WHOOOO! Thank you California for the good time!

C'mon its a ligit question. Just look at the banner for the "Freeplay" Articles. They are ugly!! Not ugly but fugly.

I am visting my Aunt and Uncle in Chelsea. (near Boston).I'd never been to Chelsea before. I pulled over to check the map. 4th Street. Looks like I had overshot by one exit too many. Through heavy sheets of rain I circled around Chelsea City Hall, up Maple, back down Broadway. Eventually I found it tucked away on a residential street. I got out of the car. From the street I could see the girders of the Tobin Bridge. It was an odd feeling being so close to a bridge, but not actually being on it or heading towards it.

I had never been to a Russian bath house before. But here I was. Here I go! I walked in and approached the desk. "What'll ya have today?" Interesting question. If I were a woman I would have launched into queries of what was available, what was the best, what did he recommend, how does this all work, are there any specials? But I'm a man. So I feign jaded expertise as if I do this every weekend. "Just a steam," I reply. I'm handed a towel, flip-flops, a lock, and a disposable razor.

There's no locker room but instead a block of lockers, right there next to the desk. I change into my towel. "Enter rooms at own risk. Shower BEFORE and AFTER entering rooms" the sign says. I open the door to find three shower heads and doors to either side. I take a quick shower and go into the room on the left. Three levels of wooden benches. Rock walls. HEAT. I climb up to the top bench and I sit. And I sweat. To my left sits an older russian man. He's naked. He has a belly. He descends from his perch and grabs a branch of oak leaves from a bucket of water. He climbs back to his spot on the bench and begins to hit himself with the branch. Holy sh*t! I've read about this! I'm seeing this! He's not beating himself but is administering a pattern of one-two swats on his back, then his legs, his chest. Some of the small hard leaves fly off the branch. Sweat is pouring from every pore in my body. It feels good. My reign as youngest person in the place by at least 30 years is relinquished as two guys around my age come in and sit down. They're wearing their own personal flip-flops. They're talking about the Red Sox. I hate them. I'm saved by the appearance of three more large naked russian men all wearing the same sort of burlap hat. I don't understand the hats. But I kinda want one. They start turning a faucet that has a sign above it clearingly stating that it should only be touched by employees. These guys know what they're doing. Russian conversation fills the room. Twenty minutes later I'm fantasizing that they're talking about me and about how manly I am to be taking in the heat with men like them from the old country. I want to start a sentence, any sentence, that starts with "In Old Country.....", missing article and all. I want to play them in chess. I'm getting light-headed. I hit the showers again (heaven) and head towards the lounge area.

Cheap lounge chairs arranged in a crooked semi-circle face a table filled with half-eaten food and a bottle of Vox vodka from which a few russian men pour themselves nips. A few feet away in an area recessed by a single step, a large screen TV fills the wall and more chairs line facing it. I play it safe and decide not to eat anything. It might not be community food. Plus my stomach needs to recover from the stress of the possibility of getting lost on the drive over.

I take a seat and watch some TV. I haven't talked to anyone since I got here. Look over here. I am a young eager ear. Tell me your stories. Look at my soft smooth hands. They are honest, but they have not seen hard work. Tell me I am fat and lazy and that when you were my age you held three jobs and slept five to a bed. When I complain about traffic tell me how you once waited in a line for eight hours for a cup of sugar and 3 pieces of bread once. And you were thankful. Ah, I understand you need some time to warm up to me comrade - I understand. I won't push.

I'm the only one with a towel wrapped around my waist. It's noon and I've seen a lot of penie today. It's time to go. I change, pay, and head out. I've had a good schvitz. I will be back. And I will grow on them. Kind of like the fungus I'm convinced will appear on my feet soon from this little adventure.

Why I felt compelled to take the large ziplocked bag full of pennies from my friends house is for a journal entry all its own. Same goes for the reasons why I, once free on the street, attempted to transfer all of the coins from the bag to my pockets, only to put them back in the bag when I found it forcing me to walk noticeably cowboy-like.

So there I was downstairs at the Hynes Convention Center T-stop, sitting on one of the benches, reading a book. My mind dismissed most of the background noise of the station but I glanced up briefly when I spotted a homeless man methodically going from person to person with the same query. I couldn't make out what he was saying exactly but could easily assume one of a small handful of possibilities. His thoroughness was impressive, not letting a single person go unasked. Finished with all those standing he starts in on all of us seated.

My nose remains buried in my book. But at this point I admit I'm waiting for it.
"Spare some change?" (silence) (shuffle steps)
"Spare some change?" (silence) (shuffle steps)
"Spare some change?" (silence) (shuffle steps)
"Spare some change?" (silence) (shuffle steps)
"Spare some change?" (silence) (shuffle steps)
"Spare some change?"

