I meant to post this before...just realized I never did...
The day Chao left was incredibly hard. I found myself sobbing at inopportune times.
At work I had to hole myself up in the bathroom stall and let the tears out. When I had finished crying, I splashed cold water on my face and stared at myself- red eyes and puffy.
Some people look gorgeous crying. I'm not one of them.
When I walked back into the slick offices of my current PR office- the Christian Louboutin heels clacking away- one of the impossibly skinny glamourous girls noticed I had been crying- but as this office has an air of cold professionalism.... because of the hunger (for ambition, not carbs), she simply smiled at me and said, "Want some coffee?"
I loved that.
That first weekend was a little hard, but I met up with friends and went to the standard Chelsea gay house party- full of guys in stripped button down shirts (think Ted Baker), beefy bartenders in tight tees, and cocaine being snorted like its 1988.
All in all, I had some fun, but things aren't the same. My partner-in-crime is gone.
Monday, November 13, 2006
Friday, November 03, 2006
Gotta Keep Moving On
This afternoon, Tim and I meet up with Chao for lunch for the last time. Hes boarding a 4:30 plane this afternoon to move back to Los Angeles.
As usual Chao was running late for our 12:30 lunch date. I called him at 12:15 and woke him- he informed me he had to pick up his last paycheck first. So typical its expected.
At 1:15, Chao finally arrived, calling from his cell, suggesting we eat at Taco Bell instead of our usual Whole Foods locale. I refused. I won't eat there even if his car service was scheduled to stop by 2pm. We agreed to figure it out on the street.
On a hustling Broadway, I spied up the street, Chao and his usual hurried demeanor, cell phone to ear, wire-rimmed glasses framing his porcelain perfect skin, and a way too stylish trenchcoat making its last outing before being retired in sunnier environs.
We got coffee instead of lunch at Max Brenner's, and had one last session of laughter; referencing Laguna Beach, talking about future plans, and giving heart-felt wishes of good luck.
I know people come and go out of our lives. It's the way things work. But sometimes it's really hard.
I've had to say goodbye to friends before. People move, and some have even died. And a part of me selfishly wants to keep all of my loved ones at my side. In the same city to be in each other's lives completely. and not just over e-mails. All of those amazing friends who have continued to inspire and amaze me with their crazy spirit and brillance.
But for now I have to say goodbye to seeing Chao everyday. Seeing him freak out, become sober, and shop way too much. Seeing him with his hard exterior, being a total cunt to the world, and knowing the full extent of his marvelous vulnerability.
A year and a half ago, I left New York to find something. I returned not sure what I found- but now- its Chao's turn to go.
I hope you find what you're looking for. LA's a wonderful city- its a little hard at first but just make sure to enjoy the sunshine and you'll be more than fine. And go hike at Ruyon Canyon for me. Eat In-n-Out after working out and hug Jojo and visit your family more than once a month.
Best of Luck Chao Chao, I'll miss you so much it hurts. Texting and cell phone calls just aren't the same. New York will be here waiting for you in case you ever decide to come back.
As usual Chao was running late for our 12:30 lunch date. I called him at 12:15 and woke him- he informed me he had to pick up his last paycheck first. So typical its expected.
At 1:15, Chao finally arrived, calling from his cell, suggesting we eat at Taco Bell instead of our usual Whole Foods locale. I refused. I won't eat there even if his car service was scheduled to stop by 2pm. We agreed to figure it out on the street.
On a hustling Broadway, I spied up the street, Chao and his usual hurried demeanor, cell phone to ear, wire-rimmed glasses framing his porcelain perfect skin, and a way too stylish trenchcoat making its last outing before being retired in sunnier environs.
We got coffee instead of lunch at Max Brenner's, and had one last session of laughter; referencing Laguna Beach, talking about future plans, and giving heart-felt wishes of good luck.
I know people come and go out of our lives. It's the way things work. But sometimes it's really hard.
I've had to say goodbye to friends before. People move, and some have even died. And a part of me selfishly wants to keep all of my loved ones at my side. In the same city to be in each other's lives completely. and not just over e-mails. All of those amazing friends who have continued to inspire and amaze me with their crazy spirit and brillance.
But for now I have to say goodbye to seeing Chao everyday. Seeing him freak out, become sober, and shop way too much. Seeing him with his hard exterior, being a total cunt to the world, and knowing the full extent of his marvelous vulnerability.
A year and a half ago, I left New York to find something. I returned not sure what I found- but now- its Chao's turn to go.
I hope you find what you're looking for. LA's a wonderful city- its a little hard at first but just make sure to enjoy the sunshine and you'll be more than fine. And go hike at Ruyon Canyon for me. Eat In-n-Out after working out and hug Jojo and visit your family more than once a month.
Best of Luck Chao Chao, I'll miss you so much it hurts. Texting and cell phone calls just aren't the same. New York will be here waiting for you in case you ever decide to come back.
Friday, September 01, 2006
Other VMA Comments
A couple thoughts on last night's VMAs:
1. I must be old because Panic at the Ok Fall Out Chemical whatthefuckever all looked exactly alike to me? I kept asking Chow, "Who is that?! And doesn't that guy looks like a gay Jared Leto?"
