March 29, 2007
DUN-dun!
If this happens, my life will be shot, as my addiction to Law and Order reruns is one of the few, few things that is keeping me sane while I'm job-searching.
March 28, 2007
March 21, 2007
Oh. Em. Gee.
Oh my god how could they kick Stephanie off American Idol? She was totally the best of any one of those singers! And how could my imaginary boyfriend Chris be in the bottom 3? And how could Sanjay still be in?
Just kidding. I'm not going to blog about American Idol. Besides, we all know why Sanjay is still in the contest: Vote for the Worst.
On the non-Fox front, things are going all right. Initials and I went to see The Rite of Spring and the Four Seasons last weekend. I started to write a post about past relationships and whether or not they would have gone to see it with me (I adore Stravinsky and Spring and Autumn). It ended up being a lame post.
Other posts that didn't happen include the fact that Initials shaved me, down there, the trip to the 25cent arcade, how annoyed I was on St Patricks Day (aka Amateur Alcoholics night) which didn't help my growing casual racism:
It's funny how St Patricks day is such a racist holiday, how everyone gets drunk to celebrate the Irish. It's not like we have a Fried Chicken and Watermelon Day for black people, or Math tournaments for Asians. That would be wrong. But getting drunk for the Irish is totally cool.
Yes, I am going to hell.
So instead, I'm going to post pics of my cute new tshirts courtesy of threadless, including this design below.
Also. Shakespeare hates your emo poetry.
And he will hate mine, too, when I start posting more of it during National Poetry Month. Mua ha ha ha ha.
Just kidding. I'm not going to blog about American Idol. Besides, we all know why Sanjay is still in the contest: Vote for the Worst.
On the non-Fox front, things are going all right. Initials and I went to see The Rite of Spring and the Four Seasons last weekend. I started to write a post about past relationships and whether or not they would have gone to see it with me (I adore Stravinsky and Spring and Autumn). It ended up being a lame post.
Other posts that didn't happen include the fact that Initials shaved me, down there, the trip to the 25cent arcade, how annoyed I was on St Patricks Day (aka Amateur Alcoholics night) which didn't help my growing casual racism:
It's funny how St Patricks day is such a racist holiday, how everyone gets drunk to celebrate the Irish. It's not like we have a Fried Chicken and Watermelon Day for black people, or Math tournaments for Asians. That would be wrong. But getting drunk for the Irish is totally cool.
Yes, I am going to hell.
So instead, I'm going to post pics of my cute new tshirts courtesy of threadless, including this design below.
Also. Shakespeare hates your emo poetry.
And he will hate mine, too, when I start posting more of it during National Poetry Month. Mua ha ha ha ha.
March 16, 2007
Did You Beware?
Yesterday was the ides of March, for those of you who know what that means. For those of you that don't, it was a good day for posting pictures of drunk boys in togas on your blog. And now you've missed it.
Ah hell, anytime is a good time to post pictures of cute drunk boys. I suppose I could post one.
And speaking of cute drunk boys, I've been spending far too much time watching "I Love New York" and yes, that is probably the best explanation I have for not posting more often. I am watching that show so much. Ok, not really, but it is pretty amazing in a white trash sort of way.
12 Pack was my favorite, if only because he was such a lush I'm pretty sure he has to watch the shows to remember what went on. I'm also pretty amused by the fact that I don't even have to search for the contestants myspace profiles; Wikipedia has done it for me.
Ah hell, anytime is a good time to post pictures of cute drunk boys. I suppose I could post one.
And speaking of cute drunk boys, I've been spending far too much time watching "I Love New York" and yes, that is probably the best explanation I have for not posting more often. I am watching that show so much. Ok, not really, but it is pretty amazing in a white trash sort of way.
12 Pack was my favorite, if only because he was such a lush I'm pretty sure he has to watch the shows to remember what went on. I'm also pretty amused by the fact that I don't even have to search for the contestants myspace profiles; Wikipedia has done it for me.
March 11, 2007
Something Stupid
So I did have a long post in defense of Initials, about how he really can be sweet and nice, and how the few posts I've written about him have been more of me venting, since two of my best friends are studying abroad this semester, and another is getting all boring and studious. But blogger ate it. Stupid blogger.
So then I wrote a second post, not quite as long, about a specific moment how he was really sweet to me. Bascially, my aunt and uncle are taking care of my grandma, who has Alzheimers, and they invited me to a concert to help take care of my grandma while they were busy (they run a recording studio in their basements, mostly for local artists). Initials came along and was a real sweetheart and helped take care of her. He came across like a great guy in the story, just like he did in real life, but then blogger ate it. Stupid blogger.
So then I wrote this post, in a Word document, and then saved it, and then copied and pasted it into blogger while holding my breath, and if all goes well, it should finally post. And instead of waiting until Monday to post this, I'm publishing on Sunday, just to be safe. And so yeah. Initials isn't as bad as a guy as I tend to make him out to be on the blog. But then he went and spoiled it all by saying something stupid like "I love you." Stupid boy.
