newest entry
contact
quien es nico?
a links page
Antes:
2005
2004
2003
2002
2001
2000
I also do stuff over at livejournal:
the insufficient blog
otro lugares:
absorbacon
abstractnixon
aiyah
amateur gourmet
amazing adventures of bill
appetites
archerr
bill and kent
blockade boy
center of gravitas
cheap blue guitar
chocolate and zucchini
comics 212
designer blog
dogpoet
edwin
how to learn swedish
hungry tiger
i make things
i was just really very hungry
insequence
island of misfit toys
lady, that's my skull
mysterysteps
news from me
old grey poet
once upon a tart
postmodernbarney
precocious curmudgeon
pretty, fizzy, paradise
roar of comics
something old, nothing new
stop touching my food
strange maps
super underwear perverts
there are some who call me tim
tinman
tmb
ultrasparky
diaryland
diaryland profile
ringsurf gay diary
previous next random list join
Stories from a man who fails to meet media expectations of what it means to be gay:
white, frivolous, over sexed yet sexless, shrill, single, stylish, a clown, unimportant, et al.
lunes 04/26/2004
Three storyettes that at first glance would appear to be about food, but aren�t
uno
I gave into my semimonthly In-N-Out craving a few weeks ago, indulging in a number one (a double double with grilled onions, fries, and a lemonade). Like every In-N-Out in existence this one was crowded with a constant long line of cars stretched out behind the drive thru, but since it was a newer place, there was a fairly large seating area inside, as equally crowded as outside, with tourist families and car-less kids from the local Jr. and high schools which seems had just let out for the day.
I sat near an odd guy, who if we were in Hollywood instead of in the middle of suburbia, I would have assumed was a hustler. Who knows, maybe male gigolos do hang out in burger joints in the middle of the San Gabriel Valley, or maybe (and more likely) I was just misreading the situation.
Mr. potential hustler was a white guy of a vague age, it would not had been surprising to find out he was anywhere from his late twenties to his late forties. His bleached blond hair was cut very short and his face was somewhat worn, hard and arrogant; but if my assumption about his career was correct, it was his body and not his face that he depended on for a living. He was a mass of muscles barely constrained in an overly small and tight muscle-T, even tighter jeans, and OP flip-flops. The shirt showed off his upper body, and an odd pattern of acne scars which could possible indicate that his size was chemically assisted, or it could have just meant that he had had a problem with pimply arms and back.
As I ate my burger, he argued with someone on his cell phone, grumbling loudly in a Russian accent that it was their fault that he had to wait for his next client in the middle of nowhere. Realizing that people were starting to look at him, he walked out side of the restaurant to yell some more, but left his soda and a general science textbook at his table.
I finished eating and left before the client showed, so maybe he was in fact a tutor. If so, he was the oddest one I have ever seen. I assume most tutors don�t have the body language of a sexual predator, or appear as if they could be had for the right price. Then again, maybe they do and could.
dos
During the birthday dinner I wrote about last entry for my former boss Aldo, he asked the table which place had the best buffet in Vegas. He got three simultaneous answers of �Belagio.�
His wife was pleased by the answer, but I suspect he may have been hoping to hear a cheaper response.
tres
I left work early one day last week, giving up on the idea that I was healthy and submitting to illness. However, instead of heading directly to home and bed, I stopped and ate a late lunch at Mikoshi, a generic ramen place near USC. I was trying to be miserable and sickly eating my chicken ramen in quiet and solitude, but a couple of guys seated in the table behind me were a little too loud for me to successfully engage in my self-pity illness act.
I managed to ignore them through most of my lunch, but well, as I mentioned, they were fairly loud. One of the guys asked �Why is this place was so busy when there was a Fat Burger across the parking lot?�
To which his friend answered back, �The real question is how can the Yoshinoya across the street stay in business, when half the customers here are cops. You know that wherever cops hang out the food is good.�
A few minutes later, they started arguing over whether a man who had just left the restaurant was a police officer/detective or not. I thought the guy�s gun and badge made it obvious that he was, but I guess they didn�t see his waist, because they were discussing the man�s hat; although personally I thought that also made the man�s profession obvious. I mean who else would wear a gray suit and matching fedora?
More later,
nico
oyendo: A collection of Frank Sinatra standards
want: for someone to crack my back
elsewhere: esotericdiversions
<<batter fried flowers::::