Dress Your Sandwhich in Baja & Southwest Sauce

As we live in such a competitive world, Gayvorites constantly stresses to our employees the importance of professional practice and development. When you’re part of the global treasure known as the blogosphere, it is essential to be proficient in shameless self-promotion and guerilla marketing tactics that keep you on top. To promote this initiative, the entire Gayvorites staff attended a mandatory weekend blogging convention in Tucson, for fresh ideas and general schmoozing. There we rubbed elbows with some of the hottest names in the blogging industry and scored some impressive contacts for our Rolodex. Among them was Boston based lesbian blogger, Dykachino, known for her daily ruminations on last season’s baseball stats, butch bargains and gas-station coffee. After swapping blogging tips and tricks, Dykachino revealed that she had been a Gayvorites reader since 1997, and has always dreamed of writing for us some day! Inspired by the revamped Make-A-Wish campaign, Gayvorites decided to go the extra mile to make dreams a reality for our readership. We presented our new colleague/fan an opportunity of a lifetime – a feature article. After fainting into a nearby faux-fichus, Dykachino gladly accepted and quickly left the convention to start brainstorming. We now present you with the musings of our hardened java lovin’ lez...

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If you have ever read David Sedaris, you may have noticed that the title of this post is an homage to his book Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim. Now I’ll admit I’m not one to read books, unless they’re written by Chelsea Handler (queen of sexcapades and lover of midgets), and as of now I’ve read all two books that she has to offer. While I wait for book number three to “hit the shelves”, I find myself drifting back to the work of my man main Dave, in the familiar way that my taste buds crave the zest of my gayvorite ol’ standby: chipotle seasoned, southwestern style dressing.

It was a couple of weeks ago when I had an epiphany. Lean Cuisine had just launched a new commercial, Mimi had just released the first single since her Emancipation, and everything was gAy-OK. I was busy singing along to “Oh-Oh-Oh-Oh-Obsessed” when the aforementioned commercial stopped me dead in my tracks. Let me set the scene…Three stylish moms on the go make a spontaneous pit stop at the mall to do some afternoon shopping. While riding the escalator to the second floor, likely in search of Ann Taylor Loft, they discuss what they had for dinner the night before. Mom # 2 closes her eyes as she slowly recalls the mouthwatering taste of her Lean Cuisine “Baja Style” Chicken Quesadilla, complete with roasted corn and melted cheese. My body began to tingle all over, the same way it did after I saw Indigo Girls in concert for the first time. I wanted it, I needed it, I had to have it. It was then that I realized, I will eat ANYTHIING as long as its name includes Baja and/or Southwest.

The ladies of Lean Cuisine. Notice the subtle primary color palette.

I’d like to think that me fancying these flavors is a representation of my class and sophistication, a result of my worldly travel and cultural experiences, but let’s face it girls, the farthest this bitch has ever traveled is Florida…or Mississippi (I’m not sure which is farther, probably because I don’t read enough, and David and Chels have never mentioned this in a

ny of their writing.) I’m not even sure which geographical location constitutes as Baja and or Southwestern anyway. These two terms being a little less self-explanatory than, say, my good friend “Tex-Mex”. Do they mean the Southwestern part of the U S of A, which includes but is not limited to Southern California, Arizona, and New Mexico? (Yes, this being a research based blog, I Googled.) This question is likely one that will remain unanswered in my book, a sort of magical food mystery. Partly because I wanted to Ask Jeeves, but in this economy I think he has been laid off, and partly because it doesn’t really matter where the he

ll it comes from. Thus, I will attribute my love affair to what I like to call an “Evolution of the Palette.” And here’s how it happened…

During my elementary years, I spent the days dunking my dino-shaped chicken nuggets in to BBQ sauce, playing it on the safe side with that hickory-smoked goodness. I would then digest my savory meal with an after dinner romp on the Burger King jungle gym (which I’m sure has since been eliminated due to multiple lawsuits.)

A heaping pile of dinosaur nuggets. Where’s the BBQ?!

As you may imagine, during my teenage years I was always looking to take a walk on the wild side. The sauce that answered my calling was a tangy, orange concoction, derived from Cayenne Pepper. Yes, I’m referring to that of the classic college fave, buffalo sauce. My attitude was that a of a frat brother's, proud pledge of Kappa Kappa HOTT, Brotherhood of Buffalo, proud partner of Alpha Blue Cheese. However, I quickly grew tired of my peers trying to prove their machismo over wings. Who could endure more spice? Who cares? I was sick of watching people break a sweat eating dinner, so there I was, left with one hand in my pocket, and the other on a celery stick.

