Assemblage begins...

So with the tick tock of the Halloween clock creeping up on me, it's getting to be crunch time to assemble my darn costume. Next time, I'm going as an underwear model. Gosh. Okay, maybe not really. It depends on the weather. But let's just say I'm glad I'll have a real elaborate costume after this year is over. All because I wanted to wear/own a pair of wings.

This is the before shot of the fateful shoes. I had this pair of boots which I planned on wearing. But because I'm still in storage with most of my adult possessions, including some fantastic purses I discovered while trying to find the boots, I called it a loss when I couldn't find them after 10 minutes of looking. Now I know what you're thinking, but you gave up so easily. Yes, I did. Because I'm not all that certain I still own them. I like to think I do. But I do give up items to Goodwill if they've sat around unused for long enough. It's an attempt to break the packrat syndrome in my mother's half of the gene pool.

Phase One completed. I've hot glued about 20 leaves all over the shoe to make it look like I stepped right out of the woods. I think it looks cool. I really don't care what you think. They were going to Goodwill before they found a second home as the crappy shoes I'll destroy for the sake of a Woodland Nymph costume. I seriously hope things come together as they should.

Phase Two completed. They look awesome, by the way. Pure genius. I just hope they don't fall apart too easily. But then again, that's asking a lot for an hour and a half's worth of work.

And tomorrow should mark the completion of the entire ensemble. The skirt's leaves/teardrop shapes have been cut out and pinned around a piece of elastic. Just have to sew the bad boy together. However, the bra still needs to be tackled. But how hard is it to baste some fabric around the exterior of a bra to make it look more like the rest of the costume? Shouldn't be too bad.

And I do need to pound the pavement extra hard, throwing in sit-ups galore to help bring the costume all together. Can we make it, people? Yes!

Dunder Mifflin, this is...Mike Myers?!?

I know it's technically not Halloween yet, but because it falls on a Friday this year...people tend to enjoy making the weekend before Halloween slightly Halloween-ish.

So this weekend, Stacey and I stopped by the local Harry and David to check out the professional pumpkin carver. All I could think about was pumpkin bread, pumpkin muffins, deliciousness. Even though it takes awhile to cook a freakin' pumpkin down to the useful consistency, I've never enjoyed it better than in a lil baby loaf pan. Better than zucchini bread, better than homemade blackberry pie.

The totem pole of vegetables.

Slightly impressed. Slightly unimpressed that he left some of the pen markings on the outside of the pumpkin. Amateur.

And as I was saying about premature Halloween parties. Well I got to go to one Saturday evening and it was a blast. My only disappointment was the fact that most people bought their costumes online. How unoriginal. I mean, somethings you need to buy. Masks. Fishnets. Fake Blood. But the whole costume in a package. Well anyone can buy a costume online. So ya, that's my stance on store/online-bought costumes.

Let's see if you can follow this one. The lady on the right is Tracy's boyfriend's mom. And the only thing they bought were the ears/head cap. The rest was sewn. Pretty awesome. I voted for them for best costume. I mean, they quoted from the movie. How cool is that? Unfortunately they lost to the King and Queen of Hearts. I'd rather have my hands and thread win me 'best costume,' and not hitting the 'add to cart' button.

Let's try another follow. This is Hayley's friend's (April's) dad. He was the hostest with the mostest (which can be said for numerous things). He originated as Dracula. But as you can tell from the progression of the Patron, he eventually morphed into Drunk-ula. Being the kind guest I was, I took the shot of Patron offered to me. Well...to be honest...it didn't blow my skirt up. Instead, it toyed with my gag reflex. Tequila and I have never had a very good relationship. Now I've been told that the better quality tequila is eons beyond the likings of Jose. Well unfortunately for me...all that crap tastes the same. My palette continues to dislike tequila. I prefer to stick to American men, like Jim (in more ways than one).

OMG, It's Mike Myers. Okay, really...it's my dad. In his $9 costume. Pretty sweet. He dried the ketchup on the knife, wore his own coveralls, and put on his work boots. One word: resourceful. He did a very good job of stalking the windows of the party trying to scare people before we actually got to the door. I was entertained at least. And because I didn't want to have my chicaronnes hanging out infront of older guys, I opted to remain fully clothed and went as a runner. All I had to do was wear my dad's Hood to Coast medals. I did spray my running clothes so they wouldn't stench. But then again, it totally would have made my costume authentic.

