Tag Archives: shirtless

out and about in the city of brotherly love…

This past Sunday afternoon, the LGBT (Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender) community celebrated our city’s diversity with the annual “Outfest” held in the “gayborhood” of Philadelphia.

I was fortunate to have off on a rare Sunday, and Daryl and I took full advantage of the spectacular weather to explore not only the Outfest celebration later in the afternoon, but also to take a self-imposed walking tour to a few other locations in the “City of Brotherly Love” along the way AFTER our delicious breakfast at the Midtown Diner (which I describe in my other blog “a little taste.”)

I wanted to show Daryl a sculpture entitled Freedom by Zenos Frudakis at the base of the Glaxo-Smith Kline building at 16th and Vine streets that I had only seen in passing while driving through town in the past.

This is what we saw.

and this…

and this…

and lastly, this…

Daryl was totally impressed with my decision to walk several blocks to see this amazing sculpture. I knew he’d like it.

I used to live in “Philly,” and I loved it when I did. I’d walk EVERYwhere, even during inclimate weather. Philadelphia is a city of neighborhoods and very walkable.

We saw this.

a mural on the side of Le Meridien Hotel on Arch Street at 14th.

and we passed this…

long ago abandoned, but I love the old signage on Pauline's Bridal Shop.

We continued on our excursion through town and stumbled into “Occupy Philadelphia!” which was being held on the western side of City Hall. It was truly enlightening to actually see the people, the tents, the posters and signs, all the chalk messages written on the sidewalk and the very real energy of the 99%. What I think intrigued me personally the most was the contradiction of the tent town of the “occupiers” in the shadows of these…

and this…

like this…

with their messages that included this…

and this…

oh… and this one.

We felt that we should get moving and decided to stroll past the new “paintbrush” sculpture at the Philadelphia Academy of Fine Arts Building. Sorry guys, but it reminds me of Woody Woodpecker.

Philadelphia Academy of Fine Arts

At this point of our walking tour, the weather, while beautiful, was making Daryl sweat through his polo shirt. He usually wears a tee shirt underneath, but wanted to feel “liberated” this day, so he went what I guess I would call topless commando? It didn’t work to his liking…

So we ended up here.

… to pick up a tee shirt and a new polo shirt for the Princess. Sigh. Once cleaned up and once again presentable, we were quickly on our way waving goodbye to Macy’s.

FINALLY, we arrived albeit an alley next to Sister’s and behind Woody’s, to Philadelphia’s Outfest.

The music was pumpin’ and the crowds were jumpin’! It was about 5 or 6 square blocks of diversity, camaraderie, playfulness, food, music, and every age and type of glorious human being the city has to offer.

We saw this…

and lots of these…

and of course I MADE Daryl do this…

that's Daryl on the left in his newly purchased shirt from Macys. duh.

 
 
 
 and we ran into her…
 

Shelita Buffet?

while searching for friends…
 
 
while we watched a fabulous dance troupe…
 
 
The day was young and we continued to enjoy the company of more good people, like these…
 
 
and these…
 
 
and these…
 
 
and her…
 

blowing UP condoms is so much better than blowing WITH them

 
and this “lady” came along…
 
 
and turned Daryl BACK into a Christian!
 

my handsome Christian!

 
We had a fantastic day in the City of Brotherly Love!

Peppah and Salt?

 
… and on our way to the car, we passed this… trying to figure out how appropriate it was to see at the end of our day in the city.
 

gourmet? pancake? balls?? Next time!

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my shirt.

I was hot today while strolling around the West Chester Restaurant Festival. I dressed in a long sleeve shirt because it was chilly in the morning. I came across a fried pickle stand that had tee shirts available for five bucks. I bought one and looked frantically around the streets and alleys to change with Daryl in tow. I turned around and asked Daryl what should I do with the shirt I was wearing when I changed to which he promptly replied, “give it back to your sister.”

I hate him.

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beach blanket boingo

Well the inevitable has FINALLY happened. Daryl and I were invited to Lewes Beach in Delaware this weekend by some wonderful lesbian friends of ours whom we haven’t seen since our amazing jaunt to New York City back in April. We are still playing it by ear to see if we to end up there or not since we also have a memorial dinner for my Dad to attend earlier in the weekend in Chesapeake City, Maryland. Depending on how long dinner is and how many cocktails we consume will dictate if we’d like to continue on with the 2 hour drive south to the beach.

We LOVE our girls to pieces! They truly aren’t judgmental in any way and they are terrific hostesses, however, this will mean we will have to put on our bathing suits in a public situation. Keep in mind that while Daryl and I HAVE begun eating much healthier and together have lost the combined weight of say a Matchbox car or two… oh hell, make it a box of 4, we are most certainly NOT in shape for public viewing at the present time.

