Hastings

The Make-Me-Believer

2006-02-02T10:57:00.000-08:00

So, you know when you meet a new guy, and you're instantly just... blown away? And your afraid to show how in AWE of him you are, so you feign indeference as well as possible, when it's taking EVERY OUNCE of self-control to not drag him around to EVERY PERSON you've ever met and say, "This is Him. This is the man who renewed my faith in a just God." And the sex is like... dude.

Heather Headley's "He Is" is that experience. And then some. Sometimes a love song is so good that by the bridge, you find yourself convinced that you are ACTUALLY IN LOVE. Even when you have no prospects, a so-so haircut and about as much hope of sex in the coming months as Osama Bin Laden in his cave-y paradise, you still walk around mouthing (and ok, occaisionally breaking down and actually singing) along to your ipod - with some very solid picture of your imaginary boyfriend (Fabrizio Moretti) in your head while you TESTIFY for your love.

Although that line about "The Baby Conceiver" always comes out weird from a gay male mouth...

Dudes. SOUL music = where it's at. Seriously.

Owning Up (or at least trying to)

2006-01-27T09:31:00.000-08:00

I was recently reading an interview with one of my favorite artists, and when asked about her inspiration, she said that she had spent a lot of time thinking about self-sacrifice and accountability, which was something she didn't think that people thought about much these days.

That stuck with me.

In the Mormon Church (and all other Christian denominations pretty much) there's a concept (named several different things) that I'll refer to now as "Godly Sorrow." It's this ultra-heightened sense of tragedy that dawns on a sinner when he realizes that not only has he sinned, and therefore harmed someone else or himself, but that his sin has been paid for by the suffering of Christ (during the Passion) and that he, in his sin, was acting as a nail through the flesh of God. So, due to a sin committed today, you have the potential to inflict harm upon yourself, others, God, and therefore everyone on the planet (past and future), because in hurting God you hurt every spirit mad in the image of God, and you're part of this big retroactive circle of hurt! Yikes!

In the last couple of months, I've behaved and reacted to the things around me in a way that I'm not very proud of. I've said unfair things to people who were trying their best. I've made unfair conclusions about everyone. I've put off the people who have shown me the most kindess and love, and I've taken out a couple of bystanders in some wrath-filled moments of immaturity.

I want to be accountable for my shit, but what's the best way to go about it? Sometimes the contact required for an apology only rips open a healing wound. Is it ever best to just leave a mess alone for someone more qualified to clean up? How long is it appropriate to hold onto guilt? At what point is it ok to let go?

Turn on the radio at any given moment, and you can hear hundreds of anthems screeching the joys of independence and self-sufficiently. I pay my own bills. Buy my own cars. I don't need anyone to take care of me or love me. I'm perfect the way I am, and any attempt to change me is an afront to my unique spirit. But the fact of the matter is we're all just constantly crashing into each other and affecting each other's lives and it's impossible to make it to the front of the Starbucks line in the morning without having already made or ruined someone's day. In a way, we're accountable for every human being we pass throughout our day - and they're sort of accountable for us.

So, I guess what I'm saying is, I'm really sorry if I've hurt anyone, and I'm ERNESTLY going to try to make more people's days.

Best Makeout Record of ALL TIME

2006-01-24T07:34:00.000-08:00

As I sit here at work, perusing my ipod for forgotten treasures, I've realized that there is absolutely no reasonable explanation for why New Order's "Get Ready" (2001) is SO FUCKING GOOD. Listening to "Crystal" or "Slow Jam" can't help but bring lengthy hyper-realistic fantasies of making out with pale skinned Calvin Klien models in black&white oceanscapes or neverending undecorated hallways.

The first time I listened to this album, I was on my way to meet a couple of friends to do a bunch of drugs in honor of our loveless Valentine's Days. Good times, good times...

Yay Monday.

2006-01-23T08:54:00.000-08:00

I'm not completely positive yet, but I'm pretty sure I hate my new haircut.

I felt so GOOD about it when I first walked out of the salon, but then I ran into FOUR different friends who all remarked on it with ABSOLUTELY no compliment attached. In fact, the more honest ones offered that I "looked like a little boy" or that it was "too army."

So, there goes my social life for February. I'll be spending long nights at home re-watching the DVD's for "Lost" and growing my hair into some semblance of normalcy.

In better news - I BOOKED A TRIP TO PARIS! I'm going with my friend Ryan, who I adore in every capacity - and it's going to be AMAZING (although it promises to put me in debt for the next 20 years at least). AND it's in 9 weeks! So I'll have time to grow my hair out! Yay!

I need coffee.

My New Calling

2006-01-20T07:48:00.000-08:00

http://www.dancesport.com/

So, it would appear that you can actually take lessons to learn to "do the hustle."
Yes, I said it. THE HUSTLE.
I KNOW that someone out there wants to do this with me.

Amy Grant is my Salvation.

2006-01-20T06:18:00.000-08:00

So, apparently, through my headphones, an old lady asking, “Where’s the train station?” sounds like an old lady asking “Spare Change?”

WOW – Let me tell you! Everything that ensued after that was embarrassing!

Je Suis Bien

2006-01-18T08:07:00.000-08:00

Well, last night I attended a positively TRANSCENDENT Los Super Elegantes show at Home (which was actually a pretty cool venue - despite being the sort of place that's frequently brought up in Life & Style as a spot where celebs "canoodle.")

I, for one, think it's safe to say that I have never, nor do I ever intend to, canoodle. It kind of gives me the heebies just thinking about it.

So, I went with my new friend Andy, to see the band that I was introduced to by my ex-bf from California, Kyle, so I could talk to the lead singer, Martiniano, who also dated Kyle, and along the way ran into this guy I used to see named Joshua, and also Ethan Rose from WMA (who's running high on his t-shirt company and LOTS of alcohol)and Andy ran into like 7 friends from Oberlin, and by the end of the night I was frankly exhausted by the amount of personal connections one racks up by living in NYC and/or LA (or apparently, Ohio).

