Chanda!

I grew up in The South. In a little way, I was indoctrinated by the peers that African Americans are humans first, but they are not exactly smart like the caucasians are. It is more of an attitude than knowledge, really. When you go to the grocery store, you see these thugs bulldozing their ways around. You became used to it and assumed that many of African Americans are like that.

Until I met Chanda, I was like that. But after I hung out, partied, loitered and fucked up with Chanda, my perceptions of people in general were totally removed.

In fact, when we first met, the way she talked, she completely trashed my perceptions. I cannot help but laughed so hard.

From there, I considered her as a good friend. It was always funny to see her walking to me and say, "Tell me what is happening on the campus! Tell me tell me tell me!" I'm like, "Ok, once upon a time ..." She'd squeak and say, "Not again, but go ahead!" Beth would throw in some insane comments about something else. The communication between me, KB, Chanda, Beth and few others can be misconstrued as something bizarre because I do not think people outside of our group would understand what we were talking about.

One time, Chanda was thirsty and hungry. She poured vodka on her pizza slice and drank/ate it. What am I supposed to react? I'm like, "Ok, you are satisfied. What's next?"

Chanda was extremely intelligent. She never studied. She just read the textbooks, not studied, JUST READ -- then aced the courses in her sleep.

She absolutely hated dresses and make-ups. She loved the dramas. She was a sucker for big-time dramas with friends.

The New Years' Eve Party at Chanda, KB & Beth's apartment were purely wacko. Lots of insanity occured in that timespan.

How can you not smile at this?

It is been 7 years since Chanda died.

Of course, I miss her. Very much.

R-

To Gary

My Brother in Miami, Florida:

Happy Birthday! Now you're 29. Be well.

R-

Sex Does Wonders To Your Confidence

When a guy is near orgasm, he was on the top of me and like a cowboy, he rode me out. he stomped his hands on my futon bed repeatedly and violently shook his head and body as sweats perspired and exploded off from his muscular body.

For a moment, I thought he was going berserk and that something was wrong. He yelled at me with a glee on his face. I was not sure what he was trying to say. He muttered something, I couldn't detect except that it is something about best.

He collapsed on me and breathed with labor. I giggled. He smiled and licked my chin. Then he grabbed a paper pad right above me on the pillows and scribbled few words.

"One of the best fucks I ever had!"

I was surprised. And said, "That is why you stomped and shook like crazy?" He laughed and nodded.

Shortly, we watched "The Twilight Man" on Starz Channel. He massaged my feet and hands, I love a guy who does that. Especially when he does it hard. He measured my feet and hands and said, "It is odd that you got small hands, yet the thing you have in your shorts is not."

I groaned and scoffed him away. Sensed that I shrugged him off, he picked up the challenge. He quickly got on the top of me, played with me roughly. Grinded me a little. We ended up doing the Round Two soon hereafter.

After that, I feel great and full of confidence.

R-

Want Some $$?

For your information, this is my 252nd entry. And 70,954 words had been typed since then. 100,000 -- here I come! Fuck, I can write a book. But will I make a profit? I dunno. I don't want my books to be printed and sit in Gallaudet Bookstore. That would be disgraceful and pitiful.

Want some money? Char and I talked about the hotels in Las Vegas. I quickly mentioned about the money -- she interrupted that she is already aware about this since I told her about it few years ago. Since then, she has been doing this after learning about it from me. I figured it's fair to share this with my loyal readers. *smirk*

My mother taught me this -- when we arrived at any hotel (be it an inn, motel or luxury one), my mom would look for the Holy Bible and take it out of some drawer then check the pages -- pull the bible in the air to let something out of the book.

Often, $5 or $10 will fall out. My mom always smiled and said that many elders would leave money to see if anyone will read the bible, if they do -- they give money to anyone who takes the time to *read* the book. When I was a wee child, she worked at the motel in Spotsylvania. Will she go to hell for this? Oh, well.

I followed her actions when I travelled around the country -- I found $50 in Atlanta, $10 in Myrtle Beach, and many assortments of $5 and $1 in different places. One thing about this -- I noticed that more people in The South and Northwest do put money in The Bible.

So maybe you can try your luck somewhere in some hotels/inns/motels.

R-

What's Wrong with Blogger.com?

It is becoming difficult to publish an entry nor the access to someone's blog. I had to press several times in order to get to someone's blog to read.

Even if I like the format of blogger.com but the services need to improve or upgrade somehow.

It is becoming aggravating, really.

R-

Fire Island IV: What is Cherry Grove?

Cherry Grove is on the western edge of Fire Island, it is still gaytown. But a level below The Pines. The Pines are for rich guys, Cherry Grove is for middle-class guys, where there are things to do.

Unlike The Pines, Cherry Grove lacked swimming pools in their homes. Wanna swim? Go to beach.

Mark and I dined in the Burger Queen. Very good. Saw some familiar faces from NYC. Cherry Grove probably have more bars than The Pines. Cherry Grove is more of "beach resort" than The Pines.

All night long, we mingled around the community and went to the beach to rest a little. At the oceanfront, I saw a gay couple making out in very delicate manner that I would question if it is appropriate place to do it. But the beach cops parked not far from this couple, they did not do anything.

When the sun sets down, we waited for the fireworks to bang off. Sorace exaggerated a little -- the fireworks took place in Long Island. So we can see these tiny fireworks at different places at the same time from Fire Island.

It was extremely boring and discouraging (yes, it was beautiful), so Mark and I said to Cherry Grove: SYL! Off onto the ferry back to New York City.

All in all, my first experience for Fire Island is very positive. If I am rich, I want a house in The Pines. It is irresistible not to own one.

R-

Fire Island III: The Terrors of Meatracks

It was time to go to Cherry Grove, Sorace told the partygoers to mingle and see what it was hopping around. If one wants to go to Cherry Grove from The Pines, one can have three options.

1. Use watertaxi boat for $5
2. Walk on the beach
3. Go through the Meatracks

Mark and I selected #3 out of curiosity. Some selected #1 and most selected #2.

The wood-made sidewalk that led from The Pines to Cherry Grove simply dissipated into the sandy walkway when we exited The Pines into Meatracks.

Then there are lots of trails into the forests, Mark and I went in to check these infamous trails. Suffice to say, the folklores that I heard are simply true. Lots of men, mostly twinks and men who are 50s but act like 30s, looking for anonymous sex. The ironic thing about the Meatracks is that these gay men are environmental-conscious types mainly because they tied the plastic bags on the branches so when people are done with condoms, they toss it in the bags.

I walk around and snicker repeatedly. I thought it was so hilarious.

This is the undeveloped area where people fought to keep it as it is for years (they probably used the environment as a platform), but actually it is a playground for anonymous sex without any cops interrupting.

Soon, Mark and I struggled to walk normal in these sandy sidewalk and soon I saw the civilized town looming closer and closer. The woodway sidewalk was resumed as I exited the Meatracks.

Up next is Fire Island IV: What is Cherry Grove?

R-