This week I'll be attempting to put together my costume that I'll be rockin' in Ashland. Hopefully I can get it done in time. I have like 4 days. Ish. We'll see. I do still have to go to the fabric store. All I have are the wings. But I like to believe I work better under pressure. Adds some jest to the competition. It's like my own version of Project Runway. But instead, it's Project Sidewalk. Let's hope I can 'make it work' (get it?).

VIP...

So last Friday marked a very cool day.

As the clock neared 5:00pm, or so, the head residential lady in the office started small talking about whether or not I was going to the game that night.

Preface: I live in a semi small city in Oregon. Friday nights are game nights. My parents have had tickets to both schools (North Medford and South Medford) since the 90's (when my brother played. Even though he graduated 10 years ago, they still go 'cuz it their time together), and occasionally I've accompanied them as an adult. And since my dad's been gone on business the past Fridays, I've gone so my mom has someone to go with. This is common knowledge where I work as we all discuss football a great deal before the game and then again on Monday morning.

I told her I hadn't really thought of it since it'd been kinda crazy all week. I just didn't remember that there was a game, nor did I know who was playing. I did plan on going out for a run that evening with Stacey, but that was as far as my brain got. Not my best week.

Out of nowhere, she told me that I should take the tickets to the game. The office tickets. The office skybox tickets. Seriously?

Yes.


I'm not sure what the technical height of our seats were, but we were on top of the roof. It's a pretty bitchin' stadium. It's one of the top 5 in the state. And you can see the radio staff boxes on the visitors side of the stadium. That's where we were, except the home side is a lot wider. And just a note: the home side is way more bitchin' than the visitors side. That side is weak sauce.
And one of the cool things was that the concession stand cost less than down below where the commoners were, lol. I mean, it makes sense considering the tickets are more expensive being on the top of the roof. But hey, I'm not going to complain about a 50 cent red rope. Mmm, corn syrup and red dye 40. Delicious.


Here's my date. Glad she wasn't afraid of heights. And another great thing about that night was I had a beer with my dinner. That always makes for a good evening. Too bad I had to ruin the happy thoughts with a Saturday morning workout of lifting, step aerobics, hip hop, and yoga. One word: sore. I haven't lifted since high school. I mean I've done 12 oz. bicep curls. But not good ol' fashioned moving barbells. Yowzas. And step aerobics. Where did my rhythm go? Oh, that's right. It's in the ballet classroom. Not emulating Jane Fonda. Eh, not a real loss.

Hack...hack...

So about a week or two ago I went under the scissors. Okay, well I went under the cape, and got a faaabulous new cut. Taking off a few inches, I brought up the hairline just a tad. Well more than a tad. Definitely out of my old comfort zone. But I'm a new Ashley. One that is kinda enjoying her militarily single status. Trying at least. I have my moments. I figure if the first half of my twenties were spent reading, writing papers, and emulating the environmental movement, the latter half of my twenties can be spent learning, working, and emulating the young professional movement. Just a thought.

It's short, easy to do in the morning (which is good because I usually waste my mornings on my laptop blogging, Perez Hilton stalking, or good ol' fashioned MSN.com-ing). I've never been this short. It's kinda liberating. My mother was obviously less than thrilled. But I'm not going there. :)

And I've become incredibly lazy in the eye ball stabbing department. I don't think I've worn my contacts since summer. I don't know why really. I think it has partly to do with that I only have one pair left, and I'm hoping to squeeze some out as Christmas present ideas for me from the parents. B.) Glasses are popped on right after waking up. No rummaging around for my trough in the morning for my Cheerios. And C.) I find my new glasses super cute. Slighly emo, slightly naughty librarian, slightly fabulous. :)

Look on the bright side...

So amidst my extreme nervousness and anxiety about asking for time off, it's slowly starting to realize that I'll be seeing wook in a lil over a month and a half. Amazing. I can't believe it. I swear that time crawls by in the beginning. Each day mocking me as I cross it off knowing it was another day away. Another day stuck at a desk instead of lounging in the sand. Another day hearing about how intense flight school is, how wook hasn't caught a break his whole career in the Navy, and overall annoying him with texts ("you're cute." "sexy baby." "miss you.")

