Recently in All About Me Category
Thank god Nasty Pig has some good ideas for Halloween costumes. These sure beat dressing up like Sarah Palin ... and they are more likely to get you laid.
Everyone wears an invisible sign around their neck that says, 'make me feel important.' - Mary Kay Ash
What's not to lust after? We just adore Riva's design for this limited edition Cruiser Bag. And you know how much we already love Veuve Clicquot - it's the only champagne we'll drink.
I am happy to report that I was able to snag an iPhone on Friday after standing in line for many ... many ... way too many hours. Somehow, the Apple staff at the 14th St location still managed to be happy and energetic even tho it was 12:30am by the time I got up to the 3rd floor. I don't know what they were on to stay that happy ... but I want some. Mr. Jobs, can you send me some?
Things it's probably not OK to write in a Valentine's Day card to a 1 year old (I just can't help it - whenever I write cards it's like I'm writing to the 30 year old version of the person):
Dear [insert name of one year old here],
Happy Valentine's Day, sweetie! I hope that no matter what comes your way, you'll always remember that there is infinite love out there in the universe. Well ... not, um ... infinite ... not like slutty love. Oh crap. Nevermind. You'll know what I mean when you are older. You're too young to know what this crappy holiday is all about anyway.
Love,
Uncle [me]
Dear [insert name of one year old here],
Happy Valentine's Day, sweetie! I hope that no matter what comes your way, you'll always remember that there is infinite love out there in the universe. Well ... not, um ... infinite ... not like slutty love. Oh crap. Nevermind. You'll know what I mean when you are older. You're too young to know what this crappy holiday is all about anyway.
Love,
Uncle [me]
Finally! Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
is now available for pre-sale. I don't know about you, but I can't wait to see how this story ends. I've been hooked for the last 6 books, and like any good junkie, I need more.
Resolutions for 2007? Um. None for me, thanks. Luckily, I resolved back in 2002 never again to make New Year's resolutions. Oddly enough, it's the only one I've managed to ever keep!
Tangent: I've also decided that this year, for Lent, I'm going to give up underwear. Mark your calendars.
Tangent: I've also decided that this year, for Lent, I'm going to give up underwear. Mark your calendars.
Sunday afternoon. Sitting on my couch. Thinking. Thinking a lot. Wondering why I'm in this HeadSpace. It seems like the perfect lazy Sunday activity, no? But then, almost out of nowhere, there is a thought in my head (how zen, right). This simple thought leads to another, of course, and suddenly - without realizing that it was even what I was thinking about - I have the first few lines of my book.
We all know that the first line is the most important (and the most dreaded by the lone writer staring wide-eyed at the blank page)... but developing the first few lines is even MORE exciting to me because it finally starts to really frame the tone of the writing and tie together my personal point of view on the content. Finally.
We all know that the first line is the most important (and the most dreaded by the lone writer staring wide-eyed at the blank page)... but developing the first few lines is even MORE exciting to me because it finally starts to really frame the tone of the writing and tie together my personal point of view on the content. Finally.
My newest piece of wall art is a 'fragle - handle with care' symbol silkscreened onto a piece of cardboard (i.e., the side of a box) and matted into a large frame. I'm still trying to figure out why I like it so much. Sometimes, you just can't tell.
For someone with a fear of falling ... I seem to be experiencing it pretty intensely these days. I just can't help it ... and I'm actually not minding so much. I think I'll even grow to like it. And that's all part of falling ... isn't it? Ever suspended in that magical place of ecstacy and fear?
All you lushes should rush right out and grab some coffee (just make sure it isn't Starbucks). As reported by the Associated Press on MSNBC, drinking that daily cup of Joe can help cut the harmful effects of all that alcohol you've been knocking back.
Your liver will thank me in 20 years. And yes ... you'll see me in line at the coffee shop right behind you.
Your liver will thank me in 20 years. And yes ... you'll see me in line at the coffee shop right behind you.
My current wallet has begun the slow, painful process called 'falling apart', and I'm in the market for a new one. Queerty pointed me to the Slimmy, however, I'm a bit concerned that it's so slim that my money will magically disappear (must like all prospects for meeting a suitable boyfriend already have). Anyone have experience with this thing?
Occasionally, when I'm out grabbing drinks with friends, I'll get some ... um ... undesired attention from a drunk guy that thinks being obnoxious can somehow be substituted for charm - a deadly mistake, boys. Being the genuinely nice person that I am, I usually have a difficult time signaling my disinterest and end up embroiled in bizarre conversations. Recently, however, I was able to end one such conversation rather quickly.
The next morning, however, I woke to a frantic call from my mother. An enormous oak tree had apparently fallen in a storm the night before and had come precariously close to smashing through the roof and killing both my parents at they lay in restful repose (not a bad way to go if you ask me). My mother was still a shaken as she described how the oak tree had flattened her fake pine trees like pancakes, and I couldn't help but feel a bit guilty.
What made me feel even more guilty was when I realized that I would probably use my new 'conversation-killer' again. But don't worry - I'll only use it if absolutely necessary.
Drunk: (coming up behind me, throwing his arm over my shoulder and slurring) You're cute. Do your parents know you're gay?Not bad if I do say so myself. I was worried for a few moments that I had somehow damned my very-alive-parents to some horrible catastrophe, but alcohol soon removed those worries.
(Brilliant opening line, right?)
Me: Um, no.
(Lies are sometimes more interesting, aren't they?)
Drunk:Why not? Afraid to tell them?
