Juice with Junior

I maybe, just maybe, might have talked about my complete, all encompassing, unabashed love for a one Mr. Anderson Cooper (left). I might have talked about that before. Maybe.

Not sure. Anyway, I have a story for you guys, but unlike most of my stories, I'm gonna tell you the end of the story first and work my way forward (or backward?) like a French crime noir or Christopher Nolan movie or something.

The end of this story is that me, Junior, the man you know and love (?) engaged in a brief, yet meaningful conversation with Mr. Anderson Cooper. Not his wax figure. Not Anderson Copper, a penny with a vague resemblance to the CNN newsman that I just made up. No, The Real Anderson Cooper himself. I, me, talked to him, Coop, in person live and raw… Okay, not "raw" but certainly live. Let me give you deets because I know you want. My husband Anderson Cooper takes the morning train, he works from nine to five inside the Time Warner Center at Columbus Circle. There, he works on his CNN show that no one really watches (let's be real, people) and is now working on a brand new daytime talk show called simply "Anderson." The talk show is geared to the Oprah-set and is designed to showcase a lighter, more loosey-goosey side of Anderson (the press release actually said "loosey-goosey"… Okay, no it didn't.)

The moment I heard that Anderson was doing a talk show (which was a long time ago because he's my fake husband and we talk about our careers all the time), I logged onto andersoncooper.com (which should be your homepage if it isn't already), clicked "Tickets" and requested two tickets for a show taping while I was to be on vacation. I then promptly forgot about it.

I know you're like "B!tch, you forgot about Anderson Cooper. You should have been counting down the days when you were gonna meet your man." And I would, had my life been anywhere near normal recently. Instead, it's been a jumble of looking at apartments, applying for apartments, dealing with my parents, managing my at times uncontrollable attraction to my non-sex boyfriend, going out with my non-sex boyfriend (we have already established the fact that I am weak), eating junk food, traveling to and from my parent's house, watching "The Good Wife" (because nothing will stop me from watching "The Good Wife"), and showering. It's been a lot.


That's why as it got closer to my vacation, I was surprised to see the above email (click to enlarge) in my Inbox. Holy sh!tballs! I actually got tickets to see Anderson Cooper's new daytime talk show. This is crazy! At the time I thought that maybe he really would see me in the audience, realize that I'm the one he's been looking for, and stop his show to ask me to marry him. A boy can dream, right? Plus, I was super excited to be going to the Time Warner Center, specifically the Allen Room at Jazz at Lincoln Center, which features a beautiful several story view onto Columbus Circle. This S was gonna be so romantic! I began making arrangements for my moment with Anderson.

And you're welcome (?).

Seriously, people, I can't think of anything to write about.

It's not like I don't want to blog. I just have been staring at the computer screen for a half and hour, and I gots... muscle videos... like the ones you see above.

Don't get me wrong; a muscle video is certainly an enjoyably time waster if you're like me and you like your men teenage and built like small SUVs, but in general, they're not really the kind of content I envisioned for Juice with Junior (unless you guys are OK with me going all muscle videos all the time because I am totally up for that). But other than them, I gots nothing. No funny commercials. No (more) zany stories. There are two features I want to start, but they will take a little time in their execution (like a couple of days to get things together) so that's a no...

Hmm *twiddles thumbs* what to write... More muscle videos, perhaps?


Here is your chance to suggest, tell your own story, ask me a question, anything you want. At least until I finish writing the next Serial or I think of something that catches my fancy...

Here's your chance... Consider it.... A blog takeover!

p.s. videos a little NSFW, unless it's been one of those days...

It has recently come to my attention that Miss Andy Cohen and the folks of Bravo with questionable taste have greenlit a TV show that would feature "Real Housewives of Atlanta" star (?) Kim Zolciak by herself. I mean, I kiiinda understand why: Kim does have the kids and the new baby and the ballplayer fiance who literally looks like he can barely string two sentences together.

But even still, if I were Andy, I would be sleeping with one eye open on the lookout for NeNe, who I'm sure expressed interest in her own show... None of this is really important. The thing I wanted to say about Kim is that the only person featured on "Real Housewives of Atlanta" who should have his own show is Sheree's hair dresser, cross dresser, and most amazing person in the whole world Lawrence Washington (above). Lawrence is like the epicenter of fabulousness. Like when they have to copy fabulousness, the master they use is Lawrence Washington. He is today's Sunday Swoon. He may be the Forever Sunday Swoon, I love him so much. Look at the picture above.

