fashion sent me a sign. I was flipping channels when all of a sudden I saw him, Santino from season two was on some show and I knew in an instant I was ready for the challenge ahead. So as Tim Gunn says, “Carry On.”

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Just How Wrong Is It To Lie About Your Weight To The DMV? – Don’t Get Me Started!

As anyone who has ever read my blog (or met me knows) the DMV had me classified as a woman on my driver’s license for over three years (true it took me that long to notice it – don’t ask) but when I recently had to go to renew my license, I was faced with a new dilemma. Just how wrong is it to lie about your weight to the DMV? – Don’t Get Me Started!

I got to the DMV and you can just imagine what it’s like here with all the people moving to Vegas, the lines were enormous. So I waited in line to wait in a chair until they called my number. Once my number came up, I went to the woman at the appropriately numbered desk and immediately I started my shtick. Okay, if you didn’t read about my ordeal with DMV and how they wouldn’t change the “F” to an “M” you should probably read that now to appreciate this latest entry. (Read that blog here at… http://dontstartscott.blogspot.com/2005/04/dmv-is-convinced-im-woman-dont-get-me.html  ) And we’re back. Okay so the minute I get to the desk of the woman who will be issuing my license, I start to do the whole, self-deprecating and whatever it takes to bring a smile to her face shtick. I do this for two reasons, 1) is because I can only imagine how many assholes you deal with all day at the DMV and 2) because after my last ordeal, I can’t afford to not have them “on my side” at any cost.

I forget what we laughed about but it was something so mission accomplished. And so it came to taking the eye test. Now I recently was given glasses to wear for night driving. (Armani frames, but of course) so I had them with me but like most people my age who start needing assistance from things like glasses it’s not something I’m thrilled about so I figured I’d try to make it without the glasses and just see what happened. Well, my sight can’t be too bad because I passed that portion of the test. (I don’t know why these victories seem so big but they do to us old folk.)

And as the woman looked at my old driver’s license she asked the question “Has any of your information changed?” And then she went for the jugular, “Address? Weight?” Now I had recently been weighed at the doctor and okay, I’m the fattest I’ve ever been in my life. I’m 153 pounds and I’m miserable. The weight on the old license said 135 (I have news for everyone, I wasn’t 135 when I got that license…I can’t remember how much I weighed but I know it wasn’t 135) and while I knew I couldn’t lie my way into 135, especially as Wanda behind the desk was looking me up and down as if she worked as a Carny in her early days and could guess my weight within three pounds so she didn’t have to give me the stuffed Bugs Bunny, I couldn’t quite bring myself to be the 153 I know that I am. Plus (I reasoned immediately with myself) if I go puke on my way to the photo taking place I’m sure I could get myself down to 151 at least. Well, even that didn’t seem like a weight I wanted to be so with great ease I said, “Well, I’ve gained ten pounds since that license.” Not really a lie, because I have gained ten pounds…and then some. And with three strokes of the keys, I became 145. I figured it was okay to use this as the weight because I’ve been 145 as recently as last year so I know that I can be it again. It’s not like after Scarlett has the baby in Gone With The Wind and Mammy is doing up her corset and Scarlett says about her waist, “Mammy, you’ve just got to make it 18 ½ again.” And Mammy wisely says, “You done had a baby Miss Scarlett, you ain’t never gonna be no 18 ½ again.” Ooh what I wouldn’t give for a corset right now, I know I haven’t had a baby and was never 18 ½ around my waist but maybe I could get to at least a 30 inch waist again?

Wanda made the change to my license (although I know she knows I was lying about the weight) and as she gave it to me to look over I looked first to make sure that I was listed as the correct sex and then at the weight. Yup, I had become 145 pounds in an instant. And so I had my photo taken (an awful photo and don’t think for one minute that when I get down to 145 or 140 I’m not going back there for a replacement license, I don’t care if I have to wait on line for a week, it will be worth it). When the girl behind the counter handed me my new license, she was looking at the picture. Now I’m like most people I think in that I do what I can in the morning to make myself look presentable from the neck up and I don’t do a full body scan so for the most part I can trick myself into thinking I look okay but in the harsh lighting and camera of the DMV, I was truly frightened by the image that was before me. They say a picture is worth a thousand words but this looked as though I had eaten 2,000 and was going back again like an all you can eat buffet. But that’s okay, I’ll lose the weight whether I have Mammy behind me pulling on the corset strings or not. But the real question is; just how wrong is it to lie about your weight to the DMV? – Don’t Get Me Started!

