Update: Clubbing is a go

I am going clubbing on Friday. My friend Sean and I are going together, which will be awesome. Much frivolity will be had! :)

Even if I have to go alone, I'm going. I'm a rut these days, and a little gay thumpa-thumpa is what I need.

Update the next day: And it looks like our two female friends, Kitty and Softy will be going as well. Gays and girls - as God intended it.

Where nobody knows your name

I was in the car coming back from my sister's ice skating rink, when the radio had an uber-gay moment. They played back-to-back Womanizer, Lady Gaga (Just Dance), and Circus.

I realized, in that moment, while my sister sang along (she doesn't know the words) that I need to go clubbing. I need some hot, sweaty, random glee in my life, the likes of which I only find in dance clubs.

Really, if I could go anywhere, it would be this great "new" dance club in north DC called, "Town." Side note: I like how winner-clubs are one-word now. We're obviously too stupid to remember two-word titles.

It's one of the largest gay clubs in the city. On the one hand, it's not in the typical gay-ghetto, Dupont Circle, which features club "Apex" - a respectable club that's good for drag. On the other hand, it's so much happier, more energized, and... well, gay.

Plus, the men are at least 10 year younger there than anywhere else. It's a club made for circuit boys.



So yeah - if I don't get some clubbing in my system immediately, I'm going to lose my mind. Please deposit sweaty man-grind into my life, kthxbai.

Post-split II: Steps to recovery

Ladies, listen up - take it from the master:

When you do depression or have regular sad days (which are more frequent in the North now that the Sun is barely up at all), do it right. Take this - part two to theKnow-it-all guide to getting over him/her/it:

1. First, put down the spoon and step away from the Haagen-Dazs. Frozen yogurt, carrot sticks, pretzels (watch the salt)... all these are better for you. Now that you're alone, you'll probably want to be skinny. No one likes a fatty, and by now, there's a good chance that you are one.

2. Second, this is the perfect time for an eating disorder. Going to the gym is time consuming, and you need all the hours you can to sit home and cry. Cry a lot - it's good for you. Since you won't be going to the gym, and as even frozen yogurt can go straight to your hips, purge frequently.

P.s. Pro-tip: Use Febreze in the bathroom after to freshen.

3. Finally, for now, spend a lot of time by yourself. Some say use other people as healthy distractions from your pain, but if you're like me, you probably got yourself into trouble by being too friendly with people anyway.

Try wallowing in your misery for a while. This will not only give you lots of time to think about what you did (like a child's time-out!), but it will probably make you sad enough to really do step two well enough. Pair sadness with purging - match made in heaven.


That's all for now - try my proven method of getting over men. It worked for me - I shed even more weight after I lost my guy than before I did. You can even see my ribs - fun!

Good luck, ladies/gentleman/undecided, and happy binge-purging!

Happy Festivus from all of us

... and by us, I mean me. On this, the holiday of honesty (except when receiving bad gifts), I probably shouldn't tell such lies.

I hope you are finished wrapping your presents and preparing your no-carb, sugar-substitute cookies for Santa Clause. Remember - tomorrow (technically today if you're east of me) is a sacred day of consumerism and greed. It's the most important of our American traditions.

Respect it - and Merry Christmas, kids.



P.s. I got an email about this actually being a religious holiday about birthdays or something like that. Who knew?

The end of an era

(( I'm posting this because I think the name is gay-appropriate ))

Today, W. Mark Felt died - he was "Deep Throat" in the famous Watergate scandal. And as I'm sure at least half of my readers either don't know who I'm talking about, or think "Watergate" is a deviant sexual act...

... your homework is to look it up and learn what you can. Dismissed, kids.

A tree grows in my vestibule

Literally, there is a tree in my vestibule. Of course, it's been stripped, bleached, dyed, and bound into these otherwise useless phone books, but hot damn, it's still a tree!

I hear the internet is losing steam and people are flocking back to "the good 'ole" methods of communication. Letter writing and newspapers are in - blogs (oh no!) and emails are out.

Just as the 80s have unfortunately returned in popular fashions and music, so too have these remnants of a bygone era come back to haunt us. I'm thinking about exchanging my energy-saving car for a gas-guzzling American car and moving out to a suburb - God's land!


To be honest, though, were I not a sarcastic bitch, I probably would have picked up one of those phone books just to say I owned one.

Too soon? Uh uh!

Anna Nicole Smith - I miss her... she was so batsh*t crazy in her day. Many thanks to the swarthy gentlemen (heh) who reminded me of this.

Newcomer gays, give respect where it is due. This woman defined an era (the late nineties) as a woman who defined the odds, thus paving the way for millions of girls to sell their bodies for money and grow up to be whores. She is the American dream - she saw something she wanted (which definitely wasn't her late husband), and she got it.

Her struggle in court for her husband's money was spectacular. All should note that she was wronged by not receiving the Emmy that year for Best Performance in a Trial when her greedy in laws tried to take back her hard earned money.

She made it okay to be insane, to lose weight on the revolutionary Trimspa/crack diet, and to make money by whatever means necessary. Every slut with her ankles in the air owes this pioneer a debt of gratitude.

Honey, here and now, I salute her for outstanding contributions to moral society in this country. God speed, kiddo.

Mmm... toasty

It's mid-December. It's 63 degrees. This is just not right. Now if only it would stop raining...

So, what's your fantasy?

