That’ll teach me to take the short cut and not quote. This post is in response to John Carter of Mars
WHAT IS WITH U PPL AND CAPS? I DON’T LIKE THEM THEY MAKE UR TYPE LOOK UGLY! AND YO? NO I DON’T LIKE THAT WORD EITHER
UR DONG IT WROGN!!! UR SPPSED 2 TYPE WITH CAPS AN lowr ks InTErspErsEd LiK ThiS!!
All right, just calm down…Breathe a bit, yes? No need to hyperventilate. Yes, {we are/I am} having a bit of fun at your expense, but just be cool.
Every bit as intelligent as the idea that sexual orientation is determined by what someone wants to be. It’s not like I woke up one day and said “You know, having my own dick isn’t enough. I want another man’s dick too … oh, what the hell. Put it in my mouth! It can’t be any worse than the cafeteria food!”
But hell, my fiancee doesn’t mind, and I rather fancy men now. Wouldn’t trade my sexuality for much there is to be had in the world:)
Could someone point me to where I said anything about being born anything at all?
And furthermore, this idea about wanting and being and how it’s my opinion? I could have sworn I knew about this whole deal … I mean, I read the pamphlet, I went on that trip to the Emerald City, …
I think we’re on the same page, Biggirl. It was the “every week and then get pissed” part I couldn’t understand.
I think they’re either looking for a fight or they get some kind of thrill out of being approached by another male, but they aren’t courageous enough to admit the latter.
lazymexicanamerican: Using proper punctuation, capitalization, and spelling shows those reading your posts that you respect them enough to take the trouble to type properly. If you’re don’t care enough to do it properly, why should I care enough to read it?
I’m glad this thread was opened, because it gives me an opportunity to relate this thoroughly bizarre yet completely true anecdote:
I, an extremely straight man, had gone to see Secretary with my girlfriend and while waiting for her to park her car, I filled out an entry blank for a contest whose object was to guess the number of “Lego” bricks used to create an elaborate sculpture in the theatre’s lobby (actually, a small shopping mall built into what used to be the Montreal Forum). I made my best educated pulled-from-my-ass guess and filled into the contact info, and we went in to see the movie, which was entertaining for the first half or so, until the James Spader character’s self-loathing brought the movie to a screeching halt, but I digress.
At midnight (I noted the time, since I was wondering “Who would be calling me at midnight?”) somebody called me. I answered and was immediately regaled by a person who claimed to be from Lego, or at least the company organizing the contest, who said my guess of 5250 bricks was very close to the actual 5500 and in the midst of congratulating me, asked me at least twice how I managed such accuracy. I was pleased to have won something, though a little nonplussed to get the call at midnight, so I gave some bushwah about roughly calculating the volume of a single brick and extrapolating the volume of the entire sculpture. I’ve always prided myself on the ability to speak with knowledgably about any subject, even if I’m just making things up as I go (a triat that has served my well on this board).
As the call progressed, it became clear that, in fact, I hadn’t really won anything, but my name would be entered into a draw for a trip to Cancun, Mexico, though I had to answer some kind of skill-testing question first. Knowing this to be a legal formality in Quebec (the question allegedly distinguishes private contests from straight lotteries, which are the strict monopoly of the government-run Loto-Quebec), I calmly answered the question about what Osama’s middle name was (though I’m sure a purist wouldn’t accept my answer of “bin”). As my girlfriend started to quietly laugh, the man on the phone asked my consent to have my ballot entered into another contest for $5000 worth of Lego, which wouldn’t actually go to me if I won, but to some youth charity. I said “sure”, or words to that effect, though by now my “scam radar” was on alert and I was half-expecting him to ask for my credit-card numbers or something. What happened next, however, was rather unexpected.
The caller, impressed by my agreeing to donate my possible future winnings to charity, said I was a generous person and asked my sexual orientation. Too stunned by the unlikeliness of the situation to become indignant, I calmly replied “hetero” and was asked out on a date, anyway. My girlfriend was now in hysterics. My “scamdar” was never designed to incorporate “gaydar”, an oversight I shall have to address forthwith.
Since I am a polite person by nature (no, really) I politely demurred and was then told that I should call “Dan” at home to confirm my prize winnings, or non-winnings, since I hadn’t actually won anything. The man on the phone gave me Dan’s number, which I repeated back to him, though I didn’t bother writing it down, since I had no intention of calling “Dan” or anyone else after midnight to say that some person had just called me to say that I had sort-of-not-really won a contest. I politely ended the call, never raising my voice, though I did make at least one (ineffective, I believe) sarcastic comment regarding the late hour.
