Indulge this little shout-out, will ya?

Dear You Know Who,

A girl can dream, can't she? And someday, this dream shall be more than reality; it shall be a way of life. Here's to you (know whoooooo)! Today is the first day of the rest of your manties.

A gay day on the town, jaunting from haunt to gay haunt, K8 and Kate did Austin. Or … Austin did us?

First, a sammich from the very lady- and family-friendly Lavaca Street Deli. The dee-lish French bread's big enough for leftovers, and the mood is peaceful, even among a Downtown lunch rush. (Lucinda Williams on the box: always a nerve-calmer.)

Then, we went to Lobo, Austin's Planet Gay (with a capital G, as in rainbow everything, boy panties, shirts that say "Catcher," lezzie fashion, DVDs, and edumacational models) store in a strip mall on Guadalupe in the middle of Hyde Park. Just the funniest place for it, we think.

Especially after we went in, and the chick behind the counter, named Bell, a femme fatale with intricately detailed eye make-up and little inhibition, asks, "You wanna spankin'?" And that's the first thing she asks. Not, "Can I help you find something?"

Messer demurred. But I say, "Yeah. Why not?" thinking, I'll call her bluff with my bluff. No bluff.

"You got a wallet in yer back pocket? Yeah, take that out."

So there I am, with two hands on the glass case filled with rainbow jewelry, and Bell starts patting me down with her leather wand, first softly down my legs; then up, harder; then my butt, patting it, not painful but harder still; and it starts to get hot. It was only then when – and perhaps this was my imagination – the wand seemed to creep around to the tingly parts, and I realize, "Hey! I'm in the middle of a store. I'm in front of Messer, and I'm getting that feeeeeeeling down there." Better stop. [Hey, don't stop on my account. – Editor.]

But yeah, so, go to Lobo. They spank.

Oh those wacky, increasingly scary Poles! Apparently there is quite a delay in satellite signals between here and the ex-Soviet Bloc, as Polish government children’s rights department spokeswoman Ewa Sowinska is just now catching up to the trumped up Tubbie-controversy surrounding the sexuality of one Tinky Winky, that strapping, oft-maligned purple pal from Teletubbieland. You know, the one with the triangle antennae and… the purse, ummm, errr, magic bag.

"I noticed he was carrying a woman’s handbag," Sowinska said. "At first, I didn’t realize he was a boy."

We're just wondering if Sowinska believes in reincarnation and if she felt any strange presences entering her body 'round about May 15?

Do you think they carry garters at the new bridal shop which caters to gay men in Spain?

According to UPI, "Santiago Porrero of Barcelona said his shop, called By, will feature custom-made suits — some inlaid with 22-carat gold — selling for between $2,000 and about $8,000."

The fact that I am currently watching The Day After Tomorrow…

Or the fact that I've already seen it before. Twice.

(I think I do it for Jake.)

Laura Baumbach is our kinda dame! Too bad the Houston Hyatt doesn't feel the same way.

The male/male romance writer (yup, she's a born she and not even a lesbian!), on the bestsellers lists of Amazon and Barnes & Noble, had her promo materially yanked by the Hyatt management during a romance writers conference held at the hotel last week.

How can you not totally love a straight woman who has this as the manifesto of her blog, Sensually Wicked Man Love:

"The thoughts and challenges I come across in being a heterosexual woman, wife and mother who loves to write m/m erotic romances. I'm not gay or male, but the thoughts of two gorgeous, confident men together is my idea of a hot time! I write for others, both men and women, who feel the same."

Here's her version of what went down.

You go, Laura. In fact, the next time you go to Houston, may we recommend some more, emmm ... evolved properties? Like the Hotel Derek. Or the Lovett Inn. Or the Lancaster Hotel. Or La Colombe D'Or?

Discharged (Ew. Can't they come up with a better word???) Navy guy Jason Knight has been re-upped to active duty, according to this piece in the Stars & Stripes.

That's all well and good, but is he going to get his 13K back? Sheesh.

Even more severe tattoos. Notice Jean Fineberg's very serious forearm crossbones of sax and flute. Helping Deuce mean a different kind of release.

(Thanks to KXM for the album that has made my year. Now if only I could find a close-up on that tatty...)

Doogie Howser. The Neil Patrick Harris, only because, on a whim, rerenting Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle is a good idea, if only to catch the ever-ironic "I Love Pussy" monologue given by the then-not-so-out film star. It's brilliant tongue-in-cheek.