I remember the first time I hit up a dance club in Boston - I didn't know a SOUL. It was so liberating! I could dance however I wanted to! I could introduce myself as anyone or anything! I could make out indiscriminately!

Ahhh... but those days are gone...

They're getting ready for a big event at my job, so they're rolling God Knows WHAT over the top of my office right now, which makes it feel like there's some serious earthquakes going on - and in addition they keep testing the alarm systems and then coming over the loudspeakers to tell us to "ignore the alarms." Half the time, we don't even hear the alarms, which makes me nervous because what if there really IS an earthquake and I totally don't notice it and then they put on some alarm that I can't hear and the next thing you know, someone's taken a Pulitzer winning prize shot of my blackened foot sticking out of a pile of rubble from the great NYC Quake of 06.

Baby Steps

2006-01-17T11:46:00.000-08:00

So, I come into work this morning, set for another day of perpetual zone-out, only to find that the dude in my neighboring office has recently developed some sort of balls-out obsession with a worse-than-average (and that's saying something PROFOUND) MIDI recording of Pachabel's "Canon in D."

For those of you who didn't spend your entire young lives locked up with musical instruments in liu of actually making friends, Canon in D is that terrible song that they always have string quartets playing at weddings on TV. It's played (badly) by beginning piano students EVERYWHERE - and (I always assumed) forgotten as soon as said kids are capable of playing something else and thereby alleviating their own self-induced torture.

Apparently, however, some people just... don't get over it? And they spend all of time and eternity WANTING to be stuck in a never-ending add for budget wedding gowns?

So this dude's playing this song... over and over again... and I realize - this is my moment. I'm going to start doing geeky musical things again. So, I transposed it. Yes, temp work requires so little of me, that I actually sat down and TRANSPOSED THIS GODDAMN MUSICAL MONSTROSITY for the sake of seeing if I still could. It's not a hard piece, but God - I'm out of practice! I could barely remember chord scales or common-sense composition theory! I actually had to play an imaginary piano on my desk to figure out some of the notes... *shudders*.

But I did it. And now I'm going to go home and play really sad really easy Patty Griffin songs on my guitar (mostly because lately, I'm REALLY FEELING sad Patty Griffin songs, but also partially because I know it will DEEPLY ANNOY the Dominican Bowling enthusiasts upstairs. Yeah, you hear that you pathological furniture movers! I'm singing my ass off! And it's blues inspired guitar picky FOLK MUSIC TOO! So I GET TO BE AS ANNOYING AND WHINEY AS I WANT!!!

Vengeance is Mine; I will repay.
Romans 12:19

God I loved that hat.

2006-01-13T11:18:00.000-08:00

Remember that episode of Full House when it was discovered that Stephanie had a prodigal talent for la dance? And at first, Danny was hesitant to support her (because it meant lots of rehearsal and expensive classes) but Steph insisted it was what she really wanted to do? So then they went to all of the classes and, of course, Danny ended up WAY more excited than Stephanie, who, it turns out, just wanted to hang out on the couch with her chubby older sister and say "how rude" over and over and over and over again and the conflict suddenly came to a fever pitch when Steph was at a dance competition and got performance anxiety and Danny had to get over wanting her to be the BEST DANCER ever and once they patched things up, Steph did that AMAZING dance?

You know, with the too-short skirt and too-high boots and black crop top and silver sparkly page-boy cap (Somewhere a prepubescent Brit and X-tina were furiously scribbling notes down on Lisa Frank stationary)? GOD THAT WAS THE BEST DANCE EVER! I wanted to BE Stephanie Tanner!

And now, I can re-live that amazing feeling, everytime I hear the Pussycat Dolls' "Wait A Minute," a song which clearly would have moved la Tanner into the most frenzied gyrations her 10 year old body could accommodate. Seriously, I haven't wanted to do the gay-ass dance moves that song compells me to in years - think Janet circa the "Janet" tour and all of those little belly-dancing inspired hip pops and whatnot. Over the years, I've done some pretty faggy things in front of my bedroom mirror... but the things done to this song take the cake.

ONE LAST THING

2006-01-12T11:19:00.000-08:00

I do not want my iced coffee from Starbucks shaken. Shaking the coffee is ridiculous. It does nothing for the coffee. It only serves to embarass me because some poor schmuck making 7.15 an hour has to shake coffee around in a goddamn mixer like a douchebag while I watch. Geez...

My office - 4 walls - no windows - not much to do.

2006-01-12T10:45:00.000-08:00

So... I have this fantasy... about this Annie Lennox song...

See, it's like, 2012 or something, and it's the MTV music awards and I've spent the last 5 years or so completely conquering the media world - beginning as a producer, and then coming forward as an artist Diddy-style and OF COURSE starting up my own heavily-branded label that has since become the industry standard for excellence. All this, and I'm openly gay, which, for some odd reason, the public loves. I go out partying and US Weekly follows me. I say controversial things on late night network TV, and I'm considering what will inevitably be a poorly received cross-over into acting ("only if the script is REALLY good").

But there's a backlash.

Tabloid stories paint me as excessive and over-paid. My name becomes synonymous with the perils of capitalism and several ex-boyfriends are on the verge of publishing tell-all books about my selfish behavior, hysterical rants and unhealthy purging. Finally, my best friend (who I'm madly in love with, but don't realize it) tells me that I stand at a crossroads, and I need to choose what's really important. Celebrity or Reality. Art or Commerce. And if I choose wrong, he's walking.