That is called "serving it."

If it had a roof on it, LW blew that S off a long, long time ago. And I hate these people (not really) who look great as boys and as girls. It's like their just showing off now. LW has such beautiful skin and eyes and teeth and height and style that no matter what gender he decides to emulate that day, he looks amazing. It's so disheartening for fat, gangly, Muppet-faced me. Oh well.

Let's stare some more...

I had the opportunity to attend a screening of the British movie "Weekend," director Andrew Haigh's much buzzed indie film that is making waves as being one of a select group of gay-themed movies to attract a wider, mainstream (read: straight) audience. Of course, as with anything I do in my life, there is a story that goes along with me attending this screening, but I'm saving it for next week. No... next week, y'all.

For now, I thought I would give my brief review of the film itself before we talk about the drama surrounding my seeing it (which would have made a good movie in and of itself) in a separate post next week.

Now, "Weekend" has been praised by HuffPo and the Village Voice to name a few, and words like "moving," "bracing," and my personal favorite, "disarmingly candid" have been used to describe it in other write-ups. Thus, I had very high hopes for this film (the trailer is at the end of the post for those who would like a sampling). Now, that I've seen it, I've been brought down to earth. One of the reasons I wanted to write a review at all is because I haven't seen one that says the thing I'm about to say:

"Weekend" was good, but it was in no way great and is extremely, nearly fatally flawed in total. I'll break down my thoughts into an actual review below (and I just want to thank the people who invited me to attend the screening! I appreciated it very much! Any negativity isn't directed at you!).

New York City Boys
Chapter Twelve - Disappearing Acts

(Revisit earlier chapters by clicking here)

Jon’s legs straddled Erik’s torso as he rose up on his knees, exhausted after what seemed like a particularly active and engaging sexual session. Surprisingly, given what was occurring in his life, Jon was in a pretty good mood. It made looking at Erik’s dour face, eyes downcast as if permanently ready to cry, a bit annoying to him.

Jon wondered why Erik was acting like it was the end of the world. Yes, the money was still a problem, but he and Erik had taken care to secure their surroundings, always travel with people.

Erik was just being melodramatic, Jon thought.

Erik slid his hands up Jon’s chest until they ran along his clavicle, further up his slender neck. It was these little things Erik felt like he’d miss the most. He just wondered how long he would have to stay away. How long could he hold out? Jon slapped Erik’s chest. “What is wrong with you?” Jon asked playfully.

Erik burst into tears.

Jon ran his fingers through Erik’s hair. “Seriously, what is wrong with you today?” he asked.

Erik kept stroking Jon’s neck.

“You know how much I love you, right, Jon?” Erik asked in complete seriousness. “I love you so much. You have been the most important person in my entire life...”

“Well thank you, but will you stop,” Jon laughed. “I know you’re worried about the guys who beat you up, but we’ve been really good. We got that extra lock and Rory gave me her stun gun… Oh, you know she’s back in town. I don’t know for how long. She’s gonna be at Macks’ fashion show today. I really wish you’d change your mind about coming. Andrew invited me, but I'd obviously much rather go with you. I know it’d mean a lot to Macks if you were there, since you've known him for as long as you've known me.”

Andrew invited Jon to Macks’ fashion show. Andrew also told Erik that the fashion show would be the perfect time for Erik to pack his things and make his way to Newark Airport. Erik hadn’t told Jon that Andrew gave him the money for his gambling debt a week earlier, in cash as promised, and that just two days ago, he received a phone call instructing him on how to pay off his debt.

Like clockwork, Erik paid the money, and the relief coursing through his veins when he realized the nightmare was over was palpable. Except now was the hard part. He thought about just ignoring Andrew’s declaration to leave New York until Andrew made mention of his sudden interest in working with the police to curb the scourge of illegal gambling that was plaguing the city. Erik had to leave.

It was the deal.

“I’m sorry, Jon, I can’t go,” Erik said. “You have no idea how much I want to.”

“It’s fine,” Jon replied climbing his naked body over Erik’s as he went toward the bathroom. “You’ll just have to make it up to me by not walking around all sad and mopey. It’s depressing.”