What I can believe is that this Sunday marks 6 months apart. I still remember the day I left. It was one of the worst days of my life. I didn't think I had that much liquid in reserve to cry that much at breakfast, in the car, at the airport, on the plane, lol. I think I dehydrated myself in a matter of a couple hours. But what I can't help but compare to it, is that it's the same freakin' timespan as a basic deployment, people. Where's my prize? Don't I deserve something? It may not be the typical deployment of a WestPac, and back to Diego, but it's still a long ass time apart. I'll kill someone if wook and I ever have to go more than this 8 months apart. I'm thinking I'll just stage wook's death so we can run away to the French Polynesian islands. Hide out with Captain Ron. :)

All I think about is how I can't wait to board the damn plane, looking as fabulous as I can, hoping to sleep most of the way there, and arrive in time to get the one thing I ask for: a fatty hug. I'm a hugger. Not crappy, side hugs. Full on, Grizzly Adams, I-think-you-just-broke-a-rib hug. I miss my human contact with the silverback gorilla I so adore. There's something about him. His lumbering ol' self. Chef Boy-ar-wookie. The guy who can jump from around the corner, scare the crap outta me, get slapped, and still make me laugh because I can't believe I scare that easy. He's just the coolest person I know. (I know some people may take offense to that statement, but you guys are a close second. Trust me.)

And in my heart I know I'm dying for two weeks with him, but my head says that trying to push through with my career will only allow one week with him. Well, like 9 days to be exact. And as much as I want to throw a tantrum like a 3-year-old and demand two weeks, I have to realize the silver lining. I could have zero weeks with him. And that's something I just can't do.

So as I finalize getting my one, fabulous, can't-wait-for, hope-time-crawls-by week of wookie, I can't not get exited to a.) see my handsome boy, b.) hang out in Nashville over the holidays, c.) see wook's dad and Grandmoose again, and d.) meet wook's half-sister Taylor. It should be a blast. So here's to higher costing airfare around the holidays, holding off on the stereotypical cold weather additional poundage, zero stress equaling zero breakouts, and a bottle of Dramamine incase the ride gets bumpy. Prost.

Oh the ranting...

So today was a day that just tested my patience and desire to just deal with crap.

I got home from work today and had some time to kill before my nail appointment, so I figured I'd pour myself a heaping bowl of Cheerios. Mmmmm, delicious. Well as I put the milk back into fridge after filling my bowl up the proper amount, I went to the silverware drawer....and stared a tray that lacked both big spoons and lil spoons. Seriously, what twisted alternate universe doesn't have any spoons when my cereal is ready to be eaten? So in midst of knowing my Cheerios were getting soggified, I reached for the most similarly shaped item: a serving spoon. Although slightly bigger than normal, I was still able to fit my mouth over it. Impressed? Slightly. Disgusted? About the same.

I don't know how, but somehow my left ear has developed a couple of soap zits (I don't know what else to call them. Soap has built up in the inner part of my ear [not the canal, but the foldy part], and has become a fun lil game of, "oww, that'd tender, what the heck?"). So thankfully my mom's a chimp and enjoys picking at people/things. But seriously. How does soap get in there? I hate the feeling of any liquid in my ears. I think that's why I don't like swimming. My ears are for hearing, tucking my hair behind, and tuning out my mother. Not for soap to build up in.

Another key rant that I've always had a passion for is: old people + driving. There should be some sort of testing beyond a certain age to make sure that Gramps over there won't go 10 under the bloody speed limit and I don't lose my mind/voice while I scream at his stupid land yacht. There's nothing worse than stupidity behind the wheel. At least he wasn't Asian.

So I know that some people believe reading into the stars and astrology is slighlty cooky. I can agree, except for when things are really spelled out and it makes oooo-so-much sense about why I am the way I am. Anyways, I read a couple weeks ago that during October I had this huge project that just had to be done by the 29th. Well that huge project is getting my queen bed out of storage and having a room to call my own (of things that are my own). So far I've been sleeping in a full sized bed, which granted is better than a twin, but it still lacks the length in bedding needed for my feet not to hang off. My determination has progressed tenfold since this weekend when I kicked over a stinking table that was at the foot of my bed. Well my mom says I should have been sleeping diagonal. I was.

Hopefully tomorrow gets better. The Office will be on, so at least I have that to look forward to. And I might get to chat with wook a bit. That'll be nice. All I have to tell myself is that it's almost Friday.

It's about that time again...

I need to do laundry. I'm down to my last two pairs. A lacy booty short and a thong.

