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As I was coming into work this morning, I saw that someone had thrown away a stuffed dog and it was on the floor in front of the dumpsters. It was old and worn out, and I'm sure it provided many years of comfort to someone. I laughed a little because I thought of the Simpsons episode with Mister Burns and his Bobo, then Smithers in his Bobo costume. Like Mister Burns, I had a stuffed bear when I was a kid.

I was six years old and I got him for Christmas. I named him Courtney, after a boy in my class with whom I had a fond relationship. Human Courtney and I shared cubbie holes and had sword fights... with our He-Man action figures. Courtney Bear went everywhere with me and he was my best friend. He smelled like soy sauce because he was on the kitchen counter when I accidentally spilled a bottle of soy sauce when I was in the cabinets trying to get cookies. You can imagine how I get a little misty-eyed whenever I'm in a sushi restaurant or the Asian food section of a supermarket.

When I was ten years old, I started making fun clothes for Courtney and that's when my mother got alarmed. She thought it was cute at first, but she freaked when we had matching outfits. One day I woke up and Courtney was gone. I searched frantically, but I never found him. Later when I was in high school, my mother confessed to throwing him away because she thought he was making me weird. She also complained that he had a bad smell, but that was only the soy sauce. I wouldn't let her launder him because I was afraid he'd drown. I never really forgave my mother for throwing away one of my best friends.

Anyone who has owned a stuffed animal understands the connection and the importance of carrying it around everywhere. Psychologists call it a 'transitional object,' because they're all emotionally dead inside and have to put scientific labels on things to help them deal with the fact that they can never have a meaningful relationship with anyone. When you think about it, a cherished stuffed animal is something that you love and it won't ever talk back to you or tell you anything that you don't want to hear (partly because it can't talk at all). And isn't it cute to go to a guy's place and to see his favorite stuffed toy on his bed or on his night stand? Yeah it can be creepy if he clings to it, but it looks cute from far away. It's also a great way to get the guy to do whatever you want. "You're gonna cuddle with me or the bear gets it!" ::letter opener positioned over the poor bear, ready to stab::

This week I encountered another type of gay man that makes my jeans feel all tight. There's a gentleman at the Chase Bank on Bryn Mawr (the one with the bulletproof glass teller windows) who caught my eye with his thick muscular build and his buzz cut hair that was gelled forward like if Julius Caesar grew up in the barrio. While other employees wore white undershirts, he wore a black one with his silver chain barely showing because he's such a rebel. He called me over by nodding his head back with a raised eyebrow and a smile, saying "how you doin?" and I was immediately disarmed by his thuggish charm and the sight of the tattoos peeking out from where his neck meets his shoulders. I got all giddy and I felt like I turned into a pile of goo.

The Thug who has his Shit Together (or TST) is another type of gay man that I absolutely love. He ranks up there with the Hot Gay Nerd (HGN) and the Dazed Circuit Boi (DCB). The TST exhibits a lot of thuggish aspects like the silver or gold chains, the thick booty, the car with the airplane wing spoiler, and the strict adherence to the "Thug Life" code of ethics. He lays there in bed talking dirty to you and squeezes your ass while you ride him. He wears basketball shoes with a tuxedo. In every picture you take of him, he has his head thrown back with his lips pursed and one eyebrow raised. You find the TST working at the most uncharacteristic of places such as banks, museums, or fabric showrooms.

I knew that the Chase TST was gay because we spent a good amount of time flirting. I complimented his chain and he blushed. Then he told me that the picture on my ID was 'damn cute' because of my smile. Then I told him that I don't usually come to this particular location and he replied with: "dude, you need to start comin' to DIS one! I'm here every day... 'cept Sundays." Of course! He's gotta go to church with his grandma.

I really like my acronym gay boys. I wish I could have them ready to come out like they were Pokemon. I'd be at a circuit party and I'd need to know which dance moves to use when I'm up on a box, so I'd call the DCB: "DAZED CIRCUIT BOI, I CHOOSE YOU!!!" Then when I get ruffed up by some punk who wants me to go down on him, I'll call my TST to save me: "GO, THUG WHO HAS HIS SHIT TOGETHER! DEFEND ME!"

One of my biggest pet peeves is hearing people use the word 'gay' as a negative. I'm sure you've heard people say how 'gay' something is when they hate it or when it inconveniences them. It was used that way so often at AMC when I worked there years ago that I started to give written warnings (harassment) to people. Was I overacting? I don't think so.

People are equating the word 'gay' with something negative, and it's very hurtful to be associated with negativity. It means that people think gay men and women are inferior and aren't worthy to be regarded as highly as people who are not gay. It's no different than the various racist terms that people use to associate someones race with something negative.

It's even worse when a gay person uses the word 'gay' as a negative and says that it's okay to say it because he's gay himself. One of the boys who worked at AMC at the time, a big flaming gay boy whose name rhymed with "Shaybraham," kept saying that working long hours was gay. He did it so he could fit in with his friends because he thought that downplaying the obvious jab at homosexuals while being a homosexual himself would make his heterosexual friends feel more comfortable. It's not fair to call yourself a homosexual while allowing people to make fun of other homosexuals.

What he didn't realize that he was actually interfering with all of the progress that gay people have made, and allowing small-minded people to think that it's okay for all the other gay people to be the butt of every gay joke.