Back at the awards: I've assembled an all-star troup of musicians, dancers and circus folk for a ground-breaking performance. Despite the controversy surrounding me, my tastes run conservative - Chick Corea (may he still be alive) on keys, Flea (or Me'Shell N'degeocello - they're both sponsored by Modulus and basically interchangeable anyway) on bass, Kravitz on guitar (yes, HE sucks - but he's still got wicked solo chops) and twin drumsets (I need a BIG sound!) with Questlove and Dave Grohl.

I'm doing a cover (gasp!) of Annie Lennox's underknown jewel, "Money Can't Buy It" - as an ambivalent sneer to the haters, and a knowing apology to the people who have stayed behind me for so long. The song opens up with me in the dark on the stage with only the other musicians, and we do the first two verses, just standing there... trying desperately to wring every ounce of meaning from the lyrics, and mounting a steady climb towards the bridge.

The Bridge: As my voice (which in my fantasy, can hit an A with no problem) soars up on the line "You can have it all and won't be satisfiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiied!" Quest and Grohl slam down on the drums as pyro explodes across the stage and four confetti canons erupt into the audience. The lights fly up to reveal legions of solid gold dancers, and upon closer inspection, the canons have actually launched THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS into the air! I detach my mike and jog to the center staircase where I scream the chorus while writhing around with my oiled up dancers in the cascades of cash. Not for too long though, because there's a rap!:

"Now, here this, pay attention to me
Cause I'm a rich white boy and it's plain to see
I've got every kind of thing that money can buy
Let me tell you all about it, let me amplify
I've got diamonds, you've heard about those,
I've got so many that I can't close my safe, at night, in the dark
Lying awake in this sick dream."

I spit every line while marching forward in choreography on a giant platform jutting into the audience. The fans are rabid. I look amazing (those extra hours with the yoga instructer have really been worth it!) and snapshots from this moment will be among the most iconic images in my career. But upon the rap's completion, everyone turns around, and receeds into the darkness of backstage. I'm left cooing the last bars alone, with my band - "money can't buy it... money can't buy it..."

Suffice it to say, I enter an artistic rennaissance in my career. I marry my best friend and we spend several months of each year in hiding in Greece. The performance itself is analyzed in college classes on pop culture (some which actually site me as an emphasis) and later in life, my charitable contributions bring about the end of several deadly diseases.

I'm going to stop caffienating as much at lunch.

Ahhh... the joys of temping.

2006-01-12T08:59:00.000-08:00

Remember college? Remember how if, in the middle of class, you felt the need to go to the bathroom or make a quick phone call or re-shuffle your backpack or grab a snack or even try to squeeze in a discreet midway through a 2 hour Audio Tech class jerk-off break - you could? You just politely stood up, and left.

I, for one, assumed that this would be the norm for the rest of my life. I am an adult! I do generally whatever I want, whenever I want to!

My, how I was wrong.

I've had to go to the bathroom for two hours (not like, kidney failure had to go, but, you know... I do need to get there eventually...) and the one guy who can handle my phones for me doesn't seem to be picking up his... so I'm just chillin, checking Gawker, and hoping to God that maybe I'll get to take a break before 1:00.

THIS WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO BE MY LIFE.

I was supposed to graduate - get a job in a major studio, slave for 6 months and then impress everyone with my musical brilliance when Axl turned to me suddenly and said, "so what would you do with this track?" Yes. I was supposed to helm (AND FINALLY FINISH) Chinese Democracy. Instead, I have written like, 20 posts over the last year or so, most of which have to do with bowel movements, because frankly, they're the most interesting things that happen to me.

I try to go out more - but find that everyone I meet at hipster dives and dance parties actually has LESS going on in their lives than me (which is terrifying) and I can't keep up with the requisite crystal habit required to even GET INTO the gay places...

So clearly, if I want to save my sanity, I have to do something creative - which used to come SO EASILY to me. If I wanted to write a song, I wrote it. Then I arranged it, called some friends over and produced it, and finished it. But ever since leaving school I've barely touched a keyboard - it's like I'm afraid of the pressure that it entails now - it expects me to perform. It expects me to be as good as I once assumed I always would be. Yikes!

Wow - this post got out of hand... The gist is, I guess - I need to go to the bathroom, and maybe write a song. And neither seem to be happening to easily.

Count your blessings instead of sheep

2005-12-31T20:39:00.000-08:00

Hey everyone!

So, I'm sitting in my apartment, completely alone, for New Year's Eve. Yeah, I know... it's lame, but I sorta got dumped 2 days ago and I wasn't exactly feeling the party party vibe. I guess I was feeling the self-loathing "why doesn't anyone get how great I am" and consequently "what's wrong with me?" vibe... But then I got to thinking - Hey, tons of people have it SOOOOOO much worse than me! There's homeless people! And hurricane refugees! People with incurable diseases! And the folks on Lost (even though being trapped on an island with a group of people THAT HOT wouldn't be THAT bad...)

So, I decided I needed to end my pity party, get off the bitter bus, and think about all of the things that made this year rad. So here goes.

Places I worked:

William Morris Agency (agent assistant)
Intrigue Music/Intrigue Group (assistant to CEO/paid sexless boyfriend)
Big Cup Cafe (coffee bitch/professional slut)
"All Shook Up" (that dude that hands out the Broadway flyers in Times Square)
Susan Blond Inc (Publicity Assistant)
Ziff Davis (Special Assistant for Digital Life Expo)
Shorefire Media (Assistant to Founder)
Estee Lauder (note taker for crazy Jew Foundation)
Grubb and Ellis (Real Estate Bitch)
Jono Productions (Door Bitch / Witty Commentator)

Places I lived:

1. The awesome house with the gogo boy/dirty masseuse and the Crystal addict / Scientologist in Silverlake
2. Superfrank's Apartment - 48th Floor ya'll!
3. 3-bedroom in Hell's Kitchen with crazy Chihuahua
4. 4-bedroom bachelor paradise in Washington Heights (big up to the heights!)

