Author Archives: Joel Derfner

On Monday, running insanely late for work, I got out of the shower and realized the worst thing had happened to me that could possibly happen to a gay man.

I was out of hair product.

It was either leave for work right then, however, or get fired, so I pretended I was in an action movie set somewhere in the jungles of Laos, where there were far more important things than hair product, like saving the lives of thousands of innocent civilians.

This pretense failed miserably, however, since deep in my heart I knew the truth: there is nothing more important than hair product.

Within two minutes of my getting to work, three people had complimented me on my hair and said I should wear it like that more often. Since I make all my decisions based on getting other people’s praise, I have not worn hair product since then.

I feel so naked and vulnerable. What’s to protect me from the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune if I can’t knock down a concrete wall with my hair?

Tonight my friend N.N. came over and installed the Tivo I bought last week.

I can’t wait to become a Tivo zombie. Then I will never have to worry about anything ever again, or even leave my house.

Which sort of obviates the need for Tivo, but still.

I finally posted my Drip personal ad. (If you don’t know the back story for this one, read the original post before continuing—this will be very confusing otherwise.)

I quote my ad here, verbatim, in its entirety.

sex: m
seeking: m
age: 29 (born Jan. 12, 1973)
occupation: spy
education: yes
interests: civil rights, chocolate, the undead
neighborhood: Mr. Rogers’
favorite vacation spot: the Land of Nod
favorite time of day: Actually, I prefer parsley, sage, and rosemary.
favorite drink at Drip: Oreo milkshake
musical preference:the soundtrack to Powertool 2.
biggest turn-on: revolution and wonder. Also when a cute guy licks my ears.
biggest turn-off: avarice of spirit, poor spelling
ideal weekend plans: go to Venice, spend a carefree weekend among the canals, and return to find my enemies gone to rack and ruin
typical weekend plans: play with my dog, wish I were important enough to have enemies
looks: matter/don’t matter/shouldn’t matter but they do Oh, Mary, please.
self-description: [Refer to “about me” section on the right-hand side of the blog. There are only so many amusing things I have to say about myself.] Also, I am [height suppressed], [weight suppressed], [hair color suppressed], and a bottom.
looking for:

So that’s done, graven in photocopied and laminated paper, as it were.

With my luck, the guy I was after with this will find some unpardonable solecism in my Middle Egyptian and be totally turned off.

Either that or he will have fallen madly in love since placing his ad and moved with his partner to Saskatchewan.

One night when I was in Prague I mustered up the courage to go to a gay bar, something I am terrified to do in the United States, much less in Eastern Europe. But I was so plagued by my non-functioning gaydar that I felt I needed to go to a place the sexuality of whose denizens was not in question.

I selected the most innocuous-sounding establishment I could find, which was a video bar called “Friends.” As it was early in the evening, there was only a handful of people there, some of them quite attractive. I realized with delight that two of the most attractive guys in the place were openly staring at me, eyes brimming with admiration and excitement. The possibilities were countless: which one of them was interested in me? Or were they both interested in me and preparing to fight over me? Or was a threesome worthy of a Bel Ami video in the offing? Clearly I had made the right decision in coming here. My existential loneliness would be quieted for the evening, my doubts about my suitability as a human being assuaged, and I would find brief but joyous companionship in an affirmation of the universal brotherhood of man.

Then I realized that they were staring at Madonna singing “Holiday” on the TV screen above my head.

I gulped down a hot chocolate and fled.

There is somebody whose blog I like. He also likes my blog. We e-mailed back and forth a couple times, and I eventually decided I wanted to ask him out on a date.

However, I was plagued by the pressure that the blind-dateness of it would create if he accepted. What if we met and he picked his nose? What if I picked my nose? What if it was just the worst evening anybody had ever spent in living memory?

I spent days pondering this dilemma before deciding to try to meet him but not actually on a date—just on a friends hanging-out kind of thing. That way nobody would feel any pressure and then if there was chemistry I could ask him out on an actual date.

The problem was that I had worked myself up into such a state over the whole thing that the e-mail I sent was the most graceless, insulting invitation anyone has ever tendered in the history of the world. Unsurprisingly, I have not heard from him since.

