CJK

Been very happy with this Kitchen Aid appliance. It can cook dinner for four, the air fryer function works well and I have even baked bread in it often, as the bread comes out with a great crust, similar to how it comes out when baked in a Le Creuset pot. KitchenAid 1 Cu. Ft. Dual Convection Countertop Toaster Oven with Air Fry Black Matte KCO224BM - Best Buy

La Cage did not open until after I graduated and move to Atlanta for law school. I went there on visits to DC. I loved Lone Star and Texas Drilling. The dancers were always hard and many would crouch down on the bar and stick their cocks in a patron's mouth. And I remember "a friend." actually screwing a couple dancers in a dark corner. IIRC one of those bars had large windows facing the street.

You win! I worked at the American Cafe Georgetown which was a couple doors down from Mr. Henry's. We would sometimes go there after the day shift, which I worked on Fridays. It was virtually impossible to actually have classes on Friday at GW back then. I remember the Pier. in 1982-3 they would hold college parties on Friday nights. Fliers would be slipped under dorm room doors at all the area colleges. It was all straignt college students but they would show rotating gay photos on the walls. I remember trying to look at the pictures but not seem like I was looking at the pictures. It was not until the summer after my Freshman year that I started going to Badlands, The Frat House, the Lost and Found and the establishments on O St and near 14th St.

I remember those days fondly. My time period would be right before your time period. Secrets was not open yet. IIRC there was a lesbian bar at that location called The Men's Den. La Cage was not open yet, nor was the place below the bathhouse and Follies. Fireplace Bar was on P St, with a fireplace in the front which could be seen on P St. It was an old man's bar. I had a friend who would frequent that place to find "sponsors" for the night.

Thanks. We finally have everything in balance. My legs are pretty much healed, it's just the skin has to go back to normal. I did lose all the hair on my legs, though.

My legs have healed significantly, but at one point they did look like the pic on the left. Believe it or not for some time they actually looked worse.

Sorry ahead of time for the long post, but let me throw this out there... I have been to hell and back health-wise between 2016 and just recently in large part because of misdiagnosis. Unfortunately, many of the things posted on this thread were part of that hell. Maybe this will help someone ask what could be the right doc-questions for his case.... In 2016, something just was not right. The doc thought I was pre-diabetic. Despite taking diet and exercise steps, my weight started to increase. By 2018 I was over 260lbs and went into the hospital for the first of many times. We will call this Hospital A. It is a university teaching hospital known worldwide for a government health agency headquartered on campus. (he-hem). I was told to stop eating cakes, cookies, potato chips and soda and put on metformin. We (me, my sister, two friends) explained I did not eat these things. The doc, very condescendingly, said I needed to read labels because everything has labels. We explained I shopped at a farmers' market, cooking fresh veggies and plain proteins. The doc snapped, "What about bread? Bread comes in a bag with a label, or do you bake your own?" When I answered truthfully, I have baked my own since I was twelve, he thought I was being smart with him and never came back. A few weeks later my Internist admitted me to Hospital B for something else that was complicated and required expertise only available there. This is a huge community hospital which also supports two medical schools. The docs there threw lots of diabetes drugs my way and diuretics (Lasix) to get some fluid out. Once again, I explained my weight made no sense given my diet but was not believed. They were satisfied when we pumped put enough water to get me to 230, even though I could not put on shoes because my feet were too swollen from liquid. I was in Hospital B five times total over the next year, including for bypass surgery (hereditary heart issues), complained about the water weight constantly but to no avail. The docs gaslighted me into believing my weight was a product of what I was eating, even though I could not identify what it was I was eating. My weight continued to go up and down sharply and quickly. I went to Hospital C, a small hospital in a mountain state, when my legs swelled so much they busted open and started leaking pools of water, which caused hurtful infections on my legs. This was March 15, 2022, and I weighed over 280lbs. In five stays, 25 weeks over eight months, they would treat the wounds, pump some water out and tell me I should get lap band surgery. I would have several discussions with food services about making sure I got healthy food and often sent things back to the kitchen when it was something I could not eat. One of the docs said if I at like that at home this problem would go away. I pointed out I did eat like that at home and since I had been in the hospital, I put on ten pounds. At least they finally believed Lasix did not work for me, so we at least switched diuretics. I went back in Hospital B for about a month, but the care was awful. The Fellow who had been a great doc the first time had finished the program and moved back to his country. They way over-medicated me. I left there weighing three pounds more than when I got there, almost 230lbs. Thirty-six hours after discharge, I fell on the floor (overmedication) and was taken to Hospital D, a large hospital where rich Atlanta goes. The docs there said I had way too much water and pumped out about 25 lbs. I will admit, I thought they pumped out just about all the water. But a few weeks after discharge, I was back in an ambulance (first of two minor heart attacks) and was taken to Hospital E, known as one of the better hospitals in the area, but many people think A and D are better. The docs kept saying how much water I had in me while I kept thinking my legs and midsection barely looked swollen. Bottom line, the combination of my bad kidneys and an 85% hidden heart blockage were causing me to retain water, often rapidly. I entered the hospital weighing 238lbs and left three weeks later at 187 lbs. Over the past few weeks, it has gone to 175lbs. The other day, my doc said he thinks we have about fifteen-twenty more to go. To put the weight into perspective, we have pumped out the equivalent of over 27 2-liter bottles of soda. It is like I was carrying 27 2-liter bottles full of liquid around with me all the time. Turns out I was not fat, nor was I eating incorrectly, but I was retaining water due to underlying health issues. I am feeling healthy for the first time in six years. Although the kidney and heart damage are permanent, both are working so much better. The point of this long, rambling post is do not just accept the first answer your doc gives you. Saying you need to be on diabetes drugs is the easy way out for your doc. If the diagnosis does not make sense, push for every test known to man. My reluctance to push the docs and make them dig more cost me six years, my house. my car, my savings, friendships and family (they were tired of me being sick so stopped calling, emailing, texting, etc. None of them have spoken to me in a year, since my sister told me she was tired of hearing I was in the hospital again and should just take a handful of pills.)