As I reflected on the truly peculiar nature of the experience, my girlfriend proposed that the caller was not from any contest company, but had simply stolen the entries from the submission box. With this in mind, I had to wonder just how many people had been called that night, told that their guesses had been very close, and given “Dan’s” number. That number completely escapes me, now, so I’ll never be able to call “Dan” and warn him that some crazy person (quite possibly a would-be gay-lover or ex-lover or some other Fatal Attraction-ish situation) is attempting to incite total strangers to call him after midnight by promising them trips to Cancun. As revenge schemes go, I’ll admit this one is rather compelling in its artfullness and originality.
I’m thoroughly glad I had my girlfriend as witness because I daresay the situation is too bizarre to be believed otherwise.
Posted by me: “If you’re don’t care enough to do it properly…”
Gaudere’s Law strikes again.
<simpsons>
Are you gay yet?
No.
Are you gay yet?
No.
Are you gay yet?
NO.
Are you gay yet?
NO!
Are you gay yet?
NO!!
</simpsons>
I have an acquantance who does drag shows, and some of my pals are going to see his show this week. They’re straight (well, a couple of them aren’t) and they’ll be there, so there’s one more reason for you. I’ve never been because, frankly, there’s only so much Shaka Khan and Gloria Gaynor I can stand in one night 
BTW, there’s something I do want to agree with the OP about. I don’t think you should expect a gay man to ask you before he hits on you, “so, are you gay?” I presume you can ditch a guy hitting on you as easily as you can ditch a nerd talking at you at a party, so no problem there. I would expect him to ask about the other’s sexuality before he asks “so, wanna fuck?” Seems like that would save alot of time and hassle, doesn’t it? And somebody would have to be pretty damn thick-headed not to notice that he/she is getting absolutely NO signals of interest in return, so it boggles the mind that such situations would even arise. I guess the desires of the drunk and horny are forever a mystery, even to the drunk and horny.
lazymexicanamerican, do you post at the Sims boards? Something seems so familiar…
Since when is “legibility” considered ugly?
Too many Star Trek: Enterprise episodes with Hoshi unclothed. Did something to the poor boy, not sure what.[sub]and I’m NOT going to speculate![/sub]
Enjoy,
Steven
Boy, some people are thin-skinned. The OP is bitching about some vague (gay) aquaintance calling him after midnight, with sexual intentions, no less.
Bitching is what this forum is for. The ensuing tirade of accusations of homophobia is both amusing and sickening, IMHO. One could argue that the OP emphasised too much on the “gay” part and not enough on the “late night booty call” part. However, how hard is it to put yourself in his shoes and imagine having some creep you met a year ago call you in the middle of the night?
I’d be freaked out too, and I’m not in the least bit homophobic.
Well, lucky for you, such a shirt does exist.
Tonight on The Discovery Channel, Lesbians of the Kalihari.
“Lebsians tend to hunt in packs, and during the rainy season, they have to eat their weight in heterosexual girls. Here they have culled one from the herd, watering themselves at Starbucks. They split up and attack—the heterosexual girls scatter, but one has already been targeted by the ravening lesbians. The leader brings her down with one pounce and a paralyzing love-bite to the neck. Then the whole herd (known as a ‘butch of lesbians’) is on her, picking her apart.”
Hey, nice shirt! Though I still think "Pussy Lovin’ " has the edge…
I think Coldfire characterized the accusations correctly. They’re both amusing and terrifying – and I haven’t the foggiest where they can get that from my OP.
Thanks dantheman, yosemitebabe and cuauhtemoc for understanding what I meant (and not inventing things out of whole cloth – bonus!)
On to something that bothers me: Why the castigation for stubbly fat girls? Do not they need loving too? I’m sure that they do – and if any want to make a booty call to Ace, so that he can hold you in his arms and stroke your rough chin hair, please call before 10 o’clock, wait no longer than a week after I meet you, and try to pick up basic sexual vibes otherwise you run the risk of being a rude jerk. Criminy! Is that so hard?
I really can’t believe this guy thought I’d remember him after a year. Did I mention that he admitted my name was in his black book – and he was calling them all? What an ass.
Why did you give him your phone number in the first place? Just wondering.
Oh, right. It was a neighborhood bar, and he (a friend of a friend) was inviting folks to his annual Jamaican party. He seemed cool – he wasn’t, I vented, and life moves on…
Oh, that is so sad. 
Yet another uninformed person is prevented from experiencing the joy and happiness that only drag shows can bring.
(GIANT DANCING VAGINA!!!)
[Simpsons]
If I sayI’m gay, will you stop asking me?
Sure. Of course.
All right!
Are you gay yet?
YES!!!
[/Simpsons]