Typical Kappa Kappa HOTT. Guess who’s ass WONT be burning later? Mine. I quit!

During my college years I didn’t completely stray away from the classic buffalo chicken wing, however, I was open to new alternatives. I’ll let you in on a little secret - the aftermath of a basket O’ buff wings from Dominoes was a gassy and sassy one, and how do you expect me to expand my new circle of friends if I was full of shit?! Enter DJ Baja Fresh!

I know that some of you readers at home may be getting frustrated, especially if you are still stuck in Phase 1 or 2 of this evolutionary journey. But don’t get ants in your pants just yet! I want to help make the Baja/Southwestern transition as smooth as possible for you all. I advise you to just let nature take its course, (for those of you who just ate wings for dinner this may happen sooner than others) but if you just can’t wait, I have some suggestions…

g. Subway’s Chipotle Southwest Sauce: I would bathe in this stuff if I could. But this could get messy, not to mention, expensive. After all, this is no regular dressing, not to be found on the shelves of your local Super Stop & Shop. It is my guess that only Jared (Subway's original cover girl) knows how to get his hands on this coveted culinary creation. Then again, he’s lost so many lbs, that these days I bet he sticks to oil & vinegar on his footlongs.

a. Lean Cuisine’s Southwest-style Chicken Panini: This is the dish I just keep coming back to. I like to think of it as my loyal lunchtime delight, the golden retriever of sandwiches. The revolutionary tray grills the sandwich IN THE MICROWAVE! (chew on that Warm Dull-lights)! I assure you that this panini will have you feeling as if you’re dining outside a chic café in Southern California, even if you’re consuming while watching Passions in your sweaty dorm room.

y. Cheesecake Factory’s Baja Chicken Tacos: By far the classiest of the three (pairs well with a strawberry lemonade on the rocks). I suggest taking a date here to impress them with your mature taste, or to convert potential followers into full fledged Chipotle devotees.

I could invest more of my time and energy researching the origins of this delightful dressing, but I’d rather hop in my Subaru Baja and cruise over to my local Barnes & Noble to see if Ms. Handler’s gotten her shit together yet.

The Bottom Line: If more books had baja and/or southwest in the title I just might have been a literary genius.

Rating: Cynthia Nixon puts a ring on it.

Must be Gay-Treanwhore

It was one year ago today that the lesbian world was taken by storm. Yes, dear readers, today is the anniversary of the day Misty May-Treanor and Kerri Walsh won their second summer Olympics, as well as the hearts of lesbians everywhere.

Lesbians have long found solace in sports icons such as the Williams sisters, Mia Hamm and Flo Jo. Look at how many athlesbians there are in softball alone: Ashley Charters, from Beaverton, OR, or Kaitlin Cochran (as in, she ran from the cock), or Cat Osterman (might as well be Oyster-man) or Caitlin Lowe, member of NPF Pride, and of course, let us not forget, glorious, glorious, glorious Jennie Finch.

However, despite the caliber of these toned hotties, it’s always nice to find some new pretty thing to look at, and beach volleyball has some untapped potential. Not to mention the fact that two lesbians are always better than one. So we decided to search for a lesbian powerhouse volleyball duo. We NEEDED a lesbian powerhouse volleyball duo. And that's where Misty May-Treanor and Kerri Walsh came in.

Let's look at the facts. Misty Erie Elizabeth May Treanor (and yes folks, that is her real name according to Wikipedia) was born to a red-blooded, sports-playing father named Butch (a name which May have decided Misty's future). It's a little known fact that Misty May and Kerri faced off against each other on the high school volleyball circuit. Did their eyes meet across the court? Did they know of the greatness that would later come, and come hard?

A few years down the line, in 2000, Walsh missed several of the first games of the Olympics because a drug test came back with suspicious levels of testosterone, which may or may not signal some…you know…masculine qualities. Not long after that, she fatefully auditioned to be Treanor's partner and the two have been throwing bitches down in the sand together ever since. Ironically, the very same day that this dykey duo paired up, Walsh met her future "husband." And he's a MALE VOLLEYBALL PLAYER. We here at Gayvorites have never heard of a beard growing so fast. Shit, that doesn't just work out, it's way too convenient for both sides. Remember Dana and her "straight guy" tennis partner in the first season of The L Word?

Back to business. The pair dominated the beach so much that they might as well have just busted out the whips and chains and gotten the BDSM over with. In 2004, they won the gold at Athens without losing a single match, after which May-Treanor scattered her mother's Angela’s ashes all over the Frank McCourt. In other words the volleyball court serves as litter box for this pussy to dump her old business.

