Sandy Clogs

Although it's raining, I'm taking my fat ass to the gym after work today. I didn't go at all last week, and it left me feeling like corpulent crap. With all the benevolence of Jabba the Hut.

In addition, my stylist was sick last week, so my haircut appointment was cancelled. Leaving me feeling like Chewbacca.

Jake Gyllenhal? Eh... I thought that was Jared Leto on that "Prince of Persia" poster. Jordan Catellano is way hotter.

I wanna shoop

I went to the orthodontist last year and he said I needed braces. I immediately panicked and thought I wouldn't be able to perform oral sex--not that these opportunities arise on a regular or even semi-regular basis, but still, one ought to be yare. I texted my friend Roze, who wore braces for a few years, and she assured me that it was still possible to go down as long as you did so with a bit more care. I breathed a sigh of relief.

Speaking of Roze, I asked her how her new job is going and if she likes her co-workers. She said she likes this one woman named Lynne who is like me, but "not as crude".

I saw a personalized license plate this morning that read "GOD 911". I wanted to ralph.

Cute news, new shoes

Last night, I dreamt that Sugar had a litter of kittens. One of them was all charcoal grey with deep granite eyes, and this kind of cool cosmos of patterns in its coat. I'd named it Greyson. It seemed to take a liking to me, which was sweet.

Brandon has still not returned from his trip to the Himalayas. He said he'd return mid-May. I would say this week would qualify precisely as mid-May. I really hope he didn't fall of a snowpeak and pass on. The odd thing is that about a week ago, his TV suddenly turned on. I finally noticed it when I heard some loud-ass commercial on around 3:00 in the morning. I had thought it was just the neighbors TV, but when I knocked on his door and opened it, I found that it was in fact his. Creepy.

I don't quite get the distinction between dot-com and dot-net.

Blackout (non-alcohol related)

I had the day off yesterday, which was swell until the power went out. At first, it was fine. I just lit some candles, had some cocktails, and read some magazines. Then night fell, and it got unamusing real fast. I played some music on my cell phone until it died, then finally took a walk.

As Mr. Alterhausen once confirmed, taking a walk outside without listening to any music is a bit like being on E. Because every sound and sight is amplified in a way you're unaccustomed to if you're jammin' on you iPod or walkman. To those who haven't done E, it's like seeing everything without hearing anything. Or hearing everything without seeing it. And it was a gorgeous, lovely night, with people out barhopping, clubbing, laughing, and a clear, velvet black sky.

Last night, I dreamt of a concert featuring Monie Love and Salt n Pepa. It was fairly awesome.

I don't think I've ever had sex with a guy who was uncircumcised.

Deport! Don't abort! Deport! Don't abort!

I love it when black people say, "I'm not the one!" meaning, I'm not the one to fuck with.

Does Kelly Bensimon, the inarticulate, street jogging, strapless-dress happy member of "The Real Housewives of New York City" crew, not know the word "extremely"? She is constantly saying "really, really". In fact, she described someone's apartment on the show as "really, really unique". Which made me want to just clock her.

I'm addicted to Pandora.com. Although I have several radio stations set up based on several of my favorite artists, I've been almost uniformly listening to the Miguel Migs one. Migs is an SF house DJ whose brand of music is very light, with real instruments. Reminds me of mornings at the End Up.

Something wicked this way claws

Weekday mornings suck in and of themselves, but mine are exacerbated by Sugar.

She begins meowing somewhere between 4:00 and 6:00 am, signaling that she wants food, affection, or to defecate. The food and affection can wait until I'm fully up, and a few warning shakes of my water bottle are enough to threaten her into silence for another thirty minutes. But the call to use the litterbox is one I cannot deny, and not uniquely sounding. I only come to find out that's what she wants to when tell-tale smell of cat poop/pee wafts over my way from the corner of the room and awakens me like no alarm can. So I almost always cow tow to any peep she makes, and am up to feed her or open the door.

Once I'm finally awake, showered, moisturized, and dressed, I then have to try and make it out of the house unscathed, because she attacks me as I'm trying to go. Her eyes will go solid black like the sharks in "Finding Nemo" when they taste fish blood, and she'll chase me down the hallway. I have to face her down and yell at her, which only kind of works, since she'll still look up at me with demon eyes and no trace of fear at the thought of attacking something ten times her size.

This morning, as I exited my room into the hallway, I saw her standing completely still before the front door, like one of those Egyptian cat statues. It was like something out of "The Shining", and creeped me out. So I maneuvered around her while trying to get my shoes, and tried shooing her away from me. She just meowed at me. Not in a "Please don't leave" sort of way, but as if to say, "If you leave, I'll cut you, bitch", like some sort of abusive boyfriend.

So, she leapt up to attach me and I deflected her. Then told her I loved her as I closed the door and left, her little claws reaching underneath the door grasping at me.

Silly puddy tat.