THE HOMEOWNER

Thursday, January 01, 2004
Copyright © Las Vegas Mercury

The Homeowner: Fabulously resolved

By Mike Prevatt

In the last edition of this column, I said I wasn't going to make New Year's resolutions. I can never keep them beyond February, and, c'mon, why would I need to change? But after chewing on it a bit, I figured I still haven't gotten the hang of this gay thing. I could always be a better homeowner.

So, I've decided to share the results of my recent resolution brainstorming. Come back a year from now and we'll see how much more--or less--fabulous I've become.

Begin every sentence with "guuurl." I know I'd be taken much more seriously if I adopted this savvy form of social lubrication.

Incorporate new color schemes into my predominantly blue, black and gray wardrobe. Because keeping my clothes strictly on the parochial-school tip has garnered me nothing but looks that say, "Yeah...I'm gonna go with `straight' on this one."

Stop publicly admitting I like the Dave Matthews Band. This doesn't endear me to cute fags, nor does it get me any closer to getting into some fratboy's pants.

Start publicly admitting I love Justin Timberlake. Even the straight boys are like, "Dude, I'd fuck him, too."

Take a fake-tan shower. The Fab Five from "Queer Eye" once had some pasty breeder get sprayed, so it must be okay. And I'm really tired of looking like I'm from Indiana.

Stop sleeping around. Why hang around for that post-coitus snuggle bullshit when your host secretly thinks you're overstaying your welcome anyway? He may be offering a nightcap, but as you look deeply into his eyes, under his pupils is one of those scrolling CNN ticker messages that reads: "Shit, if I wanted someone to hog up the other half of the bed, I'd get a boyfriend."

Quit making sarcastic inferences that gay men are sluts. Because that's simply not true.

Get butt-rammed. I don't actually think I need to do this, but my friend Wanda strongly suggested it. In fact, she's always suggesting it. I don't know why--it's not like the repetitive bitch ever let someone take a dip in her fudgepot. What's she vouching for?

Belch loudly in public more often. I'm not preoccupied with the manner by which I draw attention to myself. What's important is that they're finally noticing me. Plus, I know I can count on at least one person within earshot to laugh, and as far as I'm concerned, he's The One.

Get dancing lessons, or just drink less. After three cocktails, you can actually get me on the go-go dancer platform. The problem is that I inadvertently start doing the Bartman.

Petition Netflix to start carrying porn. I can think of no place more predatory than the porn-filled back room of an independent video shop or gay bookstore. I would cherish the day when I could just point and click LumberJacked and The Powerfist Trilogy into my rental queue, and two days later, there they are in my mailbox. But until Netflix loosens up, I'm left to scouring the site for unrated foreign flicks with male-on-male dry humping.

Keep my curiosity about lesbians to myself. I had no idea that declaring an interest in making more lesbian friends was a de facto endorsement of pussy, but I've learned the hard way that this is neither appropriate nor strategic small talk.

Stick to using those big ass rubber exercise balls at home. Have you seen someone fall off those things? What self-respecting homo wants to take that risk in such an image-conscious environment? Seriously, I'd rather deal with my sac slipping out of my shorts on the crunch benches than flopping off those pogo-spheres and accidentally bouncing onto some nearby guy in Bound Angle Pose.

Buy a convertible German car. Nothing says "fuck me" more than cruising down the boulevard in a BMW M3 with the top down and the stereo bumping Kelis remixes. Hey you, over there in the Honda Element--I've got your "Milkshake" right here!

Shave my pubes into a faux-hawk. I'm just beating all those gay emo kids to the punch. However, I once employed that trendsetting strategy with a rainbow-colored wallet chain, and that went over about as well as a cold sore in a bathhouse.

Run for Congress. Have you seen the public opinion polls on gay marriage? At this rate, my wedding announcement and obituary will run in the newspaper on the same day. So vote for Mike in 2004--and happy new year!

The Homeowner appears biweekly. Send your comments and nude pics (especially if you look like Pharrell Williams) to oughtabeinporn@yahoo.com.
After three cocktails, you can actually get me on the go-go dancer platform. The problem is that I inadvertently start doing the Bartman.