Places I traveled:

1. NY (living in Cali)
2. LA (living in NY)
3. London
4. Kansas City MO
5. Ft. Lauderdale
6. Vancouver
7. Orlando
8. Augusta, GA
9. Boston
10. Various parts of New Jersey
11. Minneapolis

Cute boys* I made out with (in sort of attempted chronological order):

Cassidy from Silverlake (dirty massage freak bicycle messenger with ROCK body)
Kyle (bf for 2 months - completely wonderful)
Martin - beautiful concierge at the Mandarin Oriental in London.
Oliver (first guy I kissed in NYC - STILL FRIENDS!)
Ryan - Love of my life - have made out with randomly since 2000 - will marry or bust.
Gorgeous Ft. Lauderdale Tourist Guy - Ryan? Brian?
Michael (from Levittown - rocked my world with stories about singing "Midnight Train to Georgia" with his mom.)
Hot closeted Adam4Adam guy who was supposedly on NYU water polo team (not verified)
Dirty massage freak II - New York edition
Xander (Scottish accent - knows EVERYTHING about art - totally fascinating - made me wait 3 months for a kiss)
Scout (from Big Cup - done while team seducing little Nick)
Little Nick (17 - adorable - DOESN'T LOOK 17)
Big Nick (has tattoo under right nipple that says "disaster" - kisses like he means it - ironically smaller in stature than "Little Nick"
Crazy Slutty Washington Heights guy from the train
Jay - Go-go boy - have made out and flirted with randomly since first moving to NYC - have vowed to someday actually take his pants off.
Jono - "The Lexus"
Chuck - the man whose dog fellated me
Joshua - wonderful kisser - helped me pick out great jeans - Sooooo tall...
JC - have only made out a little - will hopefully make out more properly in future?
Sexy "gippy" guy
Brad - sigh...

*This list does not include all of the not-cute guys I made out with this year... remember, these are lists of things to be THANKFUL for.

Albums I loved (no order):

1. Nikka Costa - Can'tneverdidnothin'
2. Mariah Carey - The Emancipation of Mimi
3. The Game - The Documentary
4. New Order - Waiting for the Siren's Call
5. Jaguar Wright - Divorcing Neo to Marry Soul
6. Death Cab for Cutie - Plans
7. Esthero - Wikkid Lil Grrrls
8. OKGO - OH NO
9. Mary J. Blige - The Breakthrough
10. Madonna - Confessions on a Dancefloor
11. Bruce Springsteen - Devils and Dust
12. Lil Kim - The Naked Truth
13. Motion City Soundtrack
14. Common - Be
15. Suftjan Stevens - Come On Feel The Illinoise!
16. The Corrs - Borrowed Heaven
17. Natasha Bedingfield - Unwritten
18. Garbage - Bleed Like Me
19. MIA - Arular
20. Fiona Apple - Extraordinary machine
21. Franz Ferdinand - You Could Have It So Much Better
22. Fabolous - Real Talk
23. Emma Bunton - Free Me
24. Diana Krall - Merry Christmas
25. Citizen Cope - The Clarence Greenwood Recordings
26. Black Eyed Peas - Monkey Business
27. Brazilian Girls
28. Beck - Guero
29. Amerie - Touch
30. Annie - Anniemal
31. Imogen Heap - Speak For Yourself
32. Missy Elliot - The Cookbook

Movies I loved (no order):

1. Mr. and Mrs. Smith
2. Harry Potter
3. TransAmerica
4. Me and You and Everyone We Know
5. Aeon Flux
6. Rumor Has It
7. Walk the Line
8. The Squid and the Whale
9. Closer
10. Sideways
11. The Island
12. The Aristocrats
13. Cinderella Man

Books I loved:

1. The Importance of Being Famous (Desconstructing the Celebrity Industrial Complex) - Maureen Orth
2. A Long Way Down - Nick Hornby
3. The Mysteries of Pittsburgh - Michael Chabon (perhaps favorite book of all time)
4. I Am Charlotte Simmons - Tom Wolfe
5. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime
6. Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close - Jonathan Foer (I think?)
7. Invisible Monsters - Chuck Palanuik (again, sp?)

I did read more than this, I swear - but I don't think I liked that much of it...

New Favorite Websites (Yay Temping!)

1. Myspace
2. Gawker
3. Wonkette
4. MSNBC
5. NYTIMES
6. NYPOST
7. Salon
8. GoFugYourself
9. PopImage
10. UComics
11. Garbage's website when Shirley has her blog up

Fantastic, Ridiculous and Strange new Roommates:

1. Arran
2. Ian
3. Samus

New Friends (as in the kind that I had at least 2 outings with):

1. Kate
2. Julia
3. Katie
4. Michael
5. Oliver
6. Charles
7. Laurel
8. Kyle
9. Anna
10. Erica
11. Ross
12. Bianca
13. Nick LE
14. Carrie
15. Brad
16. Kathy
17. Ryan
18. Jenn
19. Chris
20. Jono
21. Xander

Places I ate fantastic meals:

1. Bossa Nova, LA
2. Luna Park, LA
3. Lala's, LA
4. Fred 62, LA
5. Tam O'Shanter, LA
6. Omelet Parlor, LA
7. Electric Lotus, LA
8. Vinyl, NYC
9. Eatery, NYC
10. Tom's Diner, NYC
11. The Palm, NYC
12. La Palapa, NYC
13. Yaffa Cafe, NYC
14. Epistrophe, NYC
15. Corner Shop, NYC
16. Coffee Shop, NYC
17. Havana Central, NYC (My B-day party!)
18. That Dominican Slop Place Up The Street
19. That Tapas Place That Ian Took Me On His First Night In NYC
20. La Paella

Museums I visited:

MoMA
Met
Neue Gallery
Museum of Sex
MoCA (LA)
LACMA (LA)
Getty Museum (LA)
The Cloisters
The Frick Gallery
MFA (Boston)
Isabella Stuart Gardner Museum (Boston)
Huntington Gallery and Botanical Gardens (LA)

Clubs/Parties I've attended:

Akbar
The Abbey
The Roost
UltraSuede
Lucky Strike
Avalon
That uber-gay club in London
Misshapes
Rock-n-Roll High
Duvet
Heaven
Maritime
Nouveau (sp?)
That underground place in the LES (I know... which one?)
That Place in the LES that I Went With Brad and Lost My Wallet
Shelter
Opaline
Boysroom

Times I've had my heart broken: 2

Times I've had random sexual acts performed on me by a dog: 2 (not the same dog!)

