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I passed out at the doctor’s office. I think I’m pregnant now. But really, I did pass out. I hit my head on the wall. Yee-ouch. So, I got my physical results back–glucose, cholesterol, HIV, syphilis, et cetera–and all signs are good. Wow. Glad to know the couple times I had unsafe sex when I was sixteen and stupid didn’t come back to haunt me almost four years later. I never got tested, which is stupid, but now I can start over again as a smarter, more responsible young man. –
Speaking of starting over, if you will, has anyone seen the daytime TV show Starting Over? It’s like crack. That lady Iyanla is crazy. Like a poor man’s Oprah. If you’ve seen it, you know what I’m saying. – I had a fight with an old lady on the subway today. I turned the page on my newspaper and she looked at me like “How dare you?” and I looked back like “Excuse me, what are you looking at?” and she said “Watch your paper, asshole.” and I said “It was nowhere near you. Shut the fuck up, you old hag.” Luckily, my stop was next, so I didn’t have to bear the awkward silence. – Bush is bringing a fucking fight with this Supreme Court choice. I have a sinking feeling he’s going to win it. filed under: misc | comments: 1 comment |
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A funny thing happened today. I was on the subway platform waiting for the train and I saw someone from high school, someone who was in a few of my classes, standing a few feet away from me with his friend. In my mind, I said, “Hey! How’s it going? How’s life been since you graduated?” Flashing back to reality, I realized I really didn’t care. I watched him leave the Brooklyn-bound F a few stops later and walk off. Formalities are so interesting; I could have had that conversation with him, but really, did I care if his life was going well or if he was just struck with a severe case of genital herpes? We weren’t friends, just accquaintances, and I most likely would not see him again after that conversation. I just didn’t feel the urge in those ten minutes to do anything but stare and think back to those days in North Carolina. I think we’ve all gotten that lazy. This is the era of text-messaging. We have the ability to get the information we need without the “Oh, how have you BEEN?” and “…Well, I have some errands to run, so I’m going to get off of the line.” and I think it’s starting to transpose to every facet of daily life. Or maybe it’s just the city, the too-cool-to-care nature, but honestly…I enjoy it. – A note to the MTA: Thanks a lot for the four free days’ worth of subway rides that you see fit to be a “holiday gift,” but I’d really rather have the ability to ride the L from midnight to 5am and on weekends more than 25% of the time. It’s nice to see you have your priorities in order. –
Watching Madonna’s new video, all I could think about was what amazing ass exercises she must do. Check that thing out. filed under: misc | comments: 2 comments |
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It’s amazing the one-eighties life throws at you. I just had two of the best days in recent memory, the perfect antidote to the preceding shitty moods. I went on a date last night, the closest to a real old-fashioned date as a queer New Yorker can probably get these days. A certain someone made me an amazing vegetarian dinner, complete with red wine (the white probably would have been a better choice). We watched The Apprentice–the first episode I’ve seen since season one–and then a portion of two different horror flicks, both of which were turned off because they were lame. (For the record, that would be Exorcist: The Beginning and House of 1000 Corpses.) It was great, we really hit it off, and I guesssssss we’ll just see what happens. (Since you’ll most likely end up reading this, thank you again.) So, already happy about that, I had a chat with my district manager this morning. We’ve been doing a lot of work to get my promoted, and I wanted a check-up with him. I knew I had a pre-requisite class to do in mid-November, and my promotion was probably supposed to come up January or February after the holiday madness ends. Anyway, to get to the point, my store manager comes up to me and he says “You know you have your interview on November 20th, right?” And I go, “What? I’m doing the mock interview [with the DM] then?” And he says “No, your panel interview.” To fill you in, the panel interview is with a couple different top guns in the city. It’s the final, final, final interview. This means I’m going to be out of my store, god-willing, TWO MONTHS earlier than I expected. Simply put, PLEASE cross your fingers for me. This is big news. (And big money.)
Current Mood:
 ecstatic
Current Music: Bjork/Kelis - Oceania remix
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Excuse my moment of catharsis in the last post. It was much, much needed. As an update, I now have heat. And my mood is lifted. I think I am emotionally cold-blooded. Not as in ruthless and unfeeling, but as in my emotions literally change with the weather. Or maybe I was just having a bum night. I got this lovely bookshelf from The Container Store delivered today, so maybe that helped as well. I danced tonight at Bust, and this was the interesting conversation I had with a homeless man as I left: HM: Hey. There were less people there than I’ve ever seen–the party is on its way out–but I got more tips than I ever have dancing there. I love setting aside money to pay off bills before I get them. Finances are never a problem for me. I always find a way to live comfortably, and that’s such a nice feeling.
James Frey was on Oprah today. At first, I was kind of pissed that she picked A Million Little Pieces as her book club selection because it’s one of my favorite books, but then I thought how many more people will be helped by the exposure to such a massive audience. If you haven’t read this book, you really should give it a chance. Especially if you have any experience with addiction problems or knowing anyone with addiction problems. It’s amazing. Thanks for all your kind words on my last post. I’m feeling much better now. filed under: misc | comments: 3 comments |
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It is disturbingly cold in my room. I’m sitting at my computer with a mug full of chai latte I steamed so hot it burns my tongue, so hot it makes me forget that I am shaking. The landlord told me today that the furnace in the basement is being fixed, so the heat should be on within the next few days. I want to tell him, this temperature is illegal, so let’s expedite the process as much as possible. I want to tell him, you know, I can’t sleep at night because I can only think about how I’m going to turn into a big Filipino ice cube overnight. But most of all I want to tell him, if you don’t fix the fucking heat I’m going to slip into a horrible lonely depression by the end of the week. I spent more time this evening than I’d like to admit welling up with tears because the temperature, like always, has spurred this feeling of desolation and depression and oh-my-god-i’m-going-to-be-a-crazy-old-guy-playing-checkers-alone-in-the-park-when-i-hit-my-sixties. New York depresses me. Everyone has an agenda. An agenda which usually has fame, sex, money, and glamour all crowding the top. I don’t know where to meet anyone. This city isn’t made for romantics, it’s made for ruthless, cutthroat, conniving starfuckers. Okay, I’m exaggerating, but I’ve been here for fourteen months without a serious, physical, emotional, mental relationship. And please, don’t start the condolences. I know it’s not me, I know that. I would date me, in fact. Not that I’m full of myself, but I know that I have a lot to offer. I’m witty, fun to be around, creative, responsible, romantic, thoughtful. I have a career path in the works. I have a 401(k). I have medical benefits. I have stocks. I’m nineteen; who has that at nineteen? I’m an old soul trapped in a young body, and I’m tired of not being able to relate to anyone my own age. I wouldn’t mind dating an older guy, but I can’t find anyone. Period. I guess I’m not looking in the right places. And by that, I mean I’m not looking at all. Bars and clubs I’ve done extensively, and, shock of a lifetime, not really the people I’m looking for. At least not in the correct context. The Internet? Please. While I’m sure Prince Charming is out there, I can’t see him through the forest of ads for pigs, barebacking, fisting, 7c, vers/top, masc only, no asians, rimming, et cetera, et cetera. I work in a coffeeshop, there goes that one. I’d go to museums, but I’d rather not…cruise at a museum. Go figure. I’m not that desperate yet. I know it’s only a matter of time, but how many Fiona Apple songs do I have to listen to before I can stop identifying with her? Basically, what I’m saying is, wanna cuddle? filed under: misc | comments: 16 comments |
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