So, about halfway through writing this blog, I attempted to do a Google search for a photo to perhaps “illustrate” what two fat gay interracial men in bathing suits would look like. I wanted a comedic angle to help tie the story together, so I typed “fat gay interracial men in bathing suits” into my Google image search engine with “Safe Search” off.

Maybe I’m not adept at knowing how to search using key words, but very few of the photos even included a bathing suit.

Here’s one that DID (well sort of):

Does this look like "fat gay interracial men in bathing suits" to you?

Needless to say, there were no images that I could use in a public forum. I was distracted and totally lost my train of thought on this post. Once I get back on track, I will finish part two of our weekend adventures!

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mistah weems.

I have a dry cleaner lady. Actually, now that I think about it, she has ME.

Her name is Cwisteen which I think means Christine in Chinese. I asked her her name once and that’s what I’ve been calling her since. She’s ALWAYS in the store alone and she always asks me “was yu fone numbah Mistah Weems?” when I enter. I have shirts, ties and suits that I have cleaned there weekly. It’s on my way TO and FROM work and I can’t argue with the convenience. She will always tell me, “u pay lateh, u pay lateh!” when I pick something up. I assumed that she was always too busy to figure out my bill each time.

I have been going to her religiously for over five years now, except when I boycotted her one winter because she lost a jacket of mine. I eventually came back with my neckties between my knees because with her pricing, I could buy a new jacket to replace the missing one anyway.

Last Monday morning traffic was light and I was running ahead of schedule. I stopped in to drop off a suit and blurted, “Good morning Christine!”startling even ME with my cheerful tone. After the usual phone number inquiry, she stated that “yu owe sixty fow dowahs.” Still not quite awake and my hearing not well lubricated as of yet, I muttered, “What did you say?” “Sixty fow u owe. I cut u break, you give me sixty okay?” she asked making eye contact. “U take sukah. Take two sukahs,” she said pointing to a hand painted basket loaded with “dum dum” lollypops.

I wondered silently if she was subliminally calling me a sucker? I get paranoid about things like that. Once I was in a Chinese restaurant and I noticed several waiters mumbling in their native tongue, giggling and pointing in my direction. I assumed they were making fun of my large almond shaped eyes, my thick dirty blond hair and my huge package. I picked up my fork with continued nervousness as I finished eating my sesame chicken.

“How bissniss?” she asked as I gave Christine my debit card. As she swiped it, I answered “fine,” took three dum dum lollypops, carried my suits to the car and went to work.

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i’m watching u.

Face Book is voyeuristic.

Are you one of those folks that like to look at the photos of friends on Face Book? I do. The problem is, the way Face Book works is that there are so many links to other friends and friends of friends and family friends and enemies of family friends that I find myself looking at the photo album of some college frat party where the guys are taking their pants off and vomiting in a trashcan!

I never was a good web surfer.

I get distracted way too easily and end up being online looking through layers of pages and photos for hours finally forgetting what I was originally looking for. I begin by searching for a new church to attend and end up looking at shirtless Christian men. Go figure. I guess it’s similar to when I open my spice shelf in the kitchen looking for cinnamon and I end up finding the dill weed and dry mustard and I start looking for a new recipe while the dessert burns.

Maybe I have ADD. I’d get a prescription for that, however, I’m sure I would forget to take it and end up swallowing two of something else and end up sleeping for a week.

What was I talking about? Oh yeah… voyeuristic Face Book. I guess that why Mark Zuckerberg invented it in the first place.

Have a great day and keep posting those shirtless photos!

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my twin fantasy.

If I can fantasize about having a twin, I'd imagine we'd look like this.

I read an article on the web this weekend about the twin 92 year old friars who both died of natural causes within hours of each other on the same day. How amazing to have someone who looks like you to share your life with for that long. I’ve sometimes wondered what it would be like to have an identical twin.

My mother was a fraternal twin who looked similar, but certainly not identical to her brother. She loves to share the story of when she and her brother were in junior high, he flunked the seventh grade. Apparently, my mother having missed him in her classes flunked her eighth grade year to be reunited with him again. Sounds a little codependent to me, but then again, I don’t have a twin.

I’ve often fantasized about playing the date trick in high school with my twin, where we would have sex with each other’s dates just because we could. We could play games with our parents and other siblings about who was who. We could try each other’s jobs for the diversity of it or just because we were bored.

I’d hope my twin would have the same warped humor and biting sarcasm that I have and not be an opposite personality type. What a drag to have a twin that actually DID his homework on time and cleaned up his room. I’d have to constantly measure up and follow HIS example.