Now while those are both acceptable pairs of underwear, the fact that a red thong can be seen through some fabrics and a lacy booty short causes VPL (visible panty line)...I'll need to break down and spend some time domesticated in front of the washer and dryer. Ugh.

I never minded laundry before. But that was before I was working full-time and busting my hump in the 5-6 times a week exercise schedule. Now all I want to do is eat dinner, watch The Office, and sleep my beautiful 8-9 hours a night. That's it. (Okay, every now and again I do get to chat with wook whether via texting or actually his voice on the other end. But since this round of flight school has been a lot tougher than normal. I haven't really gotten to chat with him since Saturday. Or maybe it was Friday. Either way. He's super busy so that leaves me to work out and sleep. Mmmm, sleep.)

But good thing today is Wednesday. My running cohort doesn't get back into town until 9pm, which allows me ample time to put on my 1950's apron and wash some clothes. Oh the joy.

Although I still am tempted to just go out and buy some new underwear to get me through the rest of the week. Lazy? Yes. I can't remember the last time I did laundry. When it's just me, there's not much depending on whether I got the school uniform washed or the business attire picked up from the dry cleaner. Because Target is just a couple miles down the road. :)

My dad = AWESOME!

So last, last weekend, my fajah, majah, and I headed north for the semi-weekly pilgrimage of Beaver Nation. We're quasi nuts for the ol' Black and Orange, and so waking up at 0600 or so on a game day is pretty standard. I'm seeking therapy for this. It usually comes in a 6 pack.

Anyways, because I'm never a fan of waking up early, especially on a weekend, in which I don't get paid, I was thrilled to be oh-so-entertained by the man who gave me half his genetic coding.

He's a big fan of country. It's his go-to tune-age for any and all drive time around the area (which counts for both game days and when he gets called for a job). I was able to quietly whip out my camera to catch the next minute of pure enjoyment as my dad serenades my mom, complete with singing into a banana, rocking out on guitar, and jammin' on the keyboard.

Warning: The keyboarding is hysterical. Enjoy!

As you see, he finally notices me in the back playing paparazzi as he looks in the mirror.

Tank of gas: $Too much. Banana: 65 cents. Burned CD: Free. My dad making the best of the gene pool: Priceless. :)

There may be a point to all this...

So somewhere between my birthday and Monday, well actually this past weekend, I felt the need to get my ass into gear. Lately I've been idling, slightly bored, just kinda going through the motions with life. Not really taking it by the horns, but more of merely existing time away until I get to see wook next. Well...somehow, I got the great idea to try running. I figure, if I'm tall, have long legs, slightly look like I could be a runner (minus the chicharonnes I have), well...I'll call the kettle black even if it thinks it's a teapot.

While I'm not one for the torturous idea of a marathon like this one lady I know on the East Coast (I had my fun on Hood to Coast. 197 miles total, split between 2 vans, 18 of those miles being my own on 3 different legs, second leg being 7.5 "very hard." Curtain call, that was nice), I figure if I ever move away from my beloved yogi Danielle at my gym I'll need an alternative form of exercise. Alternative, and far cheaper than a monthly membership.

So Stacey and I have pounded the pavement twice together, she runs on Tuesday and Thursday while I "oohhhmmmmmmm" my way through flows, poses, and relaxation. But so far, so good. It's by far better to have someone to run with because there's conversation and someone to laugh at you when you don't see the dip in the road and almost fall. Plus there's someone to sing the "It's the Final Countdown" as you both charge up the hill. Complete entertainment, and a workout. Who would have known?

And plus, running at night, which is what I prefer, tuckers me out just enough to where I flop into bed and am unconscious in mere minutes. Who needs a vodka tonic when I can just run myself tired? Well, I mean, I'd still raise my hand, but then again, gaining calories vs. burning them. I'll take the run right now. Besides, it's football season still. I do have the occasional beer during game day. Okay, more like 2 or 3. But that's usually the heaviest of my drinking schedule. At home, I'm pretty Mormon. Not perfect, because I do like my cursing when I can't find things or this boy falls asleep early so he doesn't pick up the phone when I call him so I can open my birthday present from him. Things like that.

And I'm kinda bummed I don't get to run tonight. I was kinda in the mood all day. But why get ahead of myself. I'll need the energy to run on a Friday night, since I won't be working the streets looking for a Medford sea urchin to pick up.