I took Trulicity before the latest Ozempic craze. (The two are similar.) My though at the time was, "Of course you will lose weight on these drugs. Projectile vomiting will do that." Metformin caused me a different world of hurt. There were days when I had to change my pants eight times. Although I did learn the best way to get smells out of clothes is to launder them in vinegar before laundering them in detergent. After being on and off Farxiga and Jardiance (back and forth a few times) I am now solely using insulin. It is proven, has few side effects and works. I take 10 units of long acting (Levemir) a day and short acting (Humalog) as needed. I am extremely careful with my diet, but given my kidney and cardiac dietary restrictions, the diabetic restrictions are third. I worked with a dietician for about six months, concentrating on what I can eat, not what I cannot. Although the list is pretty short, I have been able to avoid needing the short acting insulin most days. Pasta, rice, potatoes, whole grains, spinach, corn, legumes, cold cuts and most processed foods are gone. Cabbage is a great substitute for just about everything. Sticking to plain vegetables and lean fish, chicken or beef is pretty easy when the alternative is dialysis or death. Believe it or not, cake and ice cream are okay occasionally. When I was in the hospital a couple weeks ago (two mild heart attacks and a heart procedure) the dietician came to my room after the procedure. He explained he was required to see patients after the procedure, but I was one of the very few patients with whom he knew he did not really need to discuss diet. We talked about other crap just so he could say he had been to see me.

And of course, the themes to The Twilight Zone, The Addams Family, The Munsters, The Odd Couple, Cheers and Friends are each cultural touchstones, recognizable to just about everyone from the first bar.

Hawaii Five-0, the original 1968 series. I stream episodes just about daily. Not just the great theme song, which was re-recorded throughout the show's long run, but the orchestration throughout each episode is incredible.

Until they stopped working. It has something to do with my creatine levels and kidney function. I had a catheterization on Friday. Blockage found. Surgery to unblock on Monday. So the statins were not blocking anything...