So then I wrote a second post, not quite as long, about a specific moment how he was really sweet to me. Bascially, my aunt and uncle are taking care of my grandma, who has Alzheimers, and they invited me to a concert to help take care of my grandma while they were busy (they run a recording studio in their basements, mostly for local artists). Initials came along and was a real sweetheart and helped take care of her. He came across like a great guy in the story, just like he did in real life, but then blogger ate it. Stupid blogger.
So then I wrote this post, in a Word document, and then saved it, and then copied and pasted it into blogger while holding my breath, and if all goes well, it should finally post. And instead of waiting until Monday to post this, I'm publishing on Sunday, just to be safe. And so yeah. Initials isn't as bad as a guy as I tend to make him out to be on the blog. But then he went and spoiled it all by saying something stupid like "I love you." Stupid boy.
March 9, 2007
March 5, 2007
Music Monday
Five sounds for your downloading and listening pleasure, right click and save them while they're still being hosted. And then, coming tomorrow or possible Wednesday, a defense of Initials.
February 28, 2007
Hero
Now, I'm not normally one to blog about American Idol. I don't watch the show, I don't have a love/hate relationship with Simon, and all of the previous winners kind of bore me, except for Kelly Clarkson, and that's just because I'm gay.
Flipping through the stations last night, I accidentally watched a part of it. I say 'accidentally' because I don't have cable, and flipping through the five stations that come in on my rabbit ears doesn't take too long, and compared to the other dreck that was on, AI didn't seem quite so bad.
Anyways, for those of you who have lives and souls and aren't 14 year old girls, last night's theme was "Dedications," where the ten young men singing were to dedicate their 'songs' to their 'heroes,' to those who inspire them. I put those words in scare quotes because, well, it really should be prefaced. One guy dedicated "Let's Get It On" to his parents. Seriously.
It got me thinking. If I were on American Idol, to whom would I dedicate my song, and which one would I pick? Are that many people really inspired by their significant others and their parents? I mean, I'm not. They're all good people and all, but they're not my heroes. They're not really people "noted for feats of courage or nobility of purpose, especially one who has risked or sacrificed his or her life."
I don't know. I had a point with this post, but I seem to have lost interest. I'm just going to post a pic of a hot muscular guy.
Yeah, you all saw that coming.
Flipping through the stations last night, I accidentally watched a part of it. I say 'accidentally' because I don't have cable, and flipping through the five stations that come in on my rabbit ears doesn't take too long, and compared to the other dreck that was on, AI didn't seem quite so bad.
Anyways, for those of you who have lives and souls and aren't 14 year old girls, last night's theme was "Dedications," where the ten young men singing were to dedicate their 'songs' to their 'heroes,' to those who inspire them. I put those words in scare quotes because, well, it really should be prefaced. One guy dedicated "Let's Get It On" to his parents. Seriously.
It got me thinking. If I were on American Idol, to whom would I dedicate my song, and which one would I pick? Are that many people really inspired by their significant others and their parents? I mean, I'm not. They're all good people and all, but they're not my heroes. They're not really people "noted for feats of courage or nobility of purpose, especially one who has risked or sacrificed his or her life."
I don't know. I had a point with this post, but I seem to have lost interest. I'm just going to post a pic of a hot muscular guy.
Yeah, you all saw that coming.
February 21, 2007
end your blong now!
I'm not sure if this counts as my first piece of official hate mail, but it's pretty amusing, nevertheless. (The offending post can be found here.)
hello stupid person,
i happened to be "searching" aol in need of important information when I came across the stupid poem you wrote referencing Mary Kate's collapse. I was so dumbstruck and horrified I nearly killed myself, and remind you I am only a 12 year old boy, that probably sounds quite nice to you, you unruly sodomite... gross... what do boys do together? yuck. anyways, I did not begin this "e-mail" to make fun of the gross things you did, I simply mean to say that I'd like you to revoke the dumb "poem" you wrote. Mary Kate hates you, so does God and John Aschcroft. If you write back I'll tell my daddy that you're trying to molest me, now go away.
Best Wishes,
John Updike
hello stupid person,
i happened to be "searching" aol in need of important information when I came across the stupid poem you wrote referencing Mary Kate's collapse. I was so dumbstruck and horrified I nearly killed myself, and remind you I am only a 12 year old boy, that probably sounds quite nice to you, you unruly sodomite... gross... what do boys do together? yuck. anyways, I did not begin this "e-mail" to make fun of the gross things you did, I simply mean to say that I'd like you to revoke the dumb "poem" you wrote. Mary Kate hates you, so does God and John Aschcroft. If you write back I'll tell my daddy that you're trying to molest me, now go away.
Best Wishes,
John Updike
February 20, 2007
I Hate Symbolism
The local amateur gay hockey league tournament was this weekend, and since Initial's friend's boyfriend was playing, I was dragged tagged along, mostly because I felt I had spent too much of the day watching television; only a few days ago did I convince him to buy an antenna to at least pick up five channels on his television so I could watch the Simpsons over at his place. Once he did get the antenna, we started to spend too many nights sitting in front of the boob tube, and it was a good idea to get out of his apartment. Plus, I wanted to at least pretend to play nice; I mean, this friend is Initial's only friend that I can tolerate, so I might as well stay on that one's good side.
