Princess Toadstool

I bought a big new red suitcase over the weekend in preparation for NYC. I resisted buying an equally fruity luggage tag out of fear of it being a bit excessive, but now regret it, as my MO is to make sure no one hauls off with my suitcase at the airport, and the red color and polka-dotted luggage tag could have jointly assured that.

I enjoy having my very own special mug. I'm not talking about my face, I mean my coffee mug, which I use for tea in the evenings before hitting the hay. It's like a big, warm hug.

At some point you lose your interest in certain things, just as certain people become less interesting. An apt cue to move on.

Chest ruts bloating on an open pyre

Lavern and I are going to NYC in April! I've been dying to go back since I went for the first time in 2007, and it will be her first time going. We are doing it as tourist-y as possible, the double decker bus, tour of Ellis Island, and the requisite musical (I'm thinking "Promises, Promises" featuring Sean Hayes, but primarily because of the "Turkey Lurkey" number with which I'm obsessed on the YouTube).

Last Sunday was a charming holiday din din at the Osha with L Ha and Team Christy where we gossiped, drank, ate, and I dared Team Christy to give our burning hot Thai guy waiter her number (he's been stalking her ever since). I'm thinking, new tradition. We then walked our way to Union Square and took pictures in front of the big Christmas tree like fucking tourists. Endearing.

My Christmas wish this year is for all children to collectively have laryngitis for a week so they can't speak/yell/scream.

Tanks

Hannah invited me to her family's Thanksgiving, but I had to decline. I told her as much as I'd love to go and meet her clan in person, it would feel awkward, like I was the weird, gay roommate in a clown costume who'd randomly shown up. Her mother expressed that she'd really wanted me to come, and I told Hannah to thank her, but reiterated my position. At least it's nice to be wanted.

The optometrist put my left contact under a microscope to discover there was a hairline crack right at the edge of the cornea. I had looked the contact over up and down, but not seen a thing, and had thought that my eye had gone all wonky, so it was actually a blissful revelation. Moreso, a new one has been ordered that my insurance will cover, so I can stop feeling like I'm living in a dream world with that rank fogginess resulting from having only one good contact on.

The grandmother of my youngest sister, who is my half-sister but whole nonetheless, died a few days ago. She was a very sweet lady, and my sister was very close to her and her grandfather, who also passed away about a year ago. She realizes that her grandmother is in a better place, which, as much as it is a cliche to say, is actually the truth of it. Death is but a door that leads to something else.

Pop! Pop! Can you hear me?

It was an immensely fun Friday night at the End Up with DJ Hawthorne at the helm, all prompted by the promise of LG being in town. My newly svelte and newly blond buddy from the East Bay came with a brother and sister pair, the former of which sat down with me for a spell and spun some story of being clairvoyant. I entertained his somewhat entertaining speech for a bit before he had to potty, and followed along with the intention of waiting for him when he got out. But the music was amazing, true classic End Up, soulful/diva house shiz the likes of which I love. So I danced around like Mary at the end of "Party Girl" until I was pooped, and headed home around 3:00.

Saturday was supposed to be the Love Parade, but luckily I'd gone online to discover the day event had been cancelled. Pity, as I do love boys in hippie/raver attire.
But I met up with Mandy at Osha instead and soaked in the summery day with Thai appetizers and caprihinas.

My new roomie Hannah and I have plans to do the sushi place down the street some time next week, which will be a fun, month-late welcome home dinner for her.

I want to get a bunny, but I'm afriad Sugar will kill it. Plus I'm not too keen on the little bullet poops they leave everywhere.

Hannah bought this amazing aloe vera plus green tea handsoap that is like aromatic heroin. I am addicted to the smell of it.

It's all about adding lemon juice to your water and having some cottage cheese everyday.

Straight up now tell me is it gonna be juice or milk my bay-beh

I am a reflective motherfucker who always likes to evaluate where I am in life and where I'm going. I like to evaluate the incremental changes that occur in my life as part of this process. One thing for certain is that the higher volume and greater intensity of my workload lately has made me more driven by necessity. The way that trickles down to my personal life is that my natural sense of nostalgia seems to have been pushed aside to make room for the present. Like a sand sculpture slowly but steadily being swept away by the wind. It's not really even that dramatic or dire, but it's just something I've noticed recently.