What if my twin became a Yale educated scholar and was earning a six figure salary while living in a rent controlled apartment on the upper west side? What if my twin was in a relationship with someone like Ricky Martin or Adam Lambert? What if my twin had a fulfilling career as a well known novelist? I’d be in constant comparison. I can BARELY handle the pressure of living up to ME, let alone a twin brother!

After pondering this twin thing a little further, I wonder if I would enjoy watching an image of me grow older. Isn’t it bad enough when I look in the mirror I see my father and I wonder where that 18 year old fresh scrubbed, sparkly eyed guy went? Would we still dress in identical shirts at the age of 54?

Arnold Schwarzenegger was in a movie with Danny DeVito entitled Twins. We know how THAT went.

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documentaries are the new porn.

Brown is the new black, Maria Shriver is the new American heroine and in our home, television documentaries are the new porn.

I was driving home from work late last night after working a successful three day Memorial weekend and topping it off with an extra 12-hour day on the Tuesday after. I was hot, hungry and exhausted. The weather has been unusually warm and humid outside with several heat warnings from the weather service and high 90 temperatures. Our store’s interior has a malfunctioning air conditioner and wearing a suit all day makes me sweat… a lot.

I called Daryl, as I always do, on my way home to see if he needed me to pick up anything at the grocery store. As always, he asked me how my day was and I blurted out “I’m sweating like a pig and I…” He cut me off with, “Well ACTUALLY, pigs DO have sweat glands you know, but they do not function like a human being. They can release water and heat through passive diffusion, but it is not enough for the pigs to rely on. So in order to combat heat, pigs have adapted by using behavioral thermoregulation, which is the act of cooling themselves in the mud. So in reality, pigs do not sweat.”

Silence.

With confused trepidation I scoffed into the phone, “Well then, I’m sweating like a hog and I…” Daryl intellectually retorted “While hogs and pigs are both members of the porcine family, hogs do have a few sweat glands but they are not used to regulate body temperature either.”

Again, silence save the clicking sound of my blinking turn signal.

“Were you watching documentaries again while I was working?” I asked firmly. “Um… uh huh.” he replied as if caught with his hand down his pants.

In all fairness, Daryl IS a plethora of trivial information. He blows me away while watching Jeopardy on TV with the answers he pulls out of nowhere about obscure countries, cultures or cafeterias. I literally have to stare at him after he gives an answer to see what he has done with my REAL partner. While he continues to stun me with correct answers, his TRUE television diet consists of meaty shows like The Bachelorette (skin), Survivor (skin) and any other show where a man will remove his shirt for the ratings. He’ll DVR them too for later slow motion and stop action viewing. I don’t mean to make Daryl sound shallow, but he is.

I on the other hand am a man of amazing integrity, valor, depth and alas… the television documentary. I’ll choose a documentary in a manic minute over fluff and shirtless men anytime… unless L.L. Cool J is involved. Some of my favorite documentaries include anything about history, politics, religion or HBO’s Taxi Cab Confessions.

One evening last week while Daryl and I were trying to decide what to watch, as I perused the online guide I suggested a documentary on the Biography Channel about Walt Disney and a behind the scenes view on the animation history of Mickey Mouse. I adore Disney and I love animation. Daryl sighed, rolled his eyes and finally succumbed to my request only because he wanted to be nice and also there was nothing else on he wanted to see.

The program was about the animator of the Mickey Mouse character by a man named Ub Iwerks and his professional relationship over time with marketer Walt Disney. I watched it sporadically between Face Book updates, weeding out superfluous emails about electric wheelchairs, portable toilets and the Genie Bra while making comment responses on my blog. Daryl became mesmerized by Ub Iwerks. He was enthralled at how the animation process evolved from the early 20’s to the techniques of modern day Pixar. About halfway through the show, I mentioned that perhaps he’d want to switch to the Bachelorette to view the new men that Ashley Hebert would have to deal with this season. With no response, I repeated myself as Daryl shook his head no and continued his trance in “documentaryville.”

I had created an intellectual documentary monster.

As I walked in the door last night, stripping my damp shirt and wilting tie the TV was on a show called NCIS LA. Daryl NEVER watches a show with initials in it. The only initials he knows are LOL, OMG and WTF. I thought this was a tangent on serious TV over flesh and I was shocked. I thought maybe this was some sort of new fangled way to bring intellect into our daily conversations (God forbid) or perhaps our lifestyle was stepping up a notch since our white trash neighbors below us moved out over the weekend. I felt panic rising in my stomach and my heart began pounding in my chest to think that we were finally growing up when suddenly I saw that L.L. Cool J was one of the characters on this NCIS show, and all was well with the world.

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