Times I've had scabies: 1 (not recommended)

Interviews with MTVN (who still have not come to their senses and hired me): 7

Times I've flown on a Private Jet: approximately 10

Bitchin New Material Possessions:

Jill Sander Suit
iBook (which I LOVE - it's so cute and little!)
Video iPod
Stolen Hoodie from Leyla (which used to belong to Pinkus, on whom I had a major crush)

Wow - that's actually not even close to all of the things that happened this year, but it took AN HOUR to write down (I have to say, excavating all of those make-out partners' names from the nether-regions of my mind took the longest...) and I feel WAY fucking better. This year ROCKED! It was SO MUCH better than last year! Next year can only be EVEN MORE FUCKING RAD-TASTIC!

Happy New Year EVERYONE!!!

Chances are, if you have this blog, I LOVE YOU!!!

XOXOXOXOXOOOXXOXOX

George

Homeless dance party

2005-12-16T06:09:00.000-08:00

So this morning on the LOOOOOOOOONG walk to work accross Central Park South, a very drunk man (homeless? alcoholic?) emplored me to let him listen to my super foxy Bose headphones. Now, normally I would have no problem sharing the love, but did he HAVE to ask me while I was listening to Britney Spears' "Toxic?" I mean, could it have been something a little less embarassing? Does the drunk man need to know that on harder mornings I need a little Brit-Brit to light a fire under my ass?

So he listened. And he knew the song. And he sang. And I hate to be cliche, but I love New York.

On a side note, the woman who's desk I'm covering today left her computer password for me: Hogsmeade.

I would make fun of her geekiness if I didn't CLEARLY know exactly what Hogsmeade is.

In conclusion - the tone for the day is... embarassing.

OH. MY. GOD.

2005-12-15T07:38:00.000-08:00

THE U.S.S. CHINCHILLA??????????????

WTF????????????????????????????

This is the best thing I have ever seen. Period. I'm going to quit everything I've been doing with my life to join up with these people and live a life of eternal CUTENESS!!!

Ms. Adventure

2005-12-10T10:47:00.000-08:00

This morning, Kate and I headed out to Ft. Washington Park (with a preemptive stop at Starbucks) to scout locations for her audition video for Ms. Adventure - a forthcoming Animal Planet show in need of a host. Kate's one of the more adventurous spirits I've encountered, and she'd be perfect for it - also, the thought of her plummeting off of cliffs and jumping out of airplanes kind of tickles me.

For all of NYC's urban granduer, it's so easy to forget that IT'S AN ISLAND! With rocks and cliffs and huge expanses with NO BUILDINGS - where you can't even SEE BUILDINGS! It made me miss home and Wrightwood like crazy, but again made me grateful to live in a city that literally has everything...

I can't get "A Whole New World" from Aladdin out of my head. I think it's going to be my theme for December... I want to try some new things.

That being said, I'm off to downtown for some quality time with former Big Cup employee, J.C., and God knows what after...

Later today I'm going to try to put a bunch of pics of Ft. Washington and the Little Red Lighthouse - stay tuned!

Um... I stink.

2005-12-08T13:59:00.000-08:00

A little bit of winter trivia for you: Union suits used to be the great symbol of winter among frontier families. Toward the end of fall, the men would strap them on, and then wouldn't remove them until the spring. When the spring came, the women would all gather with their husband's union suites to boil them en masse.

I've been wearing my union suit for 2 days. And I stink.

I mean, every time I so much as open my legs while sitting down, I get a truly stank whiff of a smell that could only be crotch.

I'm sure that the really hot, sweaty, absolutely fucking filthy anal sex last night didn't help either...

Pooping in my union suit

2005-12-07T07:26:00.000-08:00

Alright, so for those of you who don't know, I've recently become terribly fascinated with Union Suits (those giant one-sy long underwear outfits that Dr. Seuss characters always wear - yes, with the little but flap). So fascinated that after a few unsuccessful trips to Army Surplus store, I put my mom on Ebay patrol and received TWO of them in the mail this week! They're wonderful. They make me look completely frumpy and ridiculous but they're SO WARM.

However.

Up until this morning, I never really had to worry about the actual logistics of wearing one of these things around - I'd really just lounged around the house and then had some simulated sex in it - but nothing too... committal?

So this morning when I jumped out of bed (late again), threw on my suit and headed out the door to a high-class realty firm, it never occured to me: WHAT ABOUT MY MORNING SHIT BREAK?

I came in, coffee and bran muffin in hand (what? I like to be regular!), did about 5 minutes of work and headed to the bathroom, where as soon as I undid the first button in my pants, I was reminded of the... awkwardness of my situation. Initially I thought, "Well, great! This is what the butt flap is for!" But the butt flap appears to have been designed for someone with a significantly less ample derier, and on top of that, it still leaves this whole piece of fabric covering your fleshy fun bridge, and I personally was not comfortable with the idea of what kind of... um... spill-over there might be onto that space.

It was clear. I had to take the damn thing off. Which meant I had to take off my shirt, undo the damn suit and drop my pants in the in the bathroom of a company I've worked at for 5 minutes. I kept my tie on, so I wouldn't have to re-tie it later, so essentially I was sitting on the pot wearing nothing but a tie, and PRAYING that no one would come into the bathroom, glance through the crack in the stall and gather that I was the PERVIEST TEMP EVER and immediately notify my agency.

