By the way, a dildo that big is one thing...but a buttplug? Jeeeee-sus. I don't even want to think about the kind of person that can fit this thing up their ass.
...Grant Stoddard, you are correct, sir! Back in May Grant briefly worked (as a Staff Writer? Editor?) at Playgirl Magazine. A few weeks after starting, his book sold and he promptly left.
...moustaches! Hahaha. Every single time I look at Grant's expression in this pic I actually laugh out loud. (And now that I'm looking again, I guess my silky, blonde moustache is pretty sweet as well).
Siege nursing his swollen nuts on the subway ride out to Brooklyn for the surprise party (which he'd totally figured out was coming. I mean, c'mon, birthday or not it's always suspicious when two of your friends are like "Let's hang out in Manhattan for an hour and then go back to your place in Brooklyn.").
Here's Grant and I waiting on the corner of Delancey and Bowery for Siege to come off the JMZ (if you don't live in NYC, that's a subway). Grant and I decided that the best way to keep Siege occupied for an hour and give him some birthday loving would be to take him to...
On Friday night we met up with Brandon who was in town from Budapest and went to his friend's party on the LES (Brandon, you may remember, was the internet stranger who went out of his was to be our gracious host when Grant, Jake and I were in Berlin and Budapest a few weeks prior.)
On Thursday afternoon Grant and I met up for lunch at the Homestyle Cafe (where we pretty much ate lunch together every single day for like 2 years when we worked at Nerve.com / Spring Street). He had a meeting later that week with his friend that's now an editor and Glamour and I was going to try to help him brainstorm and come up wtih story ideas he could pitch.
Grant showed up and came correct with his version of Rick James' Superfreak (which had me worried. Because if we both ended up in the finals, he would no doubt pull out I Believe in a Thing Called Love by The Darkness which, having already used my only nuclear option, I would have no chance of competing against).
Fast forward a week and Meredith and I have just gotten back into town after our trip. I immediately rang up the boys and we made plans to meet up for a drink so that I could bestow upon them exotic gifts from Jamaica...
This is the lake where we went fishing. We were first given giant steel corkscrews to get through twenty some inches of ice, then sat in the cold for an hours as the fish underneath mocked us.
Snowmobiling time! Without being asked to show our driver's licences we were each given thermal overalls and a powerful snowmobile with which to speed over the tundra! (PS- It says "Jew" next to my head.)
We had to get up at 7:45 the next morning to go to a (*wretch*) 8:30 vodka tasting at the local Finlandia bottling plant. The only thing keeping us awake was the promise of a co-ed sauna experience.
This is Darren of Out Traveler magazine (as in out of the closet, not like "out and about"). He was one of the the writers on the trip and was intent on bagging a Finn. Those fresh silver coats are given to you as you enter the bar we were in...
Hour 35 without sleep. The other writers went back to the hotel while we hit a bar that the kids hang out at.
The guy begind us is Gus. He was editor from Hombre magazine. Yeah, we thought it was a porno mag to but we were wrong. That's Honcho. Hombre is a Latin lifestyle mag. Gus kept wanting to tell us about "something that changed his life". Turns out it was Landmark Forum. Boo.
The maid's view of me in my room. This really doesn't do the room's at the hotel Kamp justice. Our rooms were awesome. They had phones next to the crapper.
On Wednesday morning Grant came over to Meredith's to show off his new thermal undies and say goodbye. The next day, he and Jake were leaving for a five day all expenses paid press junket trip to Finland and Lapland! (A few days after they left, I flew into Estonia and we all met up in Helsinki to kick off a trip through Europe).
...he tossed me off under the covers. (They also give you packs of mayo that make for sweet under the blanket handjob action). Jake kept telling me that the trip wasn't exactly free.
Admiral's club just means you get plates of baby carrots and ranch dressing, but you get to do it in leather chairs, while businessmen give you shitty looks.
Grant, who'd been the biggest proponent for Fatty getting the fireplace operational ("Just imagine the S'more we'll be able to make!") give this double thumbs up.