Ugh. I have not been to the movies in years. If memory serves me right, the last movie I saw in the theater was Ted in 2012. Who wants to rush to get to a dirty theater in time to see fifteen minutes of commercials before the movie starts blaring while your shoes are suddenly sticky from the soda someone spilled at the earlier showing. Sitting close to strangers who cough without covering their mouths, answer their phones during the movie, brush up against you as they scoot out of your row to go to the bathroom only to do the same thing in reverse ten minutes later is gross. What sane person would pay fifteen dollars for the privilege? Nowadays home entertainment systems are good, we all have air conditioning, we can snack at home without paying $10 for $0.25 of popcorn and an even higher mark-up for soda or candy. And God forbid you might want to snack on raw veggies or drink an adult beverage. Add to that: the quality of television content has gotten very good while movies are mostly dreck.

The Carter Library is close to my house. I have been there many times. The Carters have an apartment in the Library. A few years ago, my house was broken into. Several police officers responded and were actually gathering evidence and dusting for fingerprints. There was an APD police officer who the neighborhood association hired to provide security in his off hours who also responded. Suddenly the officers were having a meeting in my living room. The officer who handled the neighborhood security patrol told me the Carters' bicycles had been stolen and most of the officers had to go over there to investigate. They were trying to decide which officers could stay at my house and which had to go to the Carter Library. None of the officers wanted go there because working with Secret Service meant lots of extra paperwork!

I am confused.... Did you previously regularly communicate over social media and have now been blocked? If that is the case, take the hint and move on. Or has the provider kept other lines of communication open but does not want to communicate with you over his personal social media accounts? In that case, the provider is obviously trying to keep his personal and professional relationships separate. If you can respect the provider's parameters, then you should continue the business relationship.

The following is not being given as medical advice, but as a talking point for you and your doctor.... My heart issues are hereditary, too. My grandfather died in his late fifties. My father had his first heart attack at age 28, bypass at 47, his first heart transplant at 50, his second heart transplant at 57 and died at 58, my present age. (A previously undiagnosed infection may have exacerbated the heart condition.) My cholesterol was not very high, but after a heart attack it was decided lower would be better, I was not eating bad stuff, so diet alone was not going to work. After fiddling around with various drugs, I went on a combination of atorvastatin (Lipitor) and ezetimibe (Zetia). It has been about a year, and it seems to be working without side effects.

Which, IMO, is the problem. Fortunately for those that do shave there are men who like that. Fortunately for me, there are men who do not shave everywhere.

NATURAL!!!!!!!!! And don't get me started on men who shave their pits or chests. I like a man who feels like a man, smells like a man and looks like a man.

OT: I went to LA for my 30th birthday, so this must have been late March 1994. I was staying at the Ramada. One morning, I got out of the shower, toweled off and opened the door just a crack to pick up the USA Today. The paper was a little farther from the door than I expected. I reached for it. And I heard the door latch. I was wearing nothing but a towel. The woman in the next room heard me, opened her door and called down to the front desk for me. The desk clerk assured me it happened all the time, I then met my cousin from breakfast at Hugo's, just down the street, James Woods was sitting at the table next us, alone, reading the LA Times. He left the paper and another customer got up to take it. He held the sports section in the air and pointed out is had not been touched, saying something like, "what does that tell us?"

For years I had top status with Delta and mid-tier status with United. Southwest and Spirit were extreme last choices. Southwest always seemed unprofessional, from the jokey FAs to the festival seating to the too casual uniforms.

The reporting requirement is widely misunderstood. Banks need to report any single deposit or withdrawal over $10k, but that does not relieve the bank from reporting certain deposits below that amount. This includes both cash and negotiable instruments involving a customer who does not usually deal with large amounts of money. (The grocery store likely deposits large amounts daily and does not need to be reported, but some guy who usually has $7500 direct deposited from work each month who suddenly shows up with a $15,000 check does.) Cumulative cash deposits within one year in excess of $10k must be reported. This means the bank customer who deposits $500 2x/mo for a year must be reported. This would likely include most full-time providers. Any suspicious deposits below $10k must be reported. Because the penalties to the bank can be quite high and reporting is relatively easy, banks err on the side of caution and report many more cash deposits than you would think.