One of the scenes in "Election"--that great flick featuring Matthew Broderick and the lucky-bitch-who-got-to-have-Ryan Phillippe's-penis-inside-of-her-at-least-twice Reece Witherspoon--that has always stood out in my mind because it is so authentic, is when Matthew Broderick's character is at that motel, preparing to sleep with his neighbor's wife. He's rushed home from school, done whatever to set the mood, and there's this scene where he quickly splashes some soap and water on his genitals to clean them right quick. Like he wants to be fresh for the imminent whoopee to occur, and is short on time. That had to come from someone who has been in the same situation. A piece of brilliant writing, I'd say.

In one of my classes in college, one instructor actually asked us all what we wanted to be after graduation. I can't remember the class or precisely the circumstance that this sophomoric topic was broached, but I'll never forget that one guy, this scruffy, sort of tell-it-like-it-is in stoner style guy said, with no trace of irony, that he wanted to be a film critic. I suppose he could have been a film studies major, but that always stood out to me as a particularly unusual and perhaps brave admission of a major.

Not that I didn't--and don't still--get my fair share of laughs for having majored in English, mind you.

Whirlwind weeks, world weary days, and whoopee! times

In the big ole basket of bullshit and brass I've been dealing with for the past several weeks, there've been some ups and downs, and never a dull moment. My first time at the helm of the company's annual bonus program has gone off well. We'll just cross our fingers and hope everything gets paid correctly and there aren't any errors attributed to my ass.

And last weekend, I interviewed a record four candidates for the new roommate after just two months with Zeke. Before I get into that lot, though, as an interesting, if not perturbing side note, I received a call last week from someone in a local area code saying they were going to rent to Zeke, and asking for a tenant reference. This was odd as he'd told me he'd lost his job and would be moving back to LA. I guess I should have noticed the red flags when he moved in and didn't want to buy a couch off of my old roommate because "it would be a pain to move out". And at one point early on asked, "And I just have to give you thirty days before I move out, right?"

Whatevs. Most everyone I interview for the place is wowed by the size of the room and the low rent. And this story does have a happy ending, not the least of which is that after this next roommate moves out, I'm most likely living solo.

A breakdown of the cast:

1. Joya - A rather sheltered girl who when I sat her down to interview her, asked about ripping up the carpets, retiling the bathroom, and painting the walls. Clearly someone who came from a rather cushy background, and wasn't suited to City life. Next!

2. Larry - A guy into animation with an easy laugh and an easy face to look at, he was a total charmer, and we seemed to hit it right off. Sugar ran laps around the room like a lunatic, so I knew he was a keeper. Unfortunately, though I offered him the place, he instead had a friend moving up to the city and decided to room with him. Drats.

3. Nessa - A chick from Singapore whose English had a cute British tinge to it, she seemed to be gathering her bearings in the city and taking it all in. She was talkative as hell though, and it was during her interview that my hangover really started to kick in. Still, she took the second place trophy at the time.

4. Hannah - I nearly didn't interview Hannah since she couldn't come on Saturday, but took the time to meet her on Sunday, and was glad I did. A 20 year old stylist who was nothing but sweet, called me "an awesome guy", and who Sugar literally dug her claws into and almost didn't let go. She also included those twelve magical words in her email response to the ad: "I won't be home very often because I work all the time." Loves it. She just signed the lease and dropped off the move-in check, so we're a go on that front.

Mr. Alterhausen is in town and living it up Frisco Disco style. I cocktailed it with him and Debelah at Lime last night, Shazam-ing the tunes played by the DJ, drinking it up, taking ridiculous pics, and the like.

It has been cemetery weather the past several weeks, like in "Silent Hill" when it's the limbo dimension with washed out gray everywhere, as if you're dead. Only I feel not so much dead as overly catalyzed and ripe for a nap

At da club, rub a dub dub

Remember the "Pac Man" cartoon show from the '80s? Lately at work, I feel like I'm in a perpetual state of being chomped--like when the ghosts would chomp Pac Man, and he'd be incapacitated.

Last weekend, I noticed Sugar's right eye was slightly closed, and had a gauzy film over it. So I scheduled a vet appointment for today, and thought it would be fun to take her out for a walk the couple of blocks to the place.

Talk about an idiot maneuver.

Cats like the familiar, they like to hide in underneath things, and be in a position where they can attack/escape if necessary. So big tall-ass building, roaring cars, and the like, are not fun to a cat. I thought at any moment she might wriggle out of my grasp, rip my face apart, and bolt. But after ten strenuous minutes, we made it to the vet, she was diagnosed with an ulcer in her eye (because sleeping and eating all day are truly, truly stressful activities), I got some ointment for her, paid the $146 bucks (!), was given a cat cart to tote her home in, and trekked back to Casa Fiesta.

I need to post the roommate ad on Monday, but before I do, I'm going to start a petition: No More Will Ferrell movies. I'm asking nicely.