Thank God - no one came in, and about a half-hour later when I finally figured out how to get back into the damn thing, I continued my day, warm and toasty as ever.

The Giant Nordstrom in the Sky

2005-10-04T08:32:00.000-07:00

Ok, so not only is this a chance for my uneducated ass to experiment with links, but it's also an opportunity for me to marvel at the fact that so much intrigue and dastardly behavior went into such a boring collection... Como?

How I spent my summer vacation

2005-10-03T21:32:00.000-07:00

Alright - so this is seriously like the most embarassing thing ever... Exactly 6 months ago I moved to NYC for this seemingly uber-exciting new gig, and everything ended up going hideously wrong. Basically, I was supposed to follow this dirty old millionaire around to all of his 14 businesses and learn everything about... um... becoming a dirty old millionaire?

But said dirty old millionaire has a weekness for young boys - actually, I venture, even younger boys than myself, but that didn't stop him from coming onto me all the time and FREAKING out whenever the possibility of me getting laid arose...

Not that the whole thing didn't have it's perks... I traveled, met fabulous people, ate AMAZING food and left the company with $3,000 worth of new clothing/luggage/product/etc... Basically, I became a hired boyfriend without ever intending to be (and ABSOLUTELY without ever having sex with him - *shudders* - the man was seriously the 7 foot tall love child of Ronald McDonald and Quasimodo).

So I left - I couldn't deal with it anymore and I was getting seriously paranoid, and I've spent the last 4 months scrambling to put together a life in a new town with no job and a seriously bizzare hole in my resume... All the while dealing with a seriously harsh case of dissillusionment...

Which brings us to the following - I seriously wrote the following post with intent to publish 6 months ago on a private jet - Gawd I sound SOOOOOOO lame - It's completely embarassing, but I wanted to be able to look back and truly see the slope of the landside that I've experienced in the past summer - it's a bit bracing, to tell you the truth...

Written in April 2004:

So I’m sitting here on this private jet with my new bosses/friends, [NAMES REMOVED] (both old school New York geniuses in their own right), when I suddenly take the first private moment I’ve had in weeks to ask myself, “where the fuck am I, and where was I 3 weeks ago???” The answers, respectively, are somewhere over South Dakota (near Mt. Rushmore, I think…) and slaving away at my fucking office job, wondering if I’d ever feel remotely ok about my life again…

I got a new job – working for a man who inspires me daily and may become one of my best friends… It’s not without it’s wacky drawbacks – he’s gay and older, and sometimes I get the idea that he has a little crush on me (a hypothesis that has been brought to a fever pitch by sharing an apartment with him in NYC (temporarily) and sharing LOTS of hotel rooms. But in general, past my paranoia, he’s fabulous.

Oh, and there’s travel – lots of it. I started the job in London last week, and since have touched down in NYC (where I’m now theoretically a resident), been to Kansas City, where my boss owns and is fully-renovating a business-level hotel, and am currently en route to Vancouver, BC, where we own a bottled water company.

But mostly, theoretically, I’m working with his music company in NYC – we do publishing, management, have a small label, work with production, and basically try to figure out any necessary service to artists and then create said service. We sit around and have 3 hour meetings about artists we like, and where we think music is going in our gargantuan Chelsea Heights loft space.

To summarize, my job is like jerking off all the time (so far). The last time I was this fulfilled I was in school in Boston, and honestly, 2 months ago, I thought I’d never be this fulfilled again.

As I said before, I moved to NYC (sort of) – right now I’m living with [my dirty boss] in an AMAZING Hell’s Kitchen high-rise (48th floor!), and I’m getting totally spoiled… but I’m still stoked to move out, because even though I’ve only been in NYC for just under a week, I’ve already found a fabulous roommate – Oliver (I don’t know his last name). Oliver’s 19, and a student, and just got back from Israel for some reason, and seems to have a lot of money behind him and speaks some sort of exciting middle-eastern language (possibly languages?) – he has a Mohawk, and works at the Big Cup – my favorite Chelsea cruising location (imagine a cruising spot, where everyone met under the guise of being literate and cool and reading rad new paperbacks while sipping Chai Lattes). It’s false and fantastic and it’s been the birthplace of some of the greatest sex and book recommendations of my life…

So, to sum up, I’ve got a new start – I’m 22, have a job I’m excited about, live in the greatest city in the world, and finally feel like my life is starting – maybe it’s ridiculous to write all this down – maybe in a week I’ll hate everything again, but right now, on the private jet to Vancouver with two of the coolest guys in the world and the new Garbage record blaring into my headphones, I feel pretty solid.

OMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMG WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED!!!!????

Hung Up

2005-10-03T13:46:00.000-07:00

Dudes - I know it's been forever since I've posted, and Gawd knows what's gone on since I last ran around my house naked blasting Celine Dion and praying for redemption... but I'll get to all of that later this week...

Cause Madonna has a new record coming out.

And it's going to be bloody fucking unbelievably fantastic...

And I know I have to say that, cause I'm a fag and even bad Madonna (see: "American Life," "Swept Away," etc.) is like catnip to me - but seriously - according to Madonna.com the damn thing is beat-mixed, and with titles like "I love NY" and "Hung Up," I think we can all agree that this record probably won't be bogged down with any X-Static Process Kaballah lovin' Yoga freakin Pilates rappin Bullshit.

And I'm stoked... In a month where I've contemplated everything from Suicide to becoming an elementary school dance teacher (I know, I know... one and the same...) tiny snippits of this track have been my only guiding light to the promised land of mid-November...

Oh wait - and tomorrow's my Birthday! 23 in the house! I know no one reads this anymore, but just in case - feel free to holla if you love me!