Welcome to the $100 Jean Club...

So I've always had this stance about searching for budgeted purchases, whether it's amazing finds on the sale rack, clearance rack, or just a faaaabulous find at regular price. When the question rolls around about pricetags that I seem a bit high, I seem to always state, "that shit better do my laundry." Because if I'd actually pay $300 for a pair of jeans, it better come with diamonds, a personal masseuse, or a plane ticket to see wook.

But because I'm usually a stickler for prices, I do my own laundry.

So during my trek of finding jeans that fit my lengthy gams, I've had many misses, baren ankles, mom butts, and sticker shock. I never knew the amount of jean style, sizes, prices, etc. that existed. That is until I made it my civic duty to find jeans that worked.

JCPenney: nope. GAP: not even close (which did surprise me, even with their "tall" jeans they were too short). Macy's: more mombutt than 25-year-old militarily single girl. Buckle: holy crap, that shit better do my laundry.

Or so I thought.

I wanted to at least rest the rumor that Buckle had the longest jeans in the area. Now I knew the price tag would be higher than I would like, but I figured trying doesn't hurt. So I humored the girl who became my personal slave (face it, with retail sales slacking...my wanting to find jeans and actually out to spend money made me feel like the Queen of the Nile...minus the suicide by snake). As much as I hate to admit how comfortable the $96 jeans were, they were faabulous. And possibly an inch too long...in 3" heels. Amazing. Insane. Unbelievable. Purchased.

That's right. I went ahead and got them. And a $72 pair. Ya, that's right. I splurged.

Now I figured that a.) just because I bought them, doesn't mean I'm married to them, b.) I can return them if my mirror isn't a "skinny mirror" like they have in the store and I really look like a sausage, c.) they're better than the ones I picked up at Macy's because I felt like life wasn't giving me the lemons I wanted. So ya, this weekend will be filled with trying on, lounging around the house, testing the stretchiness of them, and all that available fun that comes with the "am I sure I made the right move" with some pricey jeans.

Oh, and I'll still be doing my own laundry this weekend. Boo.

What to wear...what to wear...

So Halloween is fast approaching, and it coming down to the wire where I'll have to make a decision on character and costume. I hate making decisions, especially one that involves cutting, sewing, and strutting.

I've narrowed it down to at least being a fairy. Well, a nymph specifically. But think 17th century definition, not the sex-crazed individual. (For those who don't know what the old school nymph definition is, it's "one of a numerous class of lesser deities of mythology." I just want to wear wings and have lil magical-ness to my boring, ol' self. So we'll see. :)

My biggest internal debate is, what to wear for my outfit. Obviously I got the wings yesterday at the local costume shop for a whopping $5 bucks. Sweetness. I'm thinking my color scheme will be pink and black (the wings are pink just for reference). I'm going to wear black tights because a.) it's late October, b.) we'll be outside probably most of the night, c.) black is slimming, lol, and d.) tights suck it in, haha. I'm still debating what to wear on the bottom half. I'm thinking of constructing a lil skirt of cute lil pink gauzy-ness. I'm still up in the air about what I want. Story of my life. I know however, I am rocking my wings. They're my new, latest fling.

And because Halloween is a.) the end of the month, and b.) on a Friday, I'm not sure about my work schedule and the ability to get up to Corvallis for the festivities. The end of the month equals bills, and bills are due on Friday no-matter-what. Stay till it's done, pretty much. But I'm okay with this. I've had many a memory in Corvallis regarding Halloween, fabulous costumes, and this cute boy I met. So now it's time to move on. So this year Stacey and I are hitting up Ashland. Apparently it's rowdy fun. Probably not as rowdy as somethings I've seen in my hayday in Corvallis, but we're definitely up for the encounter. I'm excited. I better seen some good lookin' T 'n A. That's right. If you got it, rock it. I'm all about the scandalousness of Halloween because Amish school girl is just boring. I know some people don't believe in showing everything mama gave ya, me neither. I say show 85% of what mama gave ya. Besides, how else am I going to get drinks bought for me?

Happy Birthday to Me!

So this day has done a complete 179 (ya, 180 was just too obvious). Yay!

So I woke up this morning with what-I-thought was a bug. No, not a bug up my butt. But a bug, as in I-feel-like-I'm-coming-down-with-something bug. So there goes the pill and vitamin poppin' like Prozac and Viagra. Shwing!

So for most of the morning and afternoon my head was in a complete fog. Huh, what, okay...was how I felt. First off, I feel that birthdays should be considered personal holidays and thus not meant to work. But that doesn't work in the real world. And b.) all I really wanted for my birthday was a big hug from that boy I happen to like who's 2 time zones away. Again. Not going to happen. So I went about my day the best I could, sipping my Emergen-C and swallowing vitamins like they were going out of style. I don't do sick, and I hate dealing with sickness. Although colds are kinda like diets since you can lose weight in the process. Loves it.

And unlike Michael Scott who throws parties before their actual birthdays, I didn't get any sort of attention at work. Which I'm okay with. I did get birthday wishes which was all a girl could ask for as her head swarmed with wayyy to much medicine. Go big, or go home I say. :)

So as I got off work, the day got even better. I had two things waiting on my doorstep. Double yay! Sarah's gift had miraculously arrived on time for the big day, and definitely started the night out right. She got me this alcoholic popsicle maker. "Sa-weet!" (as she says). And this lil girl who grows grass/hair out of her head. Oh ya, she'll definitely be a blog post addition. And a "grow your own party" where you put the things in water and they swell to super duper size. Ya, now that I think about it....it's all going to become a blog post. :)

And the icing on the cake of the birthday was "Dunder Mifflin, this is Pam." Stacey pulls out a diving catch from right field to feature non-other than Jim Halpert on my birthday. The girl loaded up on The Office gear for me to continue my droolfest for that sexy paper salesman. Okay, he's not as sexy as wook...but dang, still oh-so-cute. I now have post-it's that say, "That's what she said."...magnets that talk about the Dundies, Office Olympics, Bore-ientations, etc. Amazing. I'll have to take pictures so my fellow Office watchers can revel. Ah, Jim...I will sleep well tonight.

And on that note, I was treated out to a glass of wine at a local wine bar by Stacey. It was the perfect ending to a day that progressively got better. Thankfully. Ashley doesn't like crappy birthdays. Or crappy day-after birthdays, lol. Yay for one drink, and now I'll get my 8 hours of sleep. I know, you're jealous. It's okay though. It's not like it keeps me up at night. :)

Thanks for the birthday wishes!! *spanks*

AARP, yes, I'd like my free catalog...

As Sarah put it so gracefully, yes, indeed, it is my birthday. Thrilled?...eh, excited?...eh. Another day...pretty much.

25 just solidifies I'm officially halfway to 30. Yikes! It also reminds me that I'm no longer in college. :( And what's a birthday without birthday spankings? Well, not exciting, that's what. So, basically, it's a dreary day in Ashleyland. But to everyone out there who wants to play along, I'm more than willing to accept virtual spanks. ;) Yay!

I do wish I didn't have to go to work today. That'd be nice. I'd probably do some laundry, clean my room some more, continuing organizing my storage unit. I'd be like a free day to do whatever I wanted. But alas, that is not what my day is about. It's about, "Dunder Mifflin, this is Pam," and working 8 hours today. Too bad personal birthdays can't be personal holidays with mandatory time off. That'd be shweet.

Oh well, I do have to save up as much as I can for the Christmas season. I so hope I can head back East to visit that jet jockey of mine. As he says, "Well, looks like I'll be putting warheads on foreheads." Seriously, where do you learn those sayings? Has someone been drinking the majic juice? 'Cuz I'd like some.

Finally, equality...

So amidst the talk of weddings bells, by talk I mean my guessing about Collin and Katie, I was playing around theknot.com. For those who don't know, either by the fact that you've lived in a barn, are from another planet, or don't have internet, it's a fun website to play around on. :)

Anyways, as I was spending time looking at stuff, I happen to see the advertisement that was down the right side of the page:

"GAY WEDDINGS: By the Knot!"

No way! Seriously? It's about damn time.

And although there are only 2 states so far that allow gay marriage, hopefully more soon will follow in allowing those dedicated to each other to have equal rights, no matter the orientation. After all, who else are more pressed for fabulousness and style than gay guys? (Sorry to my fellow lesbians, we're usually a bit rugged for the pomp and swankiness of the homos.)

So ya, feel free to poke around (hehe) and see what you can find to play with (double hehe).

Come on, gay jokes are just fun. And since I'm half of one, I get everyone passage to laugh.