2. Who the fuck invited Jack White's new band, the Racconteurs, to play every five minutes! Jack, you're pale and make me want to committ murder homocide.
3. Christina, gurl, you can sing. We all know you can sing, but WHY THE FUCK would you pick some fruity ass ballad that belongs in Pippin 2: Another Faggoty Ass Gay Musical to sing at the VMA's.
4. Pink won Best Female Video for "Stupid Girls" over Shakira's "Hips.." and Christina's "Ain't No Other Man..." What?! Did anyone buy this fucking album?! How much airplay did her shitty song/so-so video even get?! And she's such a dyke! Her new hair-cut scared me gayer.
5. What was Andre 3000 wearing? Ralph Lauren for women?
6. J-Lo and her cancer-patient headwrap? Hmmm... gurl, that thing looked fucked- up and you can't read a teleprompter either. Methinks you lurned to read in the Bronx.
1. I must be old because Panic at the Ok Fall Out Chemical whatthefuckever all looked exactly alike to me? I kept asking Chow, "Who is that?! And doesn't that guy looks like a gay Jared Leto?"
2. Who the fuck invited Jack White's new band, the Racconteurs, to play every five minutes! Jack, you're pale and make me want to committ murder homocide.
3. Christina, gurl, you can sing. We all know you can sing, but WHY THE FUCK would you pick some fruity ass ballad that belongs in Pippin 2: Another Faggoty Ass Gay Musical to sing at the VMA's.
4. Pink won Best Female Video for "Stupid Girls" over Shakira's "Hips.." and Christina's "Ain't No Other Man..." What?! Did anyone buy this fucking album?! How much airplay did her shitty song/so-so video even get?! And she's such a dyke! Her new hair-cut scared me gayer.
5. What was Andre 3000 wearing? Ralph Lauren for women?
6. J-Lo and her cancer-patient headwrap? Hmmm... gurl, that thing looked fucked- up and you can't read a teleprompter either. Methinks you lurned to read in the Bronx.
Fergie - London Bridge VMA's Preshow
One of the best performances from last night's VMAs was Fergie's Pre-Show "London Bridge" Number.
Girl is giving "tranny-hooker" realness with that scary face of hers, but the track is hot. Gwen's Hollerback Girl may sound similar, but Fergie's flavor comes off as legitmately more hip-hop.
One of the best performances from last night's VMAs was Fergie's Pre-Show "London Bridge" Number.
Girl is giving "tranny-hooker" realness with that scary face of hers, but the track is hot. Gwen's Hollerback Girl may sound similar, but Fergie's flavor comes off as legitmately more hip-hop.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Christina Milian Broke. But not Busted.
Christina Milian - Dip it low live on CD:UK
Christina may be broke, but she'll always have a special place in my heart for being the sluttiest pop-tart imaginable.
Here's Christina performing her anthemic call to all sluts to spread them wide, Dip It Low.
And help a poor girl out by buying her shit off of e-bay really cheap.
Christina may be broke, but she'll always have a special place in my heart for being the sluttiest pop-tart imaginable.
Here's Christina performing her anthemic call to all sluts to spread them wide, Dip It Low.
And help a poor girl out by buying her shit off of e-bay really cheap.
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Monogamy, Monotony, My God.
A friend in SF, Jesse, recently e-mailed me about a great guy he'd met that doesn't believe in monogamous relationships, much to Jesse's chagrin.
Monogamy, Monotony, my god. I want to believe in monogamy because I'm
a hopeless romantic, but I think I've been jaded into an acceptance of
reality. Partly because of my past behavior; I've never been
monogamous in my life, and partly because I've yet to meet a couple
who I truly believe is truly monogamous. And I don't ONLY run in
circles of rampant sluts.
But do I think I'd want it? Absolutely. The bigger question of whether
I'd be able to commit has only recently affirmed itself. I think that
after a decade of gay dating, I'm finally understanding the value of
monogamy after having gone through three serious, and several minor,
relationships.
For starters, the obvious, it'd be great to be able to have
unprotected anal. The way it was supposed to be with no worries and
suspicions.
But it also be great to not run into a trick while you're out with
your boyfriend, which inevitably will happen even in huge cities in
New York, and definitely in your provincial village of SF. And you'd
find traces of foriegn encounters in their jean pockets and avoided
questions.
And those things can be emotionally akward; for some more, for others less.
And I don't want to subject someone I care about to all that.
That said I can't be monogamous right off the bath. And I don't expect
him to. But it's something that I need to be a part of the courtship
process. Right before the moving-in together. But after HIV testing.
But that's just my beliefs now, and I'm open to the fact that the rules will probably change as I go. Because that's the one constant even in relationships; things will change.
So I've designed a t-shirt for my halloween costume. You can't steal my costume idea if you're in the NYC area.
Like my nickname on the back?
Monogamy, Monotony, my god. I want to believe in monogamy because I'm
a hopeless romantic, but I think I've been jaded into an acceptance of
reality. Partly because of my past behavior; I've never been
monogamous in my life, and partly because I've yet to meet a couple
who I truly believe is truly monogamous. And I don't ONLY run in
circles of rampant sluts.