Raw vegetables. I always have raw carrots, celery, cherry tomatoes, cukes, peppers and radishes cleaned and prepped to eat. Sometimes broccoli, cauliflower and zucchini/squash. My motto: If you make vegetables the easiest snack to quickly grab when you want something, vegetables will be the easiest snack to grab. On the rare occasion I want junk, it's Cheetos. Salty, orange-hand-causing, very processed cheese that goes crunch. Sometimes I try to substitute Pepperidge Farm Goldfish because they are healthier than Cheetos, but they do really answer the craving the way Cheetos do.

Slightly off topic: I remember being sixteen or seventeen, with my parents and sisters, shopping in the Manhattan Bloomingdales when nature called. I innocently walked into the men's room on the first floor. Every urinal was occupied, so I waited. For several minutes none of the men finished and moved on. Finally, one urinal opened up. I walked up to it, pulled out my cock and suddenly realized all those men were showing boners. Hot men. Mostly twenty-somethings in expensive suits. Some were reaching over to help the man next to them. I had never seen or heard of such a thing happening in a public restroom. My cock immediately stood at attention, and when the man next to me touched it... wow, just wow. Another guy stuck his finger in my butt and stopped my cock from spurting, only to lightly massage it for the most intense orgasm I had ever had up to that point. I quickly pulled my pants back up, rejoined my family and acted like nothing happened, but after that I was constantly on the lookout for tea rooms. On my next NYC trip, I was visiting my grandmother without the rest of the family, I went back to Bloomingdales. I met a guy there who invited me to work out with him at the Y the next day. (92nd St Y, circa 1980) The Y was a block from my grandmother's apartment. It became a regular stomping ground for me when I would visit her. I often woke up, went over there, worked out and messed around in the locker area with men who were working out before going to work.

Sorry if I previously posted this elsewhere. Back in the eighties Joey Stefano was performing on a Sunday at the Follies. I was young, hot, hung and wearing spandex biking shorts. He quickly left the stage, came down to the audience and grabbed my cock through the spandex. In no time he pulled my shorts down, slicked up my cock with his mouth, turned around and rode me like I was the mechanical bull at Gillies. I started to shoot in his ass, he slipped off my cock, turned around, took my cock in his mouth then, when my cock stopped spurting, he put it back into his ass, all in front of the audience, I once saw Justin Dragon (look him up) when he was performing at the Nob Hill Theater. He invited me to go back into the shower with him where we messed around with men watching through the glass. I later found out there were cameras broadcasting live over the internet. We were both tops so there was no screwing. And once in Prague I saw a pretty well-known Bel Ami model at Pinocchio Bar. He came back to my hotel and stayed with me for a couple days. He acted as my private tour guide and would not let me pay him. Fortunately, it was before they all started shaving their pubes and pits.

Prior to 2007, self-employment income would be verified for something like a mortgage by having the potential borrower provide a copy of his tax returns. People started filling out fake tax returns to show fake income. Lenders started pulling tax transcripts to ensure what was handed to them was the actual return, so fraudsters started filing fake amended tax returns showing inflated income. Borrowers would often create a fictitious business and fill out Schedule C. These became known as hair-braider loans after a frequently used sole-proprietor type. The lender would pull the transcript, the figures would match. By increasing the income, the taxpayer would owe more tax, but the IRS would allow a payment plan. After the loan was granted, the borrower would file another amended return bringing the income back down and wiping out the additional taxes. Lenders caught on and would not grant loans where there were amended returns without proof there was no increase in income and pulling transcripts up to six months after the loan closed. But the problem still existed. So now lenders require proof that the borrower engages in the proclaimed business. For example, with a therapist, a state license and a check with 411 to see if there is s telephone listing might work. With a hairdresser, the license and a copy of a published ad. Heck, once a plumber provided a picture of the side of his truck which showed the business name and contact information. A stripper might provide a letter from the strip club owner on letterhead, which would then be independently verified by looking up the club's phone number and business license followed by calling to get telephone verification.

Meh. I was selective about where I purchased them. If I did not get them at an actual sex shop, it would be late night at the convenience store just over the bridge to Georgetown on Q St in DC or the Conoco on Cheshire Bridge at Sheridan in Atlanta. Both had night clerks who were too stoned to remember much of anything. Frankly, I did not care who knew I jerked off just like every other young man on the planet, only with a bigger piece of meat. I was not embarrassed to breath, eat or brush my teeth, why would I be embarrassed about jerking off?