Celine Dion - That's the way it is

2004-12-09T13:46:00.000-08:00

If I had to pick a favorite song from the late-90's pop explosion, it would almost certainly be Celine Dion's "That's the way it is." While I am the first to promote and defend talentless popstars' right to exist, it was nothing short of thrilling to hear someone with a truly awesome instrument attack the pop medium. Ms. Dion's vocal acrobatics aside...

Why, in the catalogue of American popular music, are there so many songs about lust, betrayal, money, drugs, heartache and the overall insecurity of the popular psyche, and seemingly so few about faith, redemption, and deliverance?

"I can read your mind, and I know your story, I see what you're going through..."

Yes, Celine, I know you do. We're in this together.

This is why popstars should be exist. They're the superheroes that society elects to champion the cause of love, when so many of us are too tired to fight. They bear the cross of relentless optimism on their well-muscled backs, and remind us to not give up on our faith

"Love comes to those who believe it, and that's the way it is."

Thank God for ITunes...

Oh, also, for those of you who are interested, a crazy Korean pharmicist told me that my hives (below) are chicken-pox. I, for one, am inclined to believe that she is just a crazy Korean pharmicist who doesn't know what she's doing, as they look absolutely NOTHING like chicken pox. I have an appointment with a REAL doctor tomorrow.

Not for the faint of heart!!!

2004-12-06T22:30:00.000-08:00

So, I'd like to take a minute to tell everyone about my newest neurosis. I seem to have developed some sort of psycho-symatic hives/rash thingy. After weeks of stress about my dead-end job, emploding love life, and overall lack of purpose, I started to break out in what looked like tiny bug bites on my inner-thighs. Dismissing it as some sort of dry-skin thing, I simply upped the ante on my moisturization routine and went about my business, calmly waiting for it to subside.

Then, my quasi-relationship-guy forced me to pre-emptively break up with him in order to save myself the humiliation of getting dumped because he didn't like me as much as I liked him.

Suffice it to say, my little dry skin bumps have completely consumed my entire lower body. They extend from my knees up my inner thighs, over the grundle (yes, ladies and gentlemen, I now have an extra-itchy fleshy-fun-bridge) and back through the lower curve of my ass. They're big, red, and sometimes oozy. I itch like I have never itched before. Every minute that I'm not clawing at my delicate parts is fucking torture.

Now, I have to warn you, this is where it gets really weird...

I've been trying my darnedest not to scratch - this is especially hard in bed for some reason, and I haven't been able to get a solid nights sleep in days because I just lie there clutching the sheets and trying not to focus on my now semi-pornographic fantasies of scratch-tastic madness. But, my inner Libra knew that I needed the balance of occaisional release, and because of this, I granted myself a safe zone... the shower.

Yes, everytime I hit the shower now, I lather up my loofah (sp?) handle the cleaning process on my upper body, and then have the time of my life exfoliating the shit out of anything and everything below the beltline. My skin flushes - all I see is red - if I've had moments this erotic with another human being I certainly don't remember them. But tonight, I crossed a line...

Hopping into the shower after a long day's work, I had to congratulate myself on another scratch-free day, and even mused that I may be calming down a little, and my psycho-symatic stress hives might be on their way out the door. Regardless, my reward had been earned, and it was time to claim it. With my loofah fully lathered, I set about my task, beginning first with the knees and working slowly up my legs. The scratching increased it's speed and intensity, and before I knew it, I was rubbing my scrubby buddy (at this point, it might assist the reader to know that my loofah is no ordinary loofah - but is in fact a green stuffed frog sewn into the layers of a loofah - as if clothed in a magical lime-colored tu-tu) across the space between my legs. I start to lose control/consciousness just as I become aware of the feeling of my cheek pressed against the tile of my shower wall, and my hand cramping from the rampant scratch-fest.

When I regained control of myself, I was on my knees, looking down at my deflating penis, my battle-bruised inner-thighs, and a fistful of cum. Yes - I scratched myself to orgasm. I'm not even sure if I touched my dick. I looked up into the showerhead, and thought I saw God.

I've done a lot of queer things in my life, but this was enough to make even the wierdest of the wierd a little uncomfortably queasy...

Is this normal? Are there websites for this sort of thing? Is this like the stigmata for a blossoming saint of sado-masochism? Do I need to seek out some Obi-Wan Kenobe of psuedo-sexual scratching?

Maybe I just need to go see a dermatologist...

Break-up Hook-up #1

2004-12-05T18:17:00.000-08:00

Date: DEC 5 2004
Song (for inspiration on the car-ride over): LL Cool J - "Rub My Back"
Conditions: Rainy, with a touch of self-mutilating retaliatory rage...
Name: Ray (?)

Ray and I met through a rather uninspired C-list add (placed by me) last night. All of my responses either had terrible pictures or were from people seeking a "possibly regular thing." Ray just wanted to jerk off - which, in my fragile emotional state, I found seemingly more appropriate. He also had a HOT (and totally inaccurate) body pic. After seeing "Closer," an inspiring flick about the attrocities that humans are capable of committing against each other, I felt I had my best armor on, and e-mailed Ray to make a quick appt.

I headed over to his hipster-friendly Silverlake rear house duds, and proceeded to have about 5 minutes of AMAZINGLY awkward conversation, because he turned on some of the worst porn I have ever seen. It was a series of solo flicks, each and every man dressed in a different kind of military garb. Unfortunately, they didn't seem to have much of a costume budget, so all of the uniforms ended up looking like over-sized halloween costumes, with the exception of the Navy outfit, which somehow just made the guy look really French.

We started the awful ritual, both of us clearly far too experienced at the forthcoming sequence of events - crotch grabbing, partial shirt removal, leering stares - culminated in a fast, interactionless, and terminally un-sexy orgasm that was about as pleasurable as dental floss.