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My Birthday With My Parents And Howie Mandel – Don’t Get Me Started!
My parents have always made a big fuss over my birthday and it’s something I’ve never quite gotten over. No matter what anyone does if it doesn’t have the monster theme with the party hats that match the plates and cake I’m always a bit under whelmed when it comes to my birthdays. There have been many disastrous birthdays. Over the years my mother has thrown something like seven “surprise” parties for me where the only surprise was that I never ended up showing up due to one reason or another. Needless to say, surprise parties have been banned. So this year, with Michael out of town on business, my parents wanted to do something nice with just the three of us. So here’s the tale of my birthday with my parents and Howie Mandel – Don’t Get Me Started!

My parents told me that they were going to pick me up for this fun-filled mystery evening. As it was dinner (and my parents are Jews of a certain age) they would pick me up at 5:15pm. Now most people would think that 5:15pm means exactly that time but what you don’t know is that if you’re my family, it really means 4:30pm and you just drive around the neighborhood for forty-five minutes to make it seem as though you arrived at the appropriate time or option “B” arrive forty-five minutes early and listen to my father complain that you aren’t ready on time (because after all, the reason for setting a time for pick up is to be there forty-five minutes early and make your son completely insane). The swell news was that they indeed chose to arrive at 5:15pm on the dot and I was waiting outside for them.

As soon as my parents’ Cadillac pulled up, my father hopped out and informed me that I would be driving their car as we were going to the Strip. Now for local Vegas folk, going to the Strip is a bit like going to the dentist’s office where the implements are all rusty. You would rather have your gums scraped by a rabid raccoon as opposed to be going to the Strip. The good news was that it was a Sunday. And so I began to kvetch and my mother told me that I needed to be quiet because they had a lovely evening planned (and it had all been comped). The thing about comps in Vegas is that it’s not like it used to be when the mob ran this town. It’s all corporations now so comps are few and far between so this was set up through a friend of a friend and it was dinner at a nice Italian restaurant and a show. The show was Howie Mandel. Now let me say that I think Howie Mandel is okay but not someone I would go out of my way (or okay, let’s call it for what it is – I wouldn’t pay to see him). I can watch him just fine for a fleeting few seconds on television watching him make a big deal over opening suitcases if I really want to see Howie Mandel. Having tickets for his show reminds me of years ago when my mother got another famous comp in Atlantic City. The show was supposed to be Lola Falana but when we got there it was Henny Youngman. Two very different performers to be sure and although he was no Lola Falana, he was funny…take my mother…please.

The dinner was at an Italian restaurant. But not your old family style Italian restaurant. No this was one of those new shi-shi Italian restaurants where everything has a balsamic reduction drizzle on the plate that if you didn’t know better would look like the chef had a bad prostate and had been eeking something out on your plate. There’s someone who brings the bread, someone else brings the water, your waiter acts as though he’s selling you a car and yet at the same time he’s so smooth that if he felt you up under the table you wouldn’t be surprised a bit. It’s a dining experience that takes forever and when the food arrived (carried by yet another person) and my father (a real meat and potatoes kind of cowboy) asked for A1 sauce for his pork chop, the server tried to hide his dismay at having to go and ask the cook for a sauce that was not drizzled on the plate originally.

All in all the meal was good and we enjoyed the floor show which was a woman at a table across from us (who was poured into her gold lame jeans with floral top) and was yelling at the waiter at the top of her lungs because the chicken dish she got was not what she expected. We were delighted by this whole show even more because she stated that she was Italian, “And I know Italian recipes and dishes” and not Jewish. When you’re a Jew and someone makes a scene in a restaurant you always just say a little prayer that it’s not one of your tribe causing the disturbance. I think the woman ended up getting her meals comped but come on, does anyone really need to get this upset and make this big a scene? I think not but that’s a blog for another day.

After dinner we only had a two hour wait for the Howie show to begin. So we walked around the casino and even indulged by playing some ½ cent slots. Yes, it’s true they now have ½ penny slots. As we went into the theatre I could tell instantly that they were taking us way too far down front. The good news was that we weren’t at the tables that butt up to the stage but we were still a mere eight feet away from the stage in a “booth.” Because of the way we went into the booth, I was sitting in the middle between my parents. You just don’t know what it’s like to be forty-three and sitting in the middle of your parents waiting for a comedian to take the stage. We could not be any more your typical Jewish family – the man with his two parents looking like he’s twelve. The really good news was that although both Howie and the warm-up comedian looked in our direction, they didn’t involve us in their act. Thank you God for that birthday gift.