The game ended up being pretty goddamn boring, which came as no surprise to me. It was, after all, an amateur hockey played by lesbians and 30-something gay men for whom a puck in the face would be an improvement. There were tons of fouls, and the team that we were 'cheering' for ended up losing. By the end of the game, my ass was sore from sitting on the bleachers, my eyes were rolled up to the back of my head due to all the errors, and I was grunting with impatience as the clock slowly counted down.
Of course, afterwards, my ass was sore, my eyes were rolled, and I was grunting for completely different reasons.
We got back to Initials place and as soon as the door closed behind me, I knew what I was in for. He pushed me back against the wall, one arm trapping me, the other on my chest, his tongue in my mouth. Anticipating what was coming next, I deftly undid my watch and stuck it in my front right pocket, and slipped off my ring and put it into my left. Call me crazy, but I like sex to be completely naked: no rings, no watches, no glasses, no socks, no necklaces, nothing like that.
Now, I won't bore you with all the sleazy, tawdry, disgusting, erection- inducing details, but at one point my pants were ripped off me and flung across his living room, landing somewhere near the kitchen.
Yadda, yadda, yadda, afterwards we realize that the Kiss Kiss Bang Bang dvd we rented was due by midnight, and one of us would have to get dressed and drive the three blocks in order to return it in time. Because I felt as though I owed him one, due to this one thing he did that felt really really good, I volunteered, and went to search for my clothing.
As I collected my keys, phone, and watch, which had fallen out of my jeans pocket when they landed, I realized that my ring was missing.
I wear one ring. It was given to me by my first (and probably best, so far at least) boyfriend, way back when. It was his ring, the only accessory he wore, and four months into the relationship, he took it off his finger and gave it to me. It was a little too big for my ring finger, so I took to wearing it on my pointer. And for the past three years, I've worn it constantly, only taking it off for showers, sleep, and sex.
And now it's missing.
I'm I was an English major, so this stuff comes pretty easy to me, but the fact that I lost the ring, the one big physical remnant of my past relationship, just as I'm hitting the two month mark in another, sounds to me like a passing of the torch sort of situation. And I don't like it.
In many posts recently I've expressed reservations over Initials. When it's good, it's good, and when it's bad, it's boring and he gets too doting. (Plus his friends all suck.)
So maybe it is a sign, that I should forget any hesitations I have and just go for it, restart with a blank slate with this relationship. Or maybe it's a sign that Initials is going to fuck shit up for me, and I should get out before he starts losing other things.
All I know is, I want my goddamn ring back.
EDIT:: He found the ring, with even more, sinister symbolism. It turns out, it was stuck in his shoe, near the side, and he didn't notice he had been walking on it for a while.
The game ended up being pretty goddamn boring, which came as no surprise to me. It was, after all, an amateur hockey played by lesbians and 30-something gay men for whom a puck in the face would be an improvement. There were tons of fouls, and the team that we were 'cheering' for ended up losing. By the end of the game, my ass was sore from sitting on the bleachers, my eyes were rolled up to the back of my head due to all the errors, and I was grunting with impatience as the clock slowly counted down.
Of course, afterwards, my ass was sore, my eyes were rolled, and I was grunting for completely different reasons.
We got back to Initials place and as soon as the door closed behind me, I knew what I was in for. He pushed me back against the wall, one arm trapping me, the other on my chest, his tongue in my mouth. Anticipating what was coming next, I deftly undid my watch and stuck it in my front right pocket, and slipped off my ring and put it into my left. Call me crazy, but I like sex to be completely naked: no rings, no watches, no glasses, no socks, no necklaces, nothing like that.
Now, I won't bore you with all the sleazy, tawdry, disgusting, erection- inducing details, but at one point my pants were ripped off me and flung across his living room, landing somewhere near the kitchen.
Yadda, yadda, yadda, afterwards we realize that the Kiss Kiss Bang Bang dvd we rented was due by midnight, and one of us would have to get dressed and drive the three blocks in order to return it in time. Because I felt as though I owed him one, due to this one thing he did that felt really really good, I volunteered, and went to search for my clothing.
As I collected my keys, phone, and watch, which had fallen out of my jeans pocket when they landed, I realized that my ring was missing.
I wear one ring. It was given to me by my first (and probably best, so far at least) boyfriend, way back when. It was his ring, the only accessory he wore, and four months into the relationship, he took it off his finger and gave it to me. It was a little too big for my ring finger, so I took to wearing it on my pointer. And for the past three years, I've worn it constantly, only taking it off for showers, sleep, and sex.
And now it's missing.
In many posts recently I've expressed reservations over Initials. When it's good, it's good, and when it's bad, it's boring and he gets too doting. (Plus his friends all suck.)
So maybe it is a sign, that I should forget any hesitations I have and just go for it, restart with a blank slate with this relationship. Or maybe it's a sign that Initials is going to fuck shit up for me, and I should get out before he starts losing other things.
All I know is, I want my goddamn ring back.
EDIT:: He found the ring, with even more, sinister symbolism. It turns out, it was stuck in his shoe, near the side, and he didn't notice he had been walking on it for a while.
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