Before the Beijing Olympics, the two were riding high on a winning streak of an unheard of 101 matches and 18 tournaments. Upon their win in Beijing, Misty repeated her ash ritual, and then announced that she and Kerri were ready to have babies. It can be assumed that they meant together.

But we know that all good things, like gay programming on Showtime, eventually come to an end. Walsh and May-Treanor lost to Nicole Branagh and Elaine Youngs. However, this loss was nothing compared to the devastation of being beaten into submission by the next "It" power lesbian beach volleyball duo, April Ross and Jennifer Boss. Not only does this new duo also include a lady named after a month,” but their last names rhyme. It doesn't get much dykier than that, though Misty and Kerri sure made a good run at it. After this trauma, the the original duo went back to their husbands, Misty appeared on Dancing with the Stars, and Kerri got knocked up.

If you still need further convincing that May-Treanor is an A-1 muff diver, Gayvorites has compiled an annotated “best of” list from Misty May’s Facebook status updates proving her allegiance to The Home Depot and Lilith Fair.

l. "Going to Wild Rivers today. Taking my God daughter and her sister. So fun, haven't been there since high school." (Lesbians naturally revisit their “old stomping grounds.”)

e. "Breaks my heart watching what illegal whaling does. Go Sea Shepard!!! Stop the whaling. Reasearch....my butt." (Lesbians fantasy: Spelling errors and protecting large sea mammals.)

s. "Kerri and I shot with Shaq today, what a great individual one of the nicest, down to earth, and fun loving people. What an Awesome day"! (Lesbians don’t discriminate. They love all sports equally.)

b. "Took a hula lesson this morning. I will leave Hawaii tonight, boo hoo!" (Lesbians love grass.)

i. "At the car wash. Rub-a-dub-dub my car gets a scrub!" (Lesbians enjoy getting their Volvos soaked.)

a. "Splurged and just had a bittersweet truffle and hot apple cider at Gayle's Chocolates in Royal Oak." (If it has mulling spices, lesbians will drink it)

n. "Watching Deadliest Catch...such a gnarly job, it keeps me on the edge of my seat." (Lesbians deserve to know where their seared tuna comes from.)

s. "Kicked my own booty at the gym today, I am getting pretty good at jump roping." (Lesbians would give their best summer squash for anything involving a good cardio workout. Extra lez points for using the word “booty”)

Learn Volleyball Vocab: BALL HANDLING ERROR, CAMPFIRE, STUFF, TUNA, PENETRATION, ATTACK, KILL, HIT, DIVE, DEEP DISH, FISH, SIZZLE THE PITS, SHANK, WHALE

The Bottom Line: They wear Nautica bikinis. Enough said.

Rating: Kiera Knightly’s class ten underbite.

Manana Republic

Here at Gayvorites, we like to think of ourselves as an equal opportunity employer. But how can we deem ourselves as such when our staff is comprised primarily of homos? With the goal of improving our diversity rating and leveling the gaying field, Gayvorites posted two positions for “Straight Consultants” on monster.com, and to our surprise, we quickly received over 200 applicants. With that many resumes, we realized that we could never get through the paperwork alone, never mind the interviews and the mandatory in-seam measurements. That’s when we decided that we needed what every serious company has, a good ol’ fashion Human Resources Department. In the style of HBO's Entourage, we shamelessly asked ten of our most organized friends with positive moral values to head up our team. Who could refuse such an alluring offer, especially when your only responsibilities are to water the patio planters every other day and pretend you’re doing paperwork? Coincidentally enough, all of those we “on-boarded” happened to be named Emily, henceforth resulting in the creation of the Human Resources Har-em.

With the help of the Har-em, we were successfully able to weed out the dead weight and select the hairiest, most testosterone laden, baritone-voiced heteros for hire. At long last, we will have some strapping lads around the office to chop our firewood, open up even our most-stuck jar lids, and move our 500 lb shipping pallets. Most likely they'll just sit around and belch the alphabet or work on their slapshot, but we'll let that slide. We are proud to welcome our new recruits, Richard Ironhardd and Manclaw Lazer, to the Gayvorites team! Shalom, boys!

So with gentle and swift pats on the behind, we assigned our new eye candy the Sisyphean task of trying to turn traditional gay cuisine straight. And yes, we realize this undertaking is like asking grilling and boxing legend George Foreman to promote Bethenny Frankel's new SkinnyGirl smoothie line, but we had to try.
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I awoke in the middle of the night with my shirt wrapped around my head and a zip lock bag full of chocolate clenched between my thighs.