It turns out that Howie Mandel was really funny and it was a nice evening. But there is something that makes you wonder if at forty-three you should be spending your birthday this way. I don’t know if I still expect the matching birthday cake and décor or if it’s just a question of wanting to be with my guy on my birthday in Ixtapa or someplace exotic. Or maybe I just want to pull the covers over my head and watch old movie musicals and look back on the good, bad and ugly that has been my life thus far. Well, next year I’ll do something different. But this year, it was my birthday with my parents and Howie Mandel – Don’t Get Me Started!

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Why Do I Always Get The Handicapped Room In Hotels? – Don’t Get Me Started!

It just never seems to fail. Whenever I check in at a front desk all seems fine but then I get to my room and suddenly discover that the entire bathroom is the shower floor of that the light switches are a foot lower (and while I’m short, I don’t need them this low) and then it dawns on me like the light I had to stoop over to switch on, they have me the handicapped room again. Why do I always get the handicapped room in hotels? – Don’t Get Me Started!

Before anyone gets in an uproar thinking that I’m saying that the handicapped rooms aren’t nice or shouldn’t exist, etc. I’m not saying any of those things. But for those of us who are not in need of such amenities (shall we say) it just makes you feel as though you’re in a hospital room. (And to go off on a tangent for a moment, shouldn’t they be called handicapable rooms at this point? Isn’t that the PC thing to say?)

What I found odd about the hotel I’m in at the moment is that it seems a little half-assed accessible. Like the light switches are lower but the counters (it’s one of those corporate places with a mini-kitchen in it) is at usual height. I don’t see how anyone in a wheel chair could possibly use this counter or hoist themselves up on the stools they have for it (making you feel the closest you’ll ever be to getting on the Regis and Kelly show). In fact, I think if you wheeled past the counter that chances are you’d hit your head so hard on it that you would really be handicapped from the clonk on your head.

The bathroom is just bizarre. I don’t understand it but I suddenly want to be wearing a paper gown with my ass out more in this room than any other. (And no, I’m not sharing a fantasy here, well not for me anyway.) It’s so hospital-like that I can only help as I’m sitting on the toilet (which is so high that my short legs dangle until all circulation is lost) think that maybe someone will be coming in to give me a sponge bath or my meds in a little paper cup. (They never come) I use the metal rails that line the room like a life line (or ballet barre – whatever mood I’m in at the moment) to propel myself about the room. When the metal bars took me to the bathtub I became even more confused. What you discover before you even get in the shower is that there is really no place to put your towel. I eventually ended up closing the door and using the hook on the back of it but it was some distance away and left me wondering what the handicapped would do…also, it was at normal height. Now this is not one of the handicapped rooms that have the entire floor as the floor of the shower, no this one still has a shower/tub so you’d have to lift yourself up and over to get into the thing. But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part is that in addition to the spigot that runs into the tub and the overhead showerhead, there’s a shower hose (I guess in case you bring an elephant with you to bathe or want to give yourself a colonic) For those of you who think I’m stupid – yes, I get what the shower hose is for but what I don’t get is the fact that there are more knobs to turn (with no information on them as to what they’re for or how to use them) to make the various options happen. So as anyone would do, I just start turning knobs to see what will happen.

First, the water is just running in the tub, I pull up on the metal button on the spout and nothing changes as far as I can see. Then there’s another knob so I turn it and almost immediately the shower hose comes to life, spraying everywhere and dancing off its hook like it’s auditioning for the Rockettes. Quickly I turn the knob the other direction and lo and behold, water is now coming from the showerhead. Success. And so I showered and held onto one of the rails in the shower throwing my leg behind me in a mock exercise (once again hitting the shower hose making me paranoid that it’s going to come to life, wrap around my leg and I’ll be in a B horror film titled, “Snakes In A Shower.”) I survived the bathroom but then it was back into the rest of the room.

As I looked around I really had to wonder what exactly made this room so accessible for the handicapped? I’m sure they paid someone a bazillion dollars to come in and tell them how high to make the toilet (so that a 5’5’ man’s feet dangle like he’s playing Edith Ann in an old Laugh-In sketch) but why do they pick and choose what they do? Should there really be a lip on the tub? How do people get themselves up and over? Or is it supposed to be one of those rooms that challenges the all ready physically challenged guests like some sort of reality show? Is someone thinking, “Okay we’ll give them the low light switches but they’ll never survive the tub challenge!”

Although I always seem to wind up in one, I’m thankful that I don’t need a handicapped room but from being in so many, I think I’m more thankful because of all of the inconsistencies you find in these rooms. I’m sure there’s an organization somewhere that monitors and helps hotels with these kinds of things so I think that they should either help them more or the hotels should be asking for more help.