Seriously, the LL song I bumped on the way over was so much sexier than the actual event that getting back into the car and hearing the song fade out was nothing short of humiliating.

Question - Why did I feel the need to do this? Loneliness? Nah - I've got friends... Boredom? Nah - I've got books, a flatscreen tv, and one of the most awesome music collections ever gathered on God's green earth. The real emotions behind it? Anger and betrayal - yes, merely a few days later, we're back to Josh (asshole). He (btw) is so over me by now it's ridiculous. I, however, remain hurt and fixated. Why can't I get off of this? Normally rejection is a fast (well-practiced) process for me... what makes this one different? My current hypothesis is the element of disception - I really BELIEVED he was into me. Also, in a town I despise with a career going nowhere and college loans that have left me seemingly permanently in the shackles of office-slave-hell, I don't have much else to do.

Oh God - is this my weird fucked up version of self-cutting?

Wow. I'm really embarassed. Yikes....

P.S. - I notably stepped in a monster pile of dog shit on the way out, tracked it into my house, and now everything I own smells like shit.

Surprisingly, my current outlook on life is strangely optimistic... hmmm....

Fucking Twat...

2004-12-04T01:17:00.000-08:00

I want to fucking slash my fucking wrists. This isn't right. Someone you've only known for 2 months should NOT make you feel this way - and yet, someone has. It isn't right. It isn't fair. I don't even think it's legal!

You know, lonely wacky types, such as myself, should really be forced to walk around with some sort of Nazi-esque patch attached to all of our clothing, as a warning to others that we're fringe members of society, and fragile to the course handling of other humans. It would be great - legions of hyper-sensitive mama's boys living out their lonely years protected by society's pact not to fuck with (or date) them. I, for one, would have been perfectly happy to have extended my 14-month period of celibacy (which, for those of you who haven't heard me whine about this, encompassed my ENTIRE 21st year of life), rather than trade it in for 6 weeks of bliss followed by 2 weeks of confusion eclispsed by an unspecified period of complete fucking torture.

In case you haven't been around me to hear my constant spew of autobiography in a while, I recently started dating someone (Josh) and was WICKED excited about it. He seemed to really get me, and I (foolishly) thought I really got him. The sex was awesome. The cuddling was sublime. The PDA was not really my style, but he got into it, and I went with it as much as possible in hopes of accommodation his vision of coupled bliss. Furthermore, he pushed EVERYTHING - first kiss, first one to take a shirt off, first hand-holding, first (well, only) public piggy-back ride. For the first 6 weeks or so, I honestly thought I was LESS into it than he was!

And then, I committed a critical act. After weeks of attempted budget romance (I planned adorable afordable dates, met him at the airport with flowers, bought him a stuffed animal and generally doted whenever possible) I had the audacity to ask him (also adorably) if he wanted to be my boyfriend. His fear registered immediately, and in hopes of not actually having to watch him physically run away, I told him he could answer later...

AND THEN THE FUCKER TRIED TO PHASE ME OUT!!! FUCK!!!!

Phone calls went un-returned, text messages were ignored (yes, I know, I'm alarmingly gay...), and I just got a really strong vibe that if I suddenly stabbed myself in the chest while feeding the ducks at Griffith park and my bloody duck-covered corpse was all over the news, it wouldn't really be any major skin off his back...

I confronted him, and he proceeded to do what many tell me may be the lamest thing ever:

After saying "I don't know" to every honest question I could possibly ask him about our relationship, he suggested I talk the whole thing over with his roommate. Yes, his roommate. I actually walked over to his roommate's room, shut the door, and proceeded to have the only honest conversation about "us" in 7 weeks. Wow.

At the time, it didn't even phase me - now, I'm fucking floored.

The roommate, interestingly enough, was amazingly illuminating (Shout-outs to Spot!) - and my decision was made - leave, but let him know that he can call you if he ever wants to grow up and realize what he has fucking screaming on top of 16 elephants and an albino monkey right in front of him. I left, and immediately deleted all contact information on him from my computer and phone (unfortunately, I still have the e-mail memorized, but it was the ritual that I needed, I think...). Oh, and I took two vicoden chased by three beers and a slice of cheesecake. I really wanted to call him and beg him to take me back (note: George is actually a woman, and is approximately 13 years old...) - but I was too fucked up to move.

Again, I say, no one who's known you for two months should be allowed to do this to you. It just isn't right....

So, since then, for the last 4 days, I've been working, playing, hitting up lame office X-mas parties, all with one solitary hope: He's going to perform some AMAZINGLY romantic Hugh Grant in "Love Actually"-style stunt, and will easily win me back and we'll begin our steller (first!) adult relationship together.

Sounds pretty fuckin rad, right?

Well, there've been no major acts of romanticism so far - in fact, all I've gotten was a solitary text message to ask if I was alright - to which I replied - "Don't worry, I'm not going to send you a pipe bomb." I thought it was funny! I'm still waiting on a reply....

He's not gonna call, right? He's already lost my number, hasn't he? And I'm better off, right?

THEN WHY DO MY FUCKING FEELINGS HURT LIKE A GODDAMN TONI BRAXTON SONG???????

WHAT THE FUCK!!!!!

This has straight-up ruined my for romance for a good 6 more months. When the whole world is dying of all sorts of STD's, I will be the sole survivor, based on my tendency to emotionally commit FAR too early alone. It's really quite sad. I can't bring myself to start masturbating again, and soon my balls are just going to explode.

Ok - I have to go to bed...

Real quick, for the reader, I realize this post is juvinile and melodramatic. I mean, people's 50-year marraiges break up, and they survive without so much as a quasi-suicidal blog post all the time! But I'm weak... really fucking weak... and I have absolutely no excuse, but regardless, I'm gonna keep on whining until I no longer feel like I did in third grade when I found out that EVERY boy in class had been invited to Mike Litzey's B-day party except for me, which may be a while...