Monthly Archives: May 2005


On Thursday I spent some time with Vodka Boy at his restaurant. He took this picture of me next to one of his friends’ paintings.

A complex painting next to a simple man (undone hair, plain shirt, expressionless face). The picture is art in of itself.

Tour of the studio:

I think a lifestyle of an artist would be so much more fulfilling then that of a wage slave.

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Had another barbecue with Insomnia, where we made Mexican avocado burgers with fries. Does his pose remind of you something?


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Last week I wrote,

Saturday… Go into a club, increase my risk of getting lung cancer, and then walk out two hours later frustrated and horny

Unfortunately, I really did that. But it was my own doing. There are no pictures that can emotionally frame the depression I felt driving home that night. I’ll just let the missed connection I posted on craigslist – my first – tell the story:

Around 1230 you were sitting at the bar with your friend when I came over and asked you to get me a lime. We talked for maybe 30 seconds when you put your finger in your mouth while holding eye contact. Normal guys would take that as a hint of some sort, but instead I said, “I’ll be back! Seriously, I’m coming back!” (I didn’t want to be a jerk to the girls I was talking to.) But then you left before I could talk to you.

You: Blonde, sexy

Me: Idiot, baby soft hair

I wanted to have my cake and eat it too. Instead, it feels like someone smashed cake in my face and I just got a taste of the frosting… the sweet sweet frosting. I deserve only ugly and fat girls for the entire summer. I like to pride myself on having decent game, but this… this was such a tremendous blow that I need to pull a foursome or something really kinky this summer to redeem myself. I’m not a man… men don’t turn down hot blondes with “I’ll be back”. :sob: 🙁 :sob: 🙁 :sob: 🙁 :sob: 🙁 :sob: 🙁 :sob: 🙁 :sob: 🙁 :sob: 🙁 :sob:

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The weekend ended with a family barbecue at some lake. In this picture I toughened up my 2 year old brother by throwing him from the swing we were on.

Then it was my turn… and I ended up taking a bit of a tumble.

The awesomeness of two wheels:


This is the best Washington Post article I’ve read all year. Every day I dream of quitting my comfortable job and doing something risky that makes me appreciate life a little bit more.

Two young new dishwashers have joined the crew, Ermis and Geraldo. Geraldo, who wears an FBI cap flipped backward and has a mouth of silver teeth, is covered in piquillo slop and empanada detritus. Joel shows him how to prep squid, saying in Spanish, “Watch what I’m doing. That way you won’t have to stay a dishwasher forever.”

I don’t know what it’s like to put in a hard day’s work of manual labor. My dad still does it, and I understand why he wanted me to go to college. Vodka Boy does it too, aging just a little quicker than his lab coat college buddies… god bless you my friend.


If someone always invites you out, but you usually gently turn them down, do you get scared they will stop inviting you out completely? I lead them on by coming up with elaborate excuses so they keep inviting me out. It’s nice being invited to the party even if you don’t want to go.


In the spirit of being a socialite, I’ve decided to post this weekend’s calender so all of you can know what exciting things I’m doing.

Friday: Throw on an artsy cultural movie to better appreciate the diversity of Earth’s people. Spend the rest of the night under a blanket with a romantic book, reminiscing about all of my past lovers. (Translation: Call a bunch of girls to hang out and get turned down by all of them. Watch Desperado and jerk off to fake Salma Hayek nudes on the internet.)

Saturday: Attend A-crowd club in town and drink straight from the Grey Goose bottle. Meet my potential wife. Come home and sleep soundly from another exciting night. (Translation: Go into a club, increase my risk of getting lung cancer, and then walk out two hours later frustrated and horny. Wonder aloud if being alone is my destiny. Dirty sheets with smoke-infested skin and hair.)

Sunday: Rise early, refreshed and happy about where I am in life. People watch at Starbucks while thinking of another creative plan for next weekend. Top it all off with some personal shopping. (Translation: Wake up and feel like shit. Go to Starbucks and buy the cheapest drink so they don’t kick me out. Hit on older women at multiple Target’s starting at 4pm.)



The men’s showers at my gym are set up communally so that everyone is visible. Most men like myself shower nude, but every now and then you have a guy showering in a towel or swim trunks. There is one guy there who is pretty weird; he showers with his swim trunks AND two large towels. I figure he doesn’t want to shower like normal guys because he’s small or has only one testicle.

Recently I was in the shower rinsing my back (facing outward) when I see the guy, but this time he was completely naked. I’m a curious person so I had to sneak a peek. Well, turns out this guy is ENORMOUS. It was like looking at a baby’s arm. I immediately turn away but the damage was already done. I walked out the gym that day much gayer than when I walked in. :shudder:

Here is a re-enactment of peek.

My body’s musculature was accurately drawn to scale.


My narcissism goes so deep than I need everyone to know when I’m talked about on another site, even if it’s negative. Here’s a new one.

DCBachelor went from having almost no traffic on his site (hey, I sympathize) to being the topic of conversation on blogger sites that ripped into him

You’re right, the two sites that “ripped” into me really put me on the DC blogging map, especially since they are the pulse of DC and all. We’ll ignore that one of those sites has a daily readership of six people.

But really, to attract attention for being spiteful is one thing; to turn that negative attention into love and kisses is quite another, which is why his next move was so genius. He went on other blogs and made conciliatory gestures, mainly consisting of comments that could lead to a belief that “hating” was a pose, an attitude toward life that was all in jest and could be shed like last year’s fashions (speaking of which, the dude wears a soul patch. ouch.). And as the coup de grace, he invited friend and enemy alike out to a “Haters Happy Hour.” Fucking brilliant. DCBachelor managed to become a central player in a small blogging lovefest that includes the CPMC, the Washington Socialites, and their adjuncts (cpjl, v, butterfly network, etc.). I’m not saying he’s won over all his critics, but the main point is that he have to spend any more Saturday nights wondering why the phone isn’t ringing.

Thank you for making me seem like a master manipulator of DC blog readers, who was duped into thinking that all me and my friends do is make fun of other people, unable to socialize like normal adults.

I noticed that every one of my haters is going for the soul patch, as if they are following a formula from the “How To Hate On DCB Handbook.” And every girl I’ve ever gone out with has hated on it as well. Since I still have it, that kinda tells you how I strongly I feel about have this tuft of hair under my bottom lip.

I feel like this hater tried to be a little nicer to ensure I’d plug him (he did call me a genius). For his efforts… Countersignature.


Insomnia and I went for a 100 mile ride through Howard County, MD on Saturday, stopping at a gas station halfway through. He’s filling his tank when I look over and see gas spraying full stream into the air, like in the movie Point Break with Patrick Swayze and Keanu Reeves. Turns out the nozzle “got stuck”. :laugh:

Gas was everywhere.

Rockin’ the headband.

Stopped by Dragonfly this weekend… and saw someone. I get home at 5AM, tired and intoxicated, frustrated that for nine months I’ve been unable to make a solid, bold move on this one girl I like. I wrote down a couple things. I read them the next day, sober, and thought, “Wow, I’m deep.” I don’t take the 99% of girls I meet too seriously; I bring out some old material, throw in some new stuff, and whatever happens, happens. But the other 1%… the ones that count?

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It takes a special man to wear these pants in a club:

New hot DC trend: mobile shoe cleaner.

Hung out with Vodka Boy on Sunday, who showed me his very luxurious trash can. When you live in an expensive house, you can’t stick in a $10 Rubbermaid tub.

Biggest grape ever.