Before Jon turned inside the room, “Jon,” Erik called out. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Jon smiled. “Now will you stop, I have to meet Andrew at his office in 20 minutes. Can you believe Macks is finally having his fashion show? I haven’t been able to reach him all day. He must be so…”

As Jon spoke, his voice fading inside noise from the bathroom, Erik buried his face in a pillow to drown out the sound of his tears.

Okay, I'm getting to the point where I'm about to start smacking the back of hands. People, the fact that no one told me about the thing that I'm about to talk about is simply unacceptable.

I should have been informed!

I've been in the middle of trying to find an apartment, a process which is both painstaking and incredibly annoying, plus I recently bought a new John Cena poster so you know I've been staring at that for 14 hours a day and I didn't have time to discover the thing I'm about to talk about. Which is why someone should have told me! You guys know that 80% of my blog is you, 10% of my blog is me, and the other 10% is goofy commercials or shirtless guys, whichever I'm into at the moment. I'm not trying to point fingers, but someone isn't keeping up their end of the bargain.

Today's Sunday Swoon is Ivri Lider (above)...

He's Israel's biggest gay pop export blah blah blah.

Get to why we're talking about him for the 800th time on the blog. Get to it!

Exactly.

p.s. he was also in New York last month and no one told me about that either. I am not pleased with any of you, to say the very least...

p.s.s. I know it's Monday but life has been very stressful recently, exemplified by the fact that mama just yelled at you. And mama hates to yell!

People, this whole me not having an apartment and being able to sit and read my favorite Web sites or watch my favorite TV shows ("Sewing With Nancy" weeps for me. She's prolly made all kinds of ridiculously hideous sweaters just waiting for me to watch her again!) has just got to stop. The fact that I just read about the thing I'm here to talk to you about today is...

COMPLETELY UNACCEPTABLE!

What am I talking about? I'm talking about "Magic Mike" better known as the Channing Tatum (above, in flagrante) Stripper Movie. Now, before we continue, I have a few disclosures to make.

Channing Tatum is beautiful. What was that? Oh, that wasn't one of the things to disclose. Sorry. I just like saying it sometimes. Anyway, the real thing I wanted to state was that I knew "Magic Mike" as a film entity was happening. I just didn't think it would be anytime soon.

When one hears the phrase "Channing Tatum Stripper Movie," one, if you're anything like me, has the reaction of "oh yeah right, that's gonna happen, at a quarter past never" and one goes about one's day with the laundry, etc.

I thought "Magic Mike" was one of those urban movie myths like the one about Meryl Streep and Jennifer Aniston doing a prison movie together or Andie MacDowell being in movies again ever. You learn to realize that they're figments of the pop culture imagination and then you let them go. Then, last week, in between apartment hunting, being gainfully employed every single day of the week, dodging my father's accusations that I drank all of his Hawaiian Punch again (which is true, will never admit), and treating all my friends like sh!t, I had a free 3 minutes to read my favorite Web sites. Thusforth, I headed to Entertainment Weekly.com.

What's this? They are actually making that Channing Tatum stripper movie. For serious? No. Really?

Get out of town. Plus, Steven Soderbergh is gonna direct it. Wow. Things just got real.

Let me keep reading this EW.com post... OMG. And... pause.

It is now I would like to stop the current post and note that I have fallen in love with Beyoncé.gifs, a Tumblr site devoted to Miss B and her world of interesting movements. I would now like to take this time to repost the first paragraph of the Entertainment Weekly blog post using Beyoncé gifs to accurately describe how I felt as I read the words you will now read.

From Entertainment Weekly.com:

I was just talking to a friend who has yet to hear about Magic Mike, and it occurred to me that there might actually people who aren’t counting the days until it hits theaters.

I do not understand these people.

It’s a movie based on Channing Tatum’s early days as a stripper, in which he’ll star as the titular mentor to a younger dancer played by I Am Four‘s Alex Pettyfer.

The cast also includes Matthew McConaughey (who’ll play a former stripper who now owns the club, called Xquisite),

White Collar‘s Matt Bomer (as another employee),

and True Blood‘s Joe Manganiello (as a character named Big Dick Richie).

How are you not excited about this?

