Hey! Have you tweeted today yet? (If you don’t know what this is about, please to clicky here!)

Follow @LivitLuvit, my favorite contestant in the @MTVTJ search for MTV’s first Twitter Jockey! #zyncmtvtj

(Feel free to modify, the above suggestion is just for your copy & paste convenience. Cause I’m good like that.)

And now back to our regular programming…

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Growing up, I spent my high school years working in a TGI Friday’s in Suburbia, Massachusetts.

I am a complete an utter cornball, but… they were some of the best years of my life.

The friends I made while working there are the ones I see when I go back home. They’re the ones I call when life falls to pieces around me, or when something so amazing happens I have to share it with the world (cough cough MTV cough). Being older than I, they taught me about the facts of life in ALL capacities, and more importantly, snuck me into bars underage watched over me like big brothers and sisters.

There is quite literally NOTHING like working in a restaurant. The, ahem, environment there is unlike any place on earth. You know that movie “Waiting“? … Let’s just say it’s like that, times a thousand.

(And if you haven’t seen it, please people, take this very, very important message away…

Don’t fuck with the people who handle your food!!!!!!!!!!)

Anyhoo.

You BOND with these people in a way you never knew was possible. I imagine it’s kind of like going to war. A very pussified war, to be sure, but you know what I mean… you’re in it together, no matter what the jagoffs (be it customer, manager or cook) throw your way.

And how do you get through it, day after day? JOKES. Jokes, my friend… with a healthy dose of (friendly) sexual harrassment.

One of our running themes was the theory of The Three Types of Dude. It goes like this…

The overall personality of a guy falls into one of three categories:

1. Panache: a grand or strikingly bold manner; showy; conspicuously dashing.
2. Mojo: charisma; sex appeal; personal magnetism.
3. Je ne sais quoi: having that certain “I don’t know what”… but damn if it ain’t good.

Now, a guy can certainly overlap a bit. He can be “mostly mojo, with just a hint of panache,” or “je ne sais quoi, with a streak of mojo.” But in general, nearly every (sexy) man on the planet can be clearly identified as predominantly having one of the three characteristics.

Let me show you it.

Josh Holloway

Mojo. Pure, unadulterated mojo. I think this is true of most hot Southern boys…

Ryan Reynolds

Super panache. Panache coming out his pores. Panache for DAYS.

Will Smith

An unlikely half and half mix of panache and mojo.
Oh, how our Fresh Prince has grown!

Don Dra- I mean, John Hamm

A purebred of je ne sais quoi. He needs nothing else to get the job done.
(The job being our panties = creamed.)

Alexander Skarsgard

Mojo, mojo, and more mojo. Pure goddamn MOJO… with a sneaky hint of panache when he wants to throw it in there.
(Tyra must have taught him how to smile with his eyes.)

Taye Diggs

Mojo with a side dish of je ne sais quoi.
How can you be that sexy AND that sweet??

Brad Pitt

Panache… with a very healthy dose of mojo. Wink for us, baby.

The Cloon

Oh, George. You are truly the ultimate in je ne sais quoi, but truth be told…
you have it all.

Sigh. Well, I just made MY Thursday better, anyway.

Who am I missing, and what would they be?

Also, gentleman: I challenge you to come up with a similar system for the ladies. Would it just be “cute, sexy, pretty”? You can do better than that…

Update! My friend Emil has risen to the challenge… what do you think, ladies?? Did he get us?

…even though I haven’t been on an “I’m single” date in two years. *Evil cackle*

Head on over to read about the “S.C.O.R.E. System,” a la LiLu. And add your 2 cents while you’re at it.

Recently, I’ve been getting a lot of emails about finding one’s “voice,” a la blog.

(At least, I hope y’all meant blogs… I can’t help you with your press releases and such. I before e, mofos.)

Anyhoo, they send me these emails because- get this- they seem to think I’ve found MINE.

I know. I know.

And every time I get one of those, it sort of takes me aback. “Did they send this to the right person… Do they really mean MY little mess of a corner?”

This is all a bit odd for me. Now, I don’t deny that I am- currently- one big bag of personality. For better or for worse, ya love me or hate me. Holy Hell… I’ve become a Kardashian!!

But, my dear friends, and you knew there was a “but”… ’twas not always this way.

{insert shimmery “Saved by the Bell”-style fade out to a time long ago…}

dee dee dee dee, dee dee dee dee… okay I’m done.