I can't stop being gay, the same way a person of color can't take the pigment out of his or her skin. Being ridiculed or denigrated for the parts of ourselves that make us unique is completely wrong, and people should start recognizing that. Fuck you, Shaybraham!

When I was a kid, all of my classmates had the popular British Knights shoes. It was all about the British Knights back then. Mama was raising five kids at the time, and we couldn't afford to make me popular by buying the latest fad. All of the kids who had BKs went on and on about how happy they were with them and they'd all get together and whisper things about people who didn't have them. They'd interact with people who didn't have BKs with such haughty and condescending attitudes. I always felt like I was a piece of shit because I didn't have those damned shoes. I even remember a day during PE when one of the kickball team captains only picked people who had BKs. Kids can be so cruel!

I was so desperate to fit in that I sent a ton of postcards to Nickelodeon's hit game show, Double Dare, in hopes of getting on the show. All contestants on Double Dare were given complimentary pairs of British Knights. My friend Tamara would be my partner and we'd use a combination of my smarts and her physical abilities to win it big. We were never chosen.

Now I'm 28 and I find the same thing happening to me, but this time it's not hideous shoes that people are flaunting. It's the boyfriend. Now all my friends have boyfriends and I'm the single guy that they feel sorry for. Have you ever been the only single-by-choice person in a group of couples? To them, everything you say is a sad cry for help resulting from months of solitude. There's no way for a single guy to explain it to anyone without sounding like he's in denial.

I also find that couples only like to spend time with other couples, and that's probably because it's hard to find a table that seats an odd number of people. It's just like in elementary school where all the BK kids hung out together, making everyone else feel stupid. They all mass together at parties they planned for couples to attend and they hold hands and think to themselves how fortunate they are to have reached a higher level of spiritual growth by finding their soul mate while others like me are fated to walk the earth alone and miserable. You can't talk to their boyfriends because they'll immediately accuse you of flirting and being a whore when all you did was ask his opinion on a film or popular television show.

Then I noticed a sudden rise in the number of couples appearing (seemingly out of nowhere) and realized that a lot of these pairings could be due to the Fall/Winter Boyfriend Scramble. It's when the media uses holiday advertisements to make people want to find boyfriends. Jewelry commercials, Gap ads, and even antiperspirant commercials target the single consumer to make him or her feel like being single means being pathetic.

Forget the Nintendo Wii or anything in the Marc Jacobs line, because the boyfriend is the new must-have this year. Commercials that target single folks always show the magical moment when two lovers meet for the first time. They don't show every other morning in the couples' relationship where the dude is so tired of waking up next to the same man or woman for ten years, wishing he or she was ten pounds thinner and blond with a tighter ass and the ability to deep throat.

And one final thought: Flirting with other people's boyfriends doesn't make you a whore. Having sex with your friend's father does. Being single and having casual sex with multiple hot dudes in rapid succession doesn't make someone a whore. Waking up at a gas station the next morning with one shoe and a mouth full of semen does. Any questions?!?!?

I've been having the worst luck lately. It's never anything major. Little random things just happen to me sometimes. I'll stub my toe on a piece of furniture, the turnstiles at the train stations won't turn when I beep my card (causing me to squish my nuts on the bar when I walk forward), I'll get the shower head that doesn't work in the shower room at the gym, and I'll almost get hit by a car crossing the street because the driver never looks where he or she is going. Then I had a memory flashback from years ago...

When I was sixteen, I got a job working at Marine World Africa USA. Imagine Sea World and the Lincoln Park Zoo mixed together. I ran the kiosk next to the water ski show, selling cigarettes and sunblock. It was the ultimate irony (cigarettes cause types of cancer and sunblock helps prevent cancer) and I enjoyed it because I might be able to use it one day in an autobiography. A surly woman complained at how expensive the cigarettes were, and then she accused me of not giving her the correct change. After my manager counted my drawer and proved that the nasty bitch was wrong, the nasty bitch decided that the only way she could make me suffer was to put a curse on me.

I don't exactly remember what she said, but it was something like: "Misfortune will follow you..." or something like that. She pointed her finger at me and did a "poof, begone" gesture with her hands and walked away.

I laughed about it then, but I've had a lot of bad luck since then! I can't tell you how many times I've gotten hit in the head by baseballs and falling bird shit. Now I look back on my life and wonder how it would have turned out if she hadn't cursed me. I blame my stiff ankles on the curse, and that's why I am not a famous tap dancer like Savion Glover. GRR!! ::angry fist shaking::

Then I did what any sensible man of the new millennium would do in my situation. I used Google to find out how to break the curse. The use of technology to aid in the warding of curses may look attractive on Buffy the Vampire Slayer, but it never helps in real life. All I could find were stupid incantations and mind prayers written by non-gypsies.

I'm not really worried about the curse anymore because there are really only two types of curses that you should worry about: Gypsy curses and Sicilian curses. Since the woman from my past looked neither Gypsy nor Sicilian, I think I'm in the clear.

What is bad luck, anyway? It's the easiest way for jerks to put their minds at ease because they fail to realize that there is more than one way to look at a situation. When you stub your toe on a piece of furniture, are you cursed? Or is it an indication of your poor judgment in furniture placement? Maybe you're just fucking clumsy!