If it’s good, great. If it’s bad, it’s Showgirls, and I’m roadtesting a VIP DVD edition. What’s the male stripper equivalent of the ”Pin the Pasties on the Showgirl” game? I can’t wait to find out.

Okay, back to me. You know that joke that people make when they really want to see a movie? It goes, "Oh, I want to see that movie so bad I'm already standing in line." Hardee har har.

Well, I want to see "Magic Mike" so bad that I'm not only in line, I've already seen in four times in theaters, I've bought the original and special edition DVDs, I've watched it twice on Showtime, and I'm currently reading the companion photo book.

I am ready to see this muthaf*cking movie!

I don't even care if I have to see it by myself and look like a creeper perv in a theater filled with 1,000 other middle aged ladies and gay men... Oh who am I kidding? I'll fit right in! This is literally the most pointless Question Time we've ever had but I'll start it anyway...

Who else is excited to see "Magic Mike"? How much grease do you think they had to back order for the production? How many more gay men do you think will see this over women? I think it'll be 2 to 1. Sorry, I typed that wrong. I think it'll be 20 to 1 meaning for every 20 gay men, they'll be 1 woman. Who thinks that if this movie does what it supposed to do well enough, I may never need a personal entertainment video ever again? Now this is a serious question, who's hoping that none of the characters are actually gay but just harbor some deep homoerotic tendencies that show up constantly a la Top Gun with a lot of staring and near physical contact?

Hello. My name is Junior, and I am addicted to straight men.

Hi, Junior!

I guess the way this works is that I tell you a little about my recent experiences with straight men and you guys help me heal or grow or something, I guess.

Tell us whatever you’d like.

Okay, I can rationalize it, I swear. I have explanations for why I seem to be attracted to strange semi-sexual encounters with men who are dating girls that I happen to like.

That’s fine, but for now, why don’t you just tell us what made you realize that you had a problem.

Okay. I can do that. Let’s start with:


Kevin, or “My Sugarhill Sweetheart"

I met Kevin at my last last job, and he was a friend of a friend of a friend. Basically, our connection was weak. As I have decided that I would like to begin being a crotchety old man now, I made no effort to introduce myself to or speak with Kevin in any way beyond saying hi.

He was six years younger than me, had a full mop of gorgeous black hair, and seemed happy in that way that young people often are that I can’t stand. However, we kept running into each other at outings and we’re forced to share the same space. Whatevs.

Then, one day, a friend asked me if I would DJ her birthday party. She liked my taste in music and thought I could hook up my laptop to her speaker system and give her some good tunes for the night. I jumped on the opportunity to be a professional DJ like Jazzy Jeff or Lindsay Lohan.

So I DJed the party, and Kevin was there.

We started talking about music. We discovered that we had the same tastes. Sufjan Stevens. Phoenix. Vampire Weekend. Then, we discovered that we both loved jazz. It was over from that moment on. Miles Davis. Dave Brubeck. John Coltrane. He talked to me about music the whole night, and despite the fact that I took my metaphorical “let’s not be delusional” pills, I was becoming smitten with him. Cute. Young. Likes music. Wonderful. Kevin and I shared phone numbers (mistake #462) and began texting and making actual plans with each other as well as other people we knew.

One night, we all went out for drinks and Kevin, with his adorable puppy dog face, told me this awful story about how he met a girl online and proceeded to fly across the country to be with her and it worked out well for a little while but then she turned cold and he ended up stranded in Portland, Oregon (he’s from New Jersey). I was horrified.

Who was this B to hurt my little Kevin this way? I would never hurt you, Kevin. Never.

Then, the Sugarhill Gang’s “Rapper’s Delight” came on the jukebox at the bar. Kevin, a white boy with surprisingly fluent rap skills – not that Sugarhill Gang is that hard – jumped up and yelled “I love this song!” Much to the table's delight, he began rapping along in perfect sync. But then something happened. I started rapping too. Then Kevin and I started rapping together. Then Kevin and I started rapping at each other. It was like that scene from Ghost with the wet clay pot except in my case the pot was “Rapper’s Delight” and my hair didn’t look as good as Demi Moore’s. So we’re rapping at each other, fingers in the air, staring at each other. When it was over (it’s a long song), I needed a cigarette. My friend leaned over, “You two are so cute.”

Don’t encourage me. Next case.