So then I spent days pondering this dilemma. I had to do something, because every time I thought of what he must think of me after my incredible rudeness, I started to twitch involuntarily in strange places. But I couldn’t e-mail him, because if he wants nothing to do with me ever again (totally understandable under the circumstances), that would be intruding on him in an unwelcome and impolite way.

So I decided to blog about it.

If he is reading this, he doesn’t have to e-mail me or anything. He should just know that I’m not the boorish, arrogant prick my e-mail made me seem.

A total NEUROTIC FREAK, yes.

But not a boorish, arrogant prick.

I’m sorry.

Of course, there is also the possibility that he was so offended he stopped reading my blog and will never read this, in which case I am totally fucked.

And not in a good way.

I think my hairline is receding.

Excuse me while I leap out of my window.

Too bad it’s only on the second floor.

I was dismayed to find that American gaydar doesn’t work in Europe. At least mine doesn’t. About every third man I passed (starting with the very cute hotel clerk who checked us in) set off my gaydar, which makes no statistical sense. I realized I had no idea if these men were gay or just Czech.

I think that, for the benefit of Americans on the prowl, gay Europeans should have to do something to identify themselves. Like wear armbands with pink triangles on them or something.

Oh, wait.

Crap.

I got back from Prague yesterday.

Terezin, the concentration camp I was there to research, is now a town, population 1,200 and growing. According to our tour guide, the people who live there know little and care less about what the place used to be.

There are two hotels there. One is a two minute walk from the crematorium. The other is in the old SS barracks. I spent about five minutes in the latter and it was the most terrifying place I’ve ever been in my life.

Tomorrow I’ll be amusing, I promise. Today I just don’t quite have it in me.

You will no doubt be delighted to learn that Faustus is coming home today. I am sure he will have many exciting tales of Prague, or wherever he went. Whatever he chooses to reveal, he will want his blog back.

I am not certain I am ready to surrender it. Blog whore that he is, he has managed to build up a readership by means I am too lazy to duplicate. Now, his audience is mine, mine, mine!

Goblin: Gee, Daddy, what do you want to do tonight, then?

BWAH-HA-HA-HA-HA!

Ahem.

I need to go take Goblin for a walk now. You all must promise to visit us at http://upsidedownhippo.blogspot.com.

Before he left on his trip, Faustus mentioned that he was having his bedroom painted. Actually, he is having his entire apartment redone. I have decided to surprise him by sneaking in and redesigning it myself, and I know just the model upon which to base it. I have recently become enamored of “Trading Spaces” (I know, I know . . . I am always slightly behind the trend curve, but I just got cable), and this past week, they revealed the most astonishingly grotesque room ever conceived: yellow walls, pink carpet, a garden swing with gravel underneath, a sickly looking dollhouse, and many other atrocities, the most malevolent of which was a bed covered with Astroturf with garlands of flowers wired on. The designer, Kia, was so proud of what she had unleashed upon the world that I have decided to recreate it as faithfully as possible for my dear friend. It actually could not be much worse than what the previous owners had done with the place, and there is always the welcome possibility that Faustus will utilize the garden swing for purposes completely unimagined by its creator.

I will let my dog take over the writing as I start making up my “to do” list.

Goblin Foo Uvula speaks:

Yay yay yay!

Daddy said I could write again. He’s happy I remembered how to shake hands after a year of not doing it. It’s not that hard. I’m smart smart smart!

*lick lick lick lick*

Daddy said I could do something new with my writing and I’ve decided to do a horoscope for dogs. Dogs dogs dogs! If you’re not a dog you can read it but it might not come true. Daddy said it might not come true anyway. Daddy doesn’t have a lot of faith in my abilities. I’m a dog and I’m a Leo so I will only do Leo for now.

*snork*

Goblin’s “Hound-o-Scope” for Leo
Expect a lot of pooping today (poop poop poop!) and a craving for carrots. Watch out that you don’t pee on your own feet in your haste to come in out of the rain. Strange smells seem enticing but should be avoided at all costs. A tall stranger who wants to smell your genitals may come on too strong but don’t let him get you agitated.