Thing is with all my paranoia, there’s a part of me that thinks these people at the front desk are making some sort of commentary on me when they put me in these rooms. How can they see how mentally crippled I am so fast? Does someone call ahead? Am I really just paranoid? And why do I always get the handicapped room in hotels? – Don’t Get Me Started!

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At This Point The New Gay Stereotype Should Be Politicians Not Beauticians! – Don’t Get Me Started!

For as long as I can remember us gays have been stereotyped as limp-wristed, Paul Lynde talking, pink triangle, leather wearing queens. Well thanks to all the Republicans pretty soon, no longer will we be seen as the hairdresser you can dish with and get fashion tips from over lunch. No, with all the Republican and political scandals going (you’ll pardon the expression) down recently, at this point the new gay stereotype should be politicians not hairdressers! – Don’t Get Me Started!

Let’s face it, with Queer Eye finally off the air we should get ready for one of the cable networks to unleash “Gay Guys In The GOP!” (Instead of GOP standing for “Grand Old Party” it’s going to stand for “Gay Old Poops!”) That’s right, no longer the fashionista stereotype that we gays are associated with, these are going to be a bunch of old white men who think a red tie with their navy suit is daring. Each week we’ll see the politicians tackle challenges ranging from trying to get into the “cabinet” of the guy they put in their cabinet (who had no qualifications – are you listening Jim McCreepey?) to the “fast round” challenge to see how fast you can text with a Senate page. The winner each week gets to scrawl their name on the golden public restroom stall wall and gets their choice of a gay meth addicted masseuse to take on a secret getaway to the nearest public restroom of their choice.

I’m kidding (kind of) but what shocks me is how NOT shocking all these supposed scandals have become anymore. I barely raise an eyebrow when I see the headlines. What about the twenty-six year old kid who claims he wasn’t really a prostitute though he was trying to get $1,000 out of Republican Richard Curtis for getting into him unprotected? You know, Republican Richard Curtis who was supposedly wearing women’s underwear during the alleged romantic encounter with that big 1970’s porn star mustache? What was he going for? The Lou Jacobi in drag look from Everything You Ever Wanted To Know About Sex?

The question at this point is how many times does it have to happen before instead of shocking it becomes a cliché? No one feels worse than I do about the children who were molested by priests but would you be shocked today if you heard of another one being outed as a molester? Me either and my point exactly.

The problem is as I’ve said a million times before, it just makes it harder on us garden variety average gays. I wouldn’t have a very high opinion of gays either if all I saw of them was from airport restrooms and chasing boys who wanted to learn about politics but only learned how kissing the ass (literally) of a Senator will get you everywhere. But maybe that’s exactly what the politicos want us to see, hmm? Maybe by outing their fellow conservatives they’re really just sacrificing them for the cause. Have they become political Perez Hiltons outing their own? After all, every scandal you hear about the politician in question has had his sexuality questioned for years so even in a “wink, wink, nudge, nudge” way more people knew about these guys than the tricks they picked up in alleyways. Perhaps we’re playing right into their hands when they allow their pals to fall on the sword of a twenty-something boy publicly? They get exactly what they want. Homosexual sex is shown as something disgusting and dirty which makes even the more moderate conservatives cringe as well as some of us liberals and dare I say…gays!  If gay sex is only seen as dirty than how could anyone possibly let Leonard and Bill have a white wedding? I’m not a conspiracy theorist on the whole so I’ll just let Oliver Stone take it from here.

What is undeniable is that we gays who were once seen as drag queens, flight attendants and interior decorators are getting a facelift most of us don’t want. Who wants their face to be that of a closeted negligee Norman only looking for sex in restrooms and adult bookstores? I’m not saying that some of us don’t do these things (and frankly if it’s between two consenting adults, I could care less) but if you gave me a choice, I’d rather go back to being thought of as the sophisticated Charles Nelson Riley smoking my pipe and being terribly witty on Match Game than looking like Senator Larry Craig! Unfortunately, we don’t get to make the choice of how we’re seen from the media’s lens so all we can do is try to show those around us who and what we are and how scary we aren’t while the politicians keep coming out (like it or not for all of us). At this point the new gay stereotype should be politicians not hairdressers! – Don’t Get Me Started!

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A Leading Jewish Mother Reveals The Healing Properties Of Cinnamon And Dark Chocolate! – Don’t Get Me Started!

It was just my typical Sunday night dinner with the folks. A lovely pot roast, some sweet potatoes and a broccoli/carrot mix. What could be bad,