KA-POW!! My arm springs away from my chest fast with the clear bag swaying heavily from my closed fist. The man is in disbelief. The bag is enormous. A quick second of silence passes as the man looks at the bag, then me, then back at the bag again. Finally he takes it and walks away. I look to my right and am greeted by a row of smiling strangers greatly amused by my unexpected response. The proud owner of the unrefutable answer they've often wished they had in situations just like this one.

"So, what were you going to do with all those?" the woman to my left asks.
"Roll them up?" I offer.

Her guess was as good as mine.

I go into the bathroom and take a swig of Listerine. At that same moment I realize I have to take a leak, which I begin to do as I swish the Listerine in my mouth. 5 seconds later, in mid-stream, my mouth is on absolute FIRE! There is no way I can keep this stuff in my mouth any longer. I try to lean over to the sink to spit but it begins to affect my accuracy to an alarming degree. I can't make it. Synapses firing, my brain quickly tries to calculate the pain difference between a mouth full of burning Listerine and shutting off Mini-Shawn for a second. Then in a mix of panic, pain and magyver-ish bravado I realize the obvious ....and I spit into the toilet. I survive unscathed but shake my head and laugh wondering if I should be allowed to leave the apartment without supervision.... ever.

King size? Yeah, fu*k you. You're not king sized. You're just a king sized package with two regular sized pieces of candy laying end to end inside. I opt for the jumbo tic tacs instead. I walk up Summit Hill rolling a giant tic tac in my mouth and I can't help but think of Naomi Watts in 21 Grams.

I start to run up the hill and I wonder if I look gay when I run. I know a lot of straight men who have zero resistance to the gaying effect running has on them.

I make it home, plop on the couch and turn on the tv. The World Poker Tour is on. The commentator keeps making refeence to a player having a "Jack Off-Suit." A Jack-Off Suit? I need to get me one of those. I'll wear it to the heavy petting zoo.

I walked into a store the other Saturday and right away I spotted a guy wearing the same exact t-shirt as I was. For reasons that remain inexplicable to me even now, I turned around and left the store in a hurry. It's for the best I tell myself, I don't really need any more translucent soaps with cutesy objects frozen in the middle of them anyway.

I am metrosexual, hear me exfoliate.

Lunch time and I'm waiting in line at the Gyro King counter. Next!! I step up and order a chicken gyro. The man behind the counter politely corrects me. "It's hee-row." I say it again the right way and it makes him smile. "Hee-row, yes, there you go my friend!" he exclaims.

And then for no reason I think, if I was Enrique Iglesias I'd open a chain of gyro stands called "Let Me Be Your Gyro." I whisper those words to myself passionately. The guy in front of me turns around and gives me a weird look. Embarrassed I take out my cell phone and stare into it like there's something critical going on inside it. It hasn't rung in weeks.

This is a story from a while ago that I am just now ready to share. It's a tad embarassing, but heck, self-degrading humor is what the Dose is all about, right? Last summer an un-named friend (ok, Lars) moved back to his homeland of Sweden. As a parting gift he gave me a hearty handshake, some sound advice "Remember Shawn, comfortable shoes," .. and he also have me an "adult video." VHS videos don't work in Europe so it'd be useless for him to take it home with him. I've seen pornos before but I've never actually "owned" one before, and to be honest I say that with pride. But now I had one in my direct posession. After a few weeks of sitting in my drawer (the tape, not me) I finally decided to watch the video one bored night. I put it in. I waited. I heard... whrrrrr, whrrrr. (pause) whrrr WHEEEEEER whir. Silence. Not the sounds I was expecting to hear. I checked the VCR and it won't play, it won't rewind, it won't eject, nothing. FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK! The funny part of this story is the thought processes that started firing off in my head. I wasn't terribly upset that the tape was obviously eaten and ruined, but I came to the immediate realization that I was now going to have to throw away my VCR! There was no way I was going to go to Radio Shack and be like "Um, hi... Slut University** is stuck in my VCR, can you help me get it out?" HELL NO! I was going to have to wrap the whole thing up in a garbage bag and sneak it out to the curb. DAMNIT! That vcr cost $200!! After twenty minutes of panicked tinkering with a screw-driver, I was finally able to extract the destroyed tape and keep my vcr in working condition. When it was all said and done I just had to laugh out loud at the situation... and then put my clothes back on.

** video name made-up to protect both the innocent guilty

"Eyes on the road!!" I yelled at my TV yesterday. I just get so anxious when a movie shows two people riding in a car and the driver turns and talks to the passenger for what seems (to me) like too long a time. I get genuinely anxious. Then again, as a child I used to get rather preoccuppied about who was going to clean up the mess that Tom & Jerry made as they ran around wrecking the house.