In our minds it was simple, there is nothing quite as gay as a chocolate covered banana (CCB). While others would have been quick to judge this dessert as irreversibly homosexual, we put our sexuality on the line and set out to prove that this queer delicacy could be made straight. When presented with the challenge of turning fag food into something even Rush Limbaugh would stuff his face with, we knew we would need to begin with a trip to the Gayvorites Heterosexual Research Facility.

With help from hi-tech imaging software provided by the US Army and the National Rifle Association, we were able to bring the secrets behind the CCB out of the closet. This is when we realized we’d bitten off more of the proverbial banana than we could swallow.

We put our manhood at risk to make a gay food straight.

You see, traditionally the CCB is served on a stick. We knew then and there that the stick would have to be the first thing to go. A real man gets his paws dirty. God forbid the CCB be inserted tip first past the lips of such beacons of heterosexuality as ourselves. Our solution to this problem is straightforward; our banana would have to be consumed laterally.

Our final observation was that this fruity delight is most often prepared and served from a wheeled cart. What could be gayer? The only things sold on such carts are Dior sunglasses and Dippin’ Dots. The last thing we wanted was for our treat to be confused with the concessions stand at a Coldplay concert. Our dessert would have to be assembled in the most masculine of settings: and just like any self respecting straight blooded American man knows, there is nothing more manly than the wilderness.

With bananas in our backpacks and chocolate in our hearts, and after our usual meal of steak and blood pudding, we set off into the wild.

The raw goods. Gay!

We hiked many miles, killing any wildlife that crossed our path and when we finally emerged from the dense forest, we found ourselves on a beach. We set aside our hefty sacs and sank our toes into sand finer than the 600 grit sandpaper in our toolboxes and set up camp.

The first step of preparation was to melt the chocolate; first we used a process of applying fire to wet kindling and breaking the last of our remaining matches in order to prove that it is impossible to create heat anywhere outside of a Weber grill, save for sexual intercourse with a woman. This step was critical to preserving our manhood in case someone should suggest we had used fire in conjunction with a double boiler, a tool we did bring along just in case (a man always comes prepared).

We filled our double boiler from the waters of the Atlantic.

Our next move was one that could only have been conceived by the likes of us Eagle Scouts. We determined that the best way to convert the chocolate from its solid state to a creamy consistency capable of lubricating a long sturdy banana was to use the heat already radiating from within our strong loins.

Boilers are for fairies, we melted chocolate with the heat of our loins.

Naturally, we climbed into our sleeping bags and placed our backpacks between us so we wouldn’t accidentally bump into one another in the night. This was something we’d learned from our Eagle Scout days when we spent extensive amounts of time in close quarters with other men after dusk. Confident as can be in my sexuality, I secured a bag of semi-sweet chocolate chips firmly between my legs.

As the waves calmly lapped the shore nearby, we drifted, side by side, into a peaceful slumber. A heterosexual slumber, mind you, filled with big-breasted dreams.

We awoke at 2 am to the screeching of mosquitoes in our ears. Our faces were covered in the insects sucking our iron rich blood. It was at this point of our meal preparation that we found ourselves in our prime. You see, in the metropolitan world we attract women by the dozens. In the wild, nature itself is lured to our man musk. Knowing that if we lingered here too long they would suck us dry, we left the chocolate behind in the warm folds of the sleeping bags and spent the rest of the night strolling the beach, assessing our strengths and checking each other for ticks. Then we sat in the sand in silence and watched the stars disappear and the sun rise.

When dawn had finally broken, we returned to camp to find that not only had the chocolate hardened, but the bananas had been bruised and violated in the midst of the night’s tussle. With uncontainable man-rage, we hurled the bananas into the sea. Finding ourselves too bitter to stay, we packed and began the trek back to our proud patriarchal society.

In the end, one thing was obvious. Chocolate covered bananas are far too gay to contaminate these straight, supple lips. In any case, as we munched on our victory pancakes in the comfort of our hunting lodge, we found ourselves asking; what kind of a man would even want to be caught with such a phallic treat in his mouth in the first place?

Good to Know: We knew it would be a hard task, but at this point Alchemy is easier than this shit.

The Bottom line: Like Cher’s Greatest Hits CD there are some things in this world a straight man must never tamper with.

Rating: St Patrick’s Day and domestic violence.

Gayvorites Exclusive: Leaked photos!

Warning- Explicit content below. The following photos were submitted by a reader who wishes to remain anonymous.

Looks like Lazer and Ironhardd put the boys from Brokeback Mountain to shame.