Todd, or “My Non-Sex Boyfriend”

He opened the door, turned to his friends, this group of sexy young people smoking a hookah, and said “This is Junior, my boyfriend.”

I am not his boyfriend.

He, Todd, one of my very good friends who I’ve known for a little while, is not even gay.

He had a girlfriend named Monica who I liked very much. Then she broke up with him to have a life, and Todd has been sleeping his way through the 18- to 24-year-old New York metropolitan female community ever since.

There may even be a Facebook page.

“No, he’s joking,” I interjected. “I'm not. Nice to meet you, I’m Junior.”

“I was about to say,” said Clarke, one of Todd’s sexy friends, the sexiest in fact. “I knew Todd hadn’t gone gay since the last time I saw him, not that you’re a bad looking guy to go gay with.”

Don’t encourage me. Anyway, I have been staying at Todd’s house for the past couple of weeks as I look for a new apartment. It’s easier than being around my parents in Pennsylvania. One night, Todd and I are watching Tosh.0 like a family, “What’s funny is that my other friends, the ones you met, really didn’t think that it was a joke when I called you my boyfriend, especially now that you’re living here part time.” Why are we talking about this?

“I am not living here part time,” I said back. “I’m just staying for a little while.”

“We both know that you’re just gonna end up moving in with me.”

“We both don’t know that.”

“I’m gonna bake some cookies.”

He then proceeded to actually bake a batch of chocolate chip cookies that were deelish, and I ate them because I’m fat. He leaned back in his chair.

“Everyday could be like this if you lived with me, Junior,” he said. Does anyone hear me when I say ‘Don’t encourage me.’? Todd then got a call on his BlackBerry and headed out. I’m pretty sure the call was from a girl, but he wouldn’t tell me like he was ashamed of his heterosexuality.

When he left, I started snooping around his house (I never promised you a rose garden). It’s a nice house for someone my age. What I found curious was that I couldn’t find any porn. Porn would remind me how straight he was, and I needed the reminder. I opened a drawer. I found a box of Trojan Magnums. Now I know using these condoms makes guys feel better about their junk, but now I can’t help but wonder: does Todd’s junk need Magnums?

Now I can’t stop thinking about his junk. Like really thinking about it.

I will have to find another place to stay, I think.

Anya Bast's "Jaded" and "Jeweled" (above top and very bottom) and Opal Carew's "Forbidden Heat" (center).

We're getting greedy, ladies. I'm all for fantasizing about multiple men. It's the foundation on which I've based most of my life. However, I operate under the honor code even in my fantasies. I only covet one man at a time. These ladies on these covers are clearly coveting multiple men and they're doing it at the same time, which in my book means these women are hogging all the men!

I prefer my romance novels in the traditional format: One woman, self-reliant, impossibly beautiful, meets a man, gruff, handsome, impossibly tender-hearted. The two of them pretend like they're not gonna F for 200 pages, then they F, and live happily ever after. My logic doesn't have room for some other dude in it. Where does he even fit in?!

What about you? Do you like a threesome/love triangle in your romance novels? Do these novels ever bring up the obvious homo eroticism of a girl getting it on with two dudes? How often do you think the dudes just ignore her after awhile and just go at it alone? Do you think women are getting greedy with these covers? Lastly, who else is in love with the dress girlfriend is wearing in the last picture?

I know.

You know the drill. Gay guys. Rest of the year. The Sunday Swoon. This week, I've gone British again. What can I say? I'm a total Anglophile. I happen to love today's pick to pieces.

Today's guy is the lovable Stephen Fry (above).

Fry is a UK national treasure having starred as an actor and comedian on television and in film for decades. He has since starred in projects that have aired in the United States, such as travel show Last Chance to See and Fry and Laurie with Hugh Laurie. Fry has also been open about his struggles with his sexuality and depression, which are both life difficulties of which I can understand. I think that if Stephen Fry and I knew each other, we'd have a lot to talk about and then we'd try to make each other laugh and it would be all cheeky and fun and a little bit naughty to boot.

Fry is one of these older men who I love because they get better as they age, like a fine wine. I look at pictures of young Stephen Fry and they do nothing for me, but the more his hair goes gray and his hounddog eyes hood, the more I love him. Plus, I'd get to live in London with my best friend Pippa.

How could I say no?!