Me: No. (dramatic pause) They're both dead.
Drunk: Oh (pause). Um (removing arm from around my shoulders). Oh (walking away).
The next morning, however, I woke to a frantic call from my mother. An enormous oak tree had apparently fallen in a storm the night before and had come precariously close to smashing through the roof and killing both my parents at they lay in restful repose (not a bad way to go if you ask me). My mother was still a shaken as she described how the oak tree had flattened her fake pine trees like pancakes, and I couldn't help but feel a bit guilty.
What made me feel even more guilty was when I realized that I would probably use my new 'conversation-killer' again. But don't worry - I'll only use it if absolutely necessary.
Here's a little something for all of the single folks out there - to whom February 14 is a day of fear and dread (I'm not quite to that point yet ... but I'm getting there):
How many more Valentine's Days must I spendsending flowers to myself and pretending they are from 'Juan Carlos' alone? It's like every time the day comes and goes, a little bit of the romantic in me dies a slow, torturous (and melodramatic) death (think: very bloody).
And yet, I still say 'Cheers' to love and to the possibility of somehow finding it in this big city. Bring on the challenge - I'm a glutton for punishment.
How many more Valentine's Days must I spend
And yet, I still say 'Cheers' to love and to the possibility of somehow finding it in this big city. Bring on the challenge - I'm a glutton for punishment.
In the spirit of New Year's resolutions, I want to share some words of wisdom for 2006 that I had clipped out a newspaper. Unfortunately, I have forgotten the author:
There are two rules to happiness. One, never do anything with your life that would make a good opera; and two, never put food in your gym bag. Both are recipes for disaster.Sounds like some pretty good advice to me.
In my high school, the race to become student body president was always a big popularity contest. I could never understand why, given that student council actually seemed to require a lot of work ... which never got done ... which, come to think of it, probably explains why we never had decorations at dances or even a high school reunion.
The best speech I ever heard during student council elections was given by a 'new kid' who happened to be last in the queue to speak. After everyone else had gotten up and promised "longer lunch hours!" [cheers], "less homework!" [cheers], and "scrunchies at the school store!" [uncomfortable pause ... golf claps], our hero made his way to the podium, looked at the other candidates next to him, and said (as if he was a character in Heathers), "High School is bullshit." As the teachers rushed towards the podium to silence him, he pulled a live goldfish out of a plastic baggie filled with water, held it high over his mouth to show that it was alive, and dropped the flapping fishy right down his throat. As the teachers stopped dead in their tracks, he swallowed and managed to mumble, 'vote for me' into the microphone before walking calmly back to his seat next to the other candidates.
Of course, he won by a landslide, and that year student council was more productive than ever.
That said, I'm probably not going to swallow a live fish, but I would appreciate your vote for Best Gay Blog. Vote for me! If I win, I promise more male cheerleaders, a curriculum including gay pulp friction (i mean...fiction), and in depth sex ed classes for all. OK. FINE. If I win, I'll swallow a live fish. Happy?
The best speech I ever heard during student council elections was given by a 'new kid' who happened to be last in the queue to speak. After everyone else had gotten up and promised "longer lunch hours!" [cheers], "less homework!" [cheers], and "scrunchies at the school store!" [uncomfortable pause ... golf claps], our hero made his way to the podium, looked at the other candidates next to him, and said (as if he was a character in Heathers
), "High School is bullshit." As the teachers rushed towards the podium to silence him, he pulled a live goldfish out of a plastic baggie filled with water, held it high over his mouth to show that it was alive, and dropped the flapping fishy right down his throat. As the teachers stopped dead in their tracks, he swallowed and managed to mumble, 'vote for me' into the microphone before walking calmly back to his seat next to the other candidates. Of course, he won by a landslide, and that year student council was more productive than ever.
That said, I'm probably not going to swallow a live fish, but I would appreciate your vote for Best Gay Blog. Vote for me! If I win, I promise more male cheerleaders, a curriculum including gay pulp friction
(i mean...fiction), and in depth sex ed classes for all. OK. FINE. If I win, I'll swallow a live fish. Happy?
A recent email exchange:
Friend: As for MarieBelle, that's SO last year. That's where I got one of Mom's Xmas gifts last year. But, it can't be THAT last year cause she wants something else from there this year.Damn. I love living in this city.
Me: Did you really just say something was 'SO last year'? You've been living in NY way too long to be useful to society any longer. ... Congrats!
Friend: I can still be useful to other New Yorkers, right?
Me: Apparently the only uses that New Yorkers have for other New Yorkers are:
1) providing bitchy comments
2) disdainful looks
3) holes to stick things in
4) any combination of the above
in short, yes, you can still be useful to other New Yorkers ... well, after your bum heals, anyway.
I knew I was off my game when the guy I was chatting up abruptly pulled a dollar from his wallet and strode towards the bar - where a go-go boy eagerly awaited as his wresting gear strained under the presure of his enormous muscle(s).
I knew my chances were dwindling when the guy expertly slid his single deep into the singlet.
I knew I was going home alone when I heard the guy ask the wrester if he was 'working' after closing.
Sigh. You really can't get a clearer signal that you're not going to hook up than that, can you?
Lesson learned: Wear a wresting singlet.
I knew my chances were dwindling when the guy expertly slid his single deep into the singlet
.I knew I was going home alone when I heard the guy ask the wrester if he was 'working' after closing.
Sigh. You really can't get a clearer signal that you're not going to hook up than that, can you?
Lesson learned: Wear a wresting singlet.