Confession: When I was in 7th grade, I used to lock myself in closets and cry, because I thought I was so…

wait for it…

BORING.

(Sidebar: Sorry for that time at Steve’s house when you all really thought I was dead, Mom. I think I fell asleep. They must use fancy fabric softener or something.)

You see, I was part of a group… and we had the “funny” friend. The “tomboy” friend. The “boy-crazy” one, the “good-at-sports” one and the “smart” one.

And none of them were me.

I couldn’t figure out where I fit in. I was like a gay boy at a Texan high school with no musical theater program through which to find my true calling.

To be fair, this was also SEVENTH GRADE, when I’m pretty sure everyone and their mom felt like that. Or at least felt shitty about themselves in some way. Maybe you should all send me junior high pictures of yourselves so I feel better. Please?

God, this is turning into a therapy session. Okay, out of the Trust Tree and back into the real world. (Just not Real World DC. They really are boring.) The point is, eventually I found my goddamn voice or personality or chi or whatever the fuck you want to call it. And it took three things…

1. Time. As in growing up (and into my big ole nose) and all that.
2. Taking risks, like moving to the south, or getting a Brazilian. And lastly,
3. Putting myself out there. NOT IN THE SEXY WAY, you pervs. Like, metaphorically, and shit.

What do those three things add up to? That’s right, class. Say it with me: EXPERIENCE.

And so it shall be with your blog. There’s no escaping it- it won’t take off if you huddle in your corner of the interwebs wondering if anyone will notice you, crying in your e-closet. And Steve’s mom won’t be there to eventually find you, dry your eyes, give you a cookie, and call your mom to come get her bag of crazy-ass daughter.

Write. Write well, and openly, and as often as you can. Every time you hit “publish” your voice will become stronger, your direction more apparent. But that, of course, is only half of it.

GET OUT THERE. Think of the blogosphere as one big dating field. How will anyone know you exist if you don’t say “hi”? Then maybe they see your comment and come over, they say hi too… oh look, you even have stuff in common! Let me take you out for an e-drink, i.e. give you an “award” or tag you in a meme or add you to my blogroll, and then other people e-meet you too, and so on and so forth!

The fantastic difference between dating and blogging is you can connect with as many people as you want. Um, I think I just compared blogging to polygamy… hmm. Well, how bout we just don’t tell B about that handie you’re giving me under the e-table and leave it at that?

Anyhoo, I think this place is kind of great. And if you think so too, and you want to be a part of it… make yourself heard. With time, your voice will develop, and who knows… you might just find the Zach to your Slater out here.

That’s right, folks, housekeeping! Because I have a buncha random tidbits for you, and frankly, it’s been a helluva week.

Despite work handing my ass to me every day on a silver platter, the past few days have been really freaking cool. I was invited a premiere of Teddy Folkman’s (chef and owner of the INCREDIBLE Granville Moore’s) new menu premiere at Capitol Lounge, so B and I are guaranteed to have an amazing meal tomorrow evening. (P.S., I made the reservation for four and our other couple can’t make it… anybody hungry?) I also received a bunch of requests to participate in stuff for free shit. You guys all know how I feel about free stuff, right? I AM A FAN. Just FYI. Send it this way, folks. I’ll give it a good home.

And then, I was informed me last night that This. Just. HAPPENED:

Yes, my darlings, you are correct in what you see… that is MY FACE stuffing itself with hangover cheeseburger on the home page of 20 Something Bloggers! So many of you went to bat for me in their Nominations thread, I just can’t thank you enough… especially my darling Muppet Soul, who first put my name up there. THANKS, y’all! That seriously made my week. Month, I suppose, since that’s how long my ridiculous picture will be up there.

Because I am greedy and nothing is ever enough, I just found out via the lovely Stephanie that I’ve also been nominated for Funniest Blogger over here. So if you FEEL like it, you could click on the button below and vote for my lil’ ole self. I’m up against the bigwigs like Dooce and my heart of hearts Jenny, of course, but hey, never hurts to try. (You don’t have to log in or anything to vote. Just sayin.)

This concludes this Friday’s session of self-pimpage. I promise.

(Wait, real quick I just want to say thankyousomuch for all the input on Wednesday’s post about our blog gripes! I was a little terrified when I hit “Publish” on that one, but it’d been stewing inside for a while… and clearly you all feel the same way. So THANKS for that, truly.)

Okay. NOW I’m done.

Let’s move on to “Awesome Things People Basically, My Friend Court Sent Me This Week.”