Yesterday in the barber shop, while I was being silent and mysterious, the guys sitting next to me were discussing this thing called, "fantasy football." Of course, I initially thought they meant those pay-per-view alternative Superbowl games where cheerleaders play touch football in chocolate pudding, or something like that.

I looked it up our of curiosity, and this is what I found on Wikipedia:

Fantasy football is a fantasy sports game in which participants (called "owners") are arranged into a league. The person who creates the league is called the commissioner, and that person invites other owners into his/her league.

Each team drafts or acquires via auction a team of real-life American football players and then scores points based on those players' statistical on-the-field performances.

A typical fantasy league will employ players from a single football league, such as the NFL or an NCAA division. Leagues can be arranged in which the winner is the team with the most total points at the end of the season, or in a head-to-head format (which mirrors the actual NFL) in which each team plays against a single opponent each week.

At the end of the year, win-loss records determine league rankings or qualification into a playoff bracket. Most leagues set aside the last weeks of the regular season for their own playoffs.

So as far as I can gather, it's like socially acceptable Dungeons and Dragons. For those gays in the audience that aren't familiar with either game, don't worry. You don't have to be.

I can't picture a group of muscular straight men huddling around a table and playing a sports version of Magic: The Gathering (another game you don't need to know about if you don't already).

Why do I bring this up on Homo Knows today? I do it to ensure that none of you succumb to this. New gay, old gay - even straight; it doesn't matter. You should never play these types of retarded games. You want to have a fun Saturday night? Try a dance club, a bar, the opera, a museum, a coffee shop or...

... dare I say it? A date.




Edit: To our readers from other countries (not the United States), I want to clarify: when we say "football," we don't mean soccer. Think gorillas in spandex running into each other... a lot.

I can has silent haircut?

There are those that really like getting the chatty, outgoing barber, but I am not among them. When I am sitting there getting my hair cut, I want to just sit there and chill out without having to be conversational and interesting for a half-hour.

It's especially annoying because I know that the conversation is superficial, unappealing, and habitual. It's not worth the energy to put forward a substance-less discussion. Service-industries have a new slogan: "The customer is always right conversational:

Barber: How do you feel about __________? It's good, right?
Me: Eh, I don't really care for it all that much.
Barber: Yeah, me neither.
Me: I especially don't like __________.
Barber: I totally agree; it sucks.


So yes - to all barbers of the world: I don't want to discuss sports with you, class schedules, or my family life. You are unlikely to remember my name, let alone my major and my personal problems.

Silence is golden, kthxbai.

Save the last dance for me

Today, Tuft's University held their ballroom competition... which went fantastically. In the end, we ended up walking away with ribbons, a smile on our faces, and sore muscles... everywhere.

The thing I notice about dance is that no one seems to take is seriously. We call competitive ballroom dancing, "dancesport," but the first comment one usually gets is, "Ballroom isn't really a sport."

... really? Really? How do you define sport? A physically draining activity that challenges your ability to perform a task or a skill that you have learned and practiced ad nauseam in order to score points? You have coaches and team that you rely on for support to win? You gain a sense of accomplishment when you win, but strive to improve when you lose?


Interestingly enough, in ballroom we physically exert ourselves to the point of falling down, doing skills and moves we've practiced for months or years, to win points and place against other couples. We have large teams of dancers all working and practicing together. In short, it's the same thing. Ballroom=sport.

I'll give you this: ballroom is less manly than football or basketball. Then again, how manly can those activities be? I see more ass-slaps and homoeroticism during a game/match than in a trashy teen-fanfic story. Perhaps they are more mainstream, or even more heterosexual. But that doesn't make them better at all.

Side note: Contrary to popular belief, there are many straight ballroom dancers. Are there a plethora of homos? Yes... but not an overwhelming majority.


Ballroom is also a fantastic way to lose weight. I apparently burn anywhere from 250-500 calories an hour. How can you beat that? I get to lose weight like crazy doing something I love to do, which is actually a lot of fun? Win-win, really.



To anyone who thinks this isn't a difficult sport: Do a few laps of quickstep at 50+ BPM and tell me that's not genuine fatigue. If you make it halfway around the floor, then color me impressed.


Interesting article on this: http://www2.ljworld.com/news/2007/dec/25/ballroom_dancing_gaining_favor_next_potential_olym/

Enjoy. Deep down, we all just want to feel a little glamorous sometime.

All eyes on me, kids

To those of you who are not listening to Britney Spears' new album, Circus, here is a purported official video for the title song. Oddly, her publicist has stated that this is not the official video. See for yourself.



I will say this - there are some places where it looks like some guy shot some unofficial video on his camera phone whereas other parts are very official and clear. So that might be a little bit of a mash-up (?) on the part of some crewman.

And even if not, this is probably not the full, official cut. But STILL, the official one better be awesome. This one is so good, the real thing might in fact be worse (let's hope not).

That would just be... heh, so funny.


Update - midnight-ish: Here is the video from her website.



I'll leave it to you to find the differences. I think it looks pretty good, still... thank God.

If you dance it, they will come

... or not.

I just went to teach a lesson on the waltz today to high school students, and their club was so excited that two whole people came to my lesson. Fun! *fail*

It's okay, though - one day, I hope to look like the dancers on TV. But not like Dancing with the Stars... God, I hate that show. It's bad "So You Think You Can Dance." Like watching a train wreck in slooow moooootioon. This is where it's at: