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The Slap Heard Around The World.

So we all know my girl is in trouble again. You know I loves me some Naomi. And who hasn’t had trouble with the help? Though my roommie and I love our current maid. Not to mention she could probably take us 2 queens down in .02 seconds! The woman just moved a sofa by herself, the same one Eric and I both drag about the floor, huffing and puffing while scratching the hardwood! I think Naomi should be forgiven for her…let’s say, short temper. She is after all one of the World’s most beautiful women. Naomi’s current predicament got me thinking, “Who will I smack this summer?”

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So I’m trying to blog as much as possible just in case I’m busy this summer. Heck I’m busy now. I’m working and that is a very good thing. I’m also having many meetings and tons of auditions. It always gets busy before Big Brother. Most actors worry over pilot season. I do too but I know that for me I’m going to stay busy through the summer. It’s like Big Brother season pops back up and bam! People are like “Where’s Marcellas?” Kinda like Where’s Waldo without the stripe sweater. Though I liked that sweater. It was kinda chic.

In keeping with the theme of past musings posts, here goes:



So I have been on the master cleanse again and am happy to report as of 4:00 today I lost 14 lbs. Yes, 14 lbs. in 7 days. I just broke the cleanse and what’s the 1st thing I put in my system? Non-sprayed, organic tangerine juice from Beverly Hills Juice Club. It was yummy. But now I wish I’d stayed on for 10 days.

I made the mistake of calling E (my roommate) to tell him how much I lost and he, being the buzz killer he is, says, “That’s all water weight and crap that you passed from not eating.” “2 days from now, once you start eating again, you’ll gain it all back.” Thanks E! Way to represent.


Randomness… PT. 4

In a little post I like to call randomness…A little sampling of what’s rocking my world:

Right now my life is very Safe Sex In The City. I guess I sorta broke up with my own personal Mr Big. I only found out very late in the game that when he started seeing me he had a boyfriend. Once they “officially” broke-up he calls to say, “Okay now I’m yours.” Uh…What? As my mother always said, “They leave you as they found you.” I was the other man and didn’t even know it. Player, play on. So if he was capable of stringing me along and having a beau @ the same time, without either of us knowing, what would make me stupid enough to think he wouldn’t do the same thing to me somewhere down the line. If given the opportunity. THEY LEAVE YOU LIKE THEY FOUND YOU. Ghetto profound.

Thing is, I’m the perfect other man. I’m a very practical boy. My thing is all about the Benjamins. Ducketts. Chips. Cake. $. Stocks. Bonds. LV luggage. Prada shoes. Dinner @ Mr Chow. Frette sheets. An apartment in Miami. I can keep a secret. If you wanna treat me like a ho, pay me like one. Otherwise step up to the plate, be a man and treat me like an equal. With the same respect and commitment with which I treat you. Oh well, you can’t win them all. The search continues for America’s Next Gay Husband.

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Random musings from the mind of…Me:

Joia said something to me the other day that truly resonated. She said “God knows our hearts.” I’ve been praying a lot lately. For grace. For guidance. For others. For truth. Prayer works. I’ve been listening to Anthony Hamilton, Pass Me Over. This is the best song ever. It takes me back to being a little boy and going to church. And singing and clapping and testifying to my love of the Lord. The further it get from that child the more I wanna go back. You see I believe in Christ and the next life. I also believe my Lord wants me to be happy. And doesn’t care if it’s with a man. As long as I live a good life and try my best and love others, I’ll see my Savior. There I said it.

Mel (my straight wife, which makes me her gay husband) and I went to see Something New. Which wasn’t, for me. I’ve played this particular game a long time. I did really like the movie. But why didn’t the producers spend some money on wardrobe and a make-up artist? It’s 2006. It’s not hard to go to the MAC counter. It’s like they told those girls to just bring something from home to wear. And do their own make-up! Why after all this time is Blair Underwood’s skin still jacked? I go to the best dermatologist in Beverly Hills. Call me Blair, I’ll hook you up! I never heard the term “Black Tax” before. Now I get to front all the sisters who give me attitude lately by saying “Don’t be mad @ me coz you havin’ a Sumtin New moment”.
Meet the latest BOY I LIKE:
Simon Baker is fine as hell. Sanaa Lathan must have been like, “Damn!”

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What the hell happened to January? Yet another week passes. It started with The BET Celebration of Gospel with my newest Girl I Like, Joia. She’s the co-host of my show, Remixed. I suppose I should say our show. Joia, or “Big Sexy” as I like to call her, is trouble. When I met her I was in the midst of a detox. Hey I had a new show starting. The camera adds 10 lbs. Across your ass. Joia was like “That’s not gonna work” and promptly fed me. She was leaving food in my trailer! The same thing happened @ Celebration of Gospel. I was 6 days into the master cleanse and 10 lbs. lighter and J (like the bad angel on my shoulder) says, “Where we going next?” I have no resolve. It was either alcohol or food. The last time I took Joia to a gay bar, she completely upstaged me. This time we opted for Bob’s Big Boy. If you are going to diet or detox or fast you must go away. You cannot be around friends. I think for Valentine’s Day my new “whatever he is becoming” and I should go to La Costa Resort and Spa. If we can survive multiple colonics and raw food, we can survive anything.