1. One of my guilty pleasures is the Sky Mall magazine. With things like Hula chairs, nose bleed stoppers, and signed “Soup Nazi” photos, what better entertainment could you ask for? Well, now they bring us this…

Yes, that’s right people… your very own handy-dandy Wine Glass Neck Holder! Never again will turbulence steal a drop of your $5 Sutter Home merlot! Be hands-free at your dinner party for hand-shaking WHILE you eat all the shrimp cocktail! (Kristina, I know you’ll especially love this.)

2. Twin blue-eyed panther cubs born in Berlin! I have no words… just LOOK:

Read the whole story about these adorable little abominations here.

3. Bret Michaels taking a piece of the stage to the head at the Tony Awards.

Look, I actually love me some Bret… his show has brought me ENDLESS hours of entertainment and a whole lot of feeling-better-about-myself-because-DAMN-look-at-those-not-so-hot-messes! But this is HILARIOUS. Thanks, Fearless! My life is better for having seen that.

4. Okay, I don’t know what’s going on over in Germany, but apparently their zoos ROCK, because they have a gay penguin couple raising a chick together! No, really… this is not a joke.

AWESOME SAUCE.

5. And finally… Forget week, forget month… this? Made MY LIFE. It’s true. Maxie heard me “squeeeee!” when she told me about it.

Zack Morris on Late Night with Jimmy Fallon. No, not Mark-Paul Gosselar…

ZACK. FREAKING. MORRIS. My very first TV crush, cinderblock cell phone and all.

TIME IN!

One last housekeeping… if you’re not doing anything tonight and you want to meet a group of us for Happy Hour, leave your email in the comments and I’ll shoot you the deets. Mama needs a beer YESTERDAY, y’all.

Happy weekend, lovebugs… and thank you for everything!

Once upon a time, I was a flirt.

Correction: as far back as I can remember, even in my preschool days… I was a flirt.

I cannot remember a time when I didn’t spend a ridiculous amount of energy trying to make the opposite sex desire me, burn for me, fall desperately in love with me.

Then, almost a year ago now, I fell. I fell so hard I skinned my knees and chipped a tooth. I fell so hard, I pulled my heart out of my chest- the WHOLE thing, including all the pieces I thought others had stolen over the years. I took it with every last scratch and scab, the whole tangled and bloody mess, and I handed it over to him, completely.

And I’ve never regretted it for a second.

Since that moment, the vixen has all but disappeared. My eyes only bat coquettishly at him, he is the only one I sashay my hips for. The playful seductress is gone. Instead of making men wonder what I am thinking when I walk by them on the street, I avoid their eyes, not wanting to engage in an awkward conversation that inevitably ends with a gentleman feeling I am brushing him off with the old “boyfriend” line.

More than that, I respect my man too much to subscribe to a cheap thrill for my ego.

Sometimes I miss the banter, the game, the excitement of knowing a man is hungrily plotting his plan of pursuit, whether I want him or not. But not often, and certainly not enough.

There is only one concern that dances in my mind occasionally… an age-old question among those “taken”…

“Do I still have it?”

Skills wane if they are not exercised; this is undeniable. Could I still convince a man to stop on the street, using only my eyes? Could I persuade him to send over a drink in a bar, simply by letting him catch only the corner of a glance? Or would I be rusty? Does my status of “Someone’s S.O. and couldn’t be happier” radiate from my pores, nullifying all other pheromones?

It is not a pressing concern. It is certainly nothing that plagues me. It is a simple passing thought, nothing more than a wondering in the wind- inevitable on my long walks on the streets of my city.

Last week, I left work after a long day… in the pouring rain. As I made my way to a much-needed cocktail with the girls, I huddled at an intersection, waiting for the light to change while God’s tears began to soak me through.

Suddenly, an enormous umbrella was looming over my head. I looked up into the eyes of a gorgeous young man in a perfectly fitted suit. He gave me a cocky grin; he might as well have supplemented it with a wink. I responded with a nervous smile, flattered and grateful, (a little bewildered,) but not wanting to seem anything more.

Our “WALK” appeared, and we sailed across the street. As we reached the other side, it was clear he intended to travel that way as far as I would go, and my inner “Inappropriate Meter” began to go off.

“Thank you,” I simply said, and split off from his shelter quickly, heading west instead of his north. I didn’t look back, but I could feel him stop and look after me, wondering.

“And that’s how I like it,” I thought, with satisfaction. “Wondering.”

 Yup.

Still got it.