Valentines Day is upon us. I hate V Day. It’s like NYE to me. Amateur night. Don’t prove you love me with roses and chocolates. I should get those randomly yet often anyway. And I certainly get them from rappers on the DL. Chocolates and roses are pedestrian. No, if you wanna do something for me just show up naked. And let’s have third-time-doing-it sex. I have this theory about the third time you have sex with someone. It’s when you really pull-out all the stops. The 1st time you may be drunk. Or trying too hard. So it’s foreign. The second time you are competing to see if you can do it better than the 1st. The 3rd time is when you just fucking fuck. And these are each separate times. Not the third time you do it in one night! I have actually broken up with 2 boys on Valentines day. For me it’s crazier than Xmas. Couples have to be careful around holidays because if someone wants out they will dump you before a holiday. I mean who wants to buy a Christmas present if you don’t have to? Back on point; I was seeing someone once, a very long time ago. He made an huge deal out of V Day which I hate. Strike one. He sent flowers to my work. A huge arrangement. Ghetto in it’s fabness. Everyone was bowled over. You would have thought I was a prize racehorse standing @ the finish line with that huge horseshoe of flowers around my neck. I loved that so negative 1 strike. He was still in the game. The straw that broke this thoroughbreds back however was he got tickets. “Tickets!” “I love Tickets!” says Cameron Diaz in Charlie’s Angels in response to Luke Wilson. Now he got Cameron cool tix. To Soul Train. My then beau got me tickets to see the Blue Man Group. You know that horrid threesome dipped in blue who play the drums with light sabers? The only thing worse is Cirque De Sol-Hell Naw. I hate clowns, puppets, mannequins, cat clocks w/the moving eyes, clowns, harlequin masks, clowns and blue people. Oooh and I hate a contortionist! Ugh! Hate is too strong. Those things scare me. Creep me out. I broke up with him. I had the nerve to say, “Don’t you know me at all?” He was better off. I once had a fight with a beau on Valentines Day because the gift he got me sucked. I had a pair of old school trainers that he loved. And everyone else loved. Every time I wore them peeps were like, “Where did you get your trainers?” I’d say “They’re vintage.” Which is fashion-speak for “Hell no I’m not telling you where I got these!” Well anyway my then beau loved them. So I did the research (what size shoe he wore, address to his office) mobilized my force (sent my assistant to Rogers Park) and got him the shoe. I then spent $50 bucks FedExing them to him. You see I was observant. I knew what he wanted. Now what I wanted was the Helmut Lang denim jacket with the too long sleeve that you cuffed. We spent an hour and a half in the Soho Helmut Lang boutique with me trying it on. I couldn’t justify spending $325 on a jean jacket. My then beau said “Just get you want it and V Day is coming so I’ll get it for you.” In one of the few times I’ve not been a gold digger I said no. Not because I didn’t want the jacket. But I wanted him to make it more special! You can’t just peel off a couple hundo and say “Here go buy yourself something pretty.” That makes a boy feel like a tart. Not that I’m not but @ that moment I didn’t wanna be. So here I am checking the mail room for days expecting the Helmut Lang jacket because he knew I wanted it. What I got was a cake. A vacuum sealed chocolate cake sent from someplace in Atlanta. I was pissed. I mean the damn thing was good but c’mon…A cake? What did that cost you? And no, it’s not about money it’s about you and your girlfriends (who are boys) sitting around and them asking what you got for V Day and you say, “A cake” and they are like, “A cake?” and you are like, “A cake” and they are like, “Like Little Debbie’s” and you are like, “Well more than that and it’s the thought that counts and our relationship isn’t about the bling”…and the moral of this story is if someone wants to buy you something expensive, right then and there, take it. And get the receipt. A boy has got to be practical. I hate Valentines Day. And it’s not a real holiday. Banks are open and you don’t get the day off.


Thanks to you guys who wrote me about THIS IS PERSONAL. I’m fine. The ex-beau drama is over. Well almost…

Last night I went out with friend and blogmate Brad Benton. It’s weird for me to say Brad Benton because I know his real name. Not his nom de plume. We were to meet Tony @ Fubar. But Mr Nightlife gave us the fade. Anyway Fubar (my fave gay bar in L.A.) was having “The Down Low” night. Brad and I walk up and the door guy is like “Hey guys there’s a $5 cover” and Brad goes, “Oh really…” causing the door guy to take a really good look @ us and wave us in gratis. You see Brad is a porn star and I’m a reality star and…You get the picture. Once inside the club was kinda empty but there were some hot, straight, ruff-looking papis and bros. There was a hot Latin stripper with a sweet bubble and a cute, just-the-right-side of fat, Black stripper w/a hot bubble also. Word to the Black stripper: Show more ass. That’s how you get tips. The club was hot. The music was hotter. But it was too dark. People (BRAD) kept stepping on my feet. And as usual I was wearing good shoes! Brown suede, modified chelsea boot w/wing tip detailing (hot!). Why the hell did I wear them to bars? So anyway the DL boys was staring @ Brad and I and the one I fancied (a hot little Latino # in a knit cap and dark green AE polo) was too. Unfortunately his friend, who was the same but not, saw me 1st and was eyeing me up and down. Damn. Well the cute one had on a wedding band so he must really have been on the DL. Brad and I bounced…



I posted this and got a lot of response but from the response felt it was too intimate and then took it down. Then I got “what happened to THIS IS PERSONAL?” and now I’m putting it back up. So without further ado:

Why are you back? What could you possibly want? It’s been almost 4 years. Why now? I waited for so long for this. I never loved anyone before you. I always wanted someone to love me and then I met you. And I learned the most important thing was to love someone else. I would have done anything to keep you. Did you know? That day when you walked away, I didn’t come to you because I couldn’t bring myself to put on an outfit that you would like, to come see you, so you could tell me what was wrong with me and why it was over. I couldn’t bring myself to play that scene. Because you know what? I would have cried. I would have begged you not to kill it. I would have made the biggest scene. Anything to keep you. So instead I let you go. I said “If you don’t love me and you want to be with someone else then go.” And you said, “It isn’t that simple.” I had a chance but I was too something to take it. Scared. Hurt. Proud. I had a “Love Shoulda Brought You Home Last Night” moment. Should I have fought? Would it have mattered?