But do I think I'd want it? Absolutely. The bigger question of whether
I'd be able to commit has only recently affirmed itself. I think that
after a decade of gay dating, I'm finally understanding the value of
monogamy after having gone through three serious, and several minor,
relationships.
For starters, the obvious, it'd be great to be able to have
unprotected anal. The way it was supposed to be with no worries and
suspicions.
But it also be great to not run into a trick while you're out with
your boyfriend, which inevitably will happen even in huge cities in
New York, and definitely in your provincial village of SF. And you'd
find traces of foriegn encounters in their jean pockets and avoided
questions.
And those things can be emotionally akward; for some more, for others less.
And I don't want to subject someone I care about to all that.
That said I can't be monogamous right off the bath. And I don't expect
him to. But it's something that I need to be a part of the courtship
process. Right before the moving-in together. But after HIV testing.
But that's just my beliefs now, and I'm open to the fact that the rules will probably change as I go. Because that's the one constant even in relationships; things will change.
So I've designed a t-shirt for my halloween costume. You can't steal my costume idea if you're in the NYC area.
Like my nickname on the back?
Thursday, August 17, 2006
PS How Creepy are Kiddie Pageants?!
So they finally apprehended a suspect for Jon Benet's murder 10 billion years later, and I kinda feel that I owe her parents an apology. I totally thought you guys did it and eagerly awaited your incarceration. But I think I speak for most people when I say you're still fucking nutjobs.
You guys dressed your five-year old like a cheap tranny hooker. And spoke like Christian fundies on your TV appearances.
Such a bad situation all around.
I don't get pedophiles much like the way I don't understand how people would want to be secretaries. You could try to explain it to me but I'd rather not know.
You guys dressed your five-year old like a cheap tranny hooker. And spoke like Christian fundies on your TV appearances.
Such a bad situation all around.
I don't get pedophiles much like the way I don't understand how people would want to be secretaries. You could try to explain it to me but I'd rather not know.
I'm on vacation!
Since I'm getting severance I'm in total denial that I'm unemployed. I've been treating it like a staycation- getting things fixed up around the apartment, spending time with my cat, Fattie, and eating like a fat girl eating her feelings.
So I'm headed to Provincetown, Mass. to spend a week my step-son, the high-mantinence pooch. I've already been given detailed instructions on how to continue his training using a clicker. But unbeknowst to his daddy, I'll be training him to steal Dior. Better keep on eye on your shit queens.
So I'm headed to Provincetown, Mass. to spend a week my step-son, the high-mantinence pooch. I've already been given detailed instructions on how to continue his training using a clicker. But unbeknowst to his daddy, I'll be training him to steal Dior. Better keep on eye on your shit queens.
Friday, August 11, 2006
You've Got to Be Kidding Me
There's been so much work drama going on that I keep expecting cameras to appear and for Jason to burst into the room proclaiming me his new girlfriend. (Which to be honest with you, I wouldn't really mind... )
All of it has sadly left me unemployed. Today is my last day with People En Español, and it's been as short bittersweet ride.
Am I bummed? Yes.
Am I stressing? Most definitely.
But am I defeated?! Only slightly.
I take solace in the fact that for once it had nothing to do with my shoddy work ethic or my propensity to shop online all day. A new managing editor came in and he's bringing in his own people.
I wish the magazine and the new editor well. And I say that with my teeth clenched.
I'm not too worried. I get the feeling I'll be gainfully employed soon.
There's a new Applebees opening in Times Square.
All of it has sadly left me unemployed. Today is my last day with People En Español, and it's been as short bittersweet ride.
Am I bummed? Yes.
Am I stressing? Most definitely.
But am I defeated?! Only slightly.
I take solace in the fact that for once it had nothing to do with my shoddy work ethic or my propensity to shop online all day. A new managing editor came in and he's bringing in his own people.
I wish the magazine and the new editor well. And I say that with my teeth clenched.
I'm not too worried. I get the feeling I'll be gainfully employed soon.
There's a new Applebees opening in Times Square.
Thursday, July 20, 2006
Reily, My Ex
I had dinner with my ex-boyfriend, Reily, tonight. He's the one I've always referred to as simply the EX.
When my cab pulled up to the gourmet diner, I stepped out, called his name out, and ran to him to give him a hug.
I pulled back from the hug and absorbed the beauty of his face. The bright sweet eyes, his stubble, and the warm effusive way he smiles at me when we're not fighting.
We're at a strange point in our friendship because we both have finally taken the steps to move on. More than dating other people, its a sense of finality that hangs between us- a sense that we'll be just friends, and nothing more.
Over dinner we talked about work, or rather how talking about work seems to stress me out, and we talked about our love lives.
The subject of your love life is tricky with any ex, but its especially strange with Reilly because as insane as it sounds, I'm still in love with him. In love with him like an alcoholic is in love with liquor. I know the relationship is horrible for me. We fight. We bicker. I break out. And all of our friends plead for us to break-up for good.
But as we spoke about the new men in our lives, it was comforting to know that Reily will most likely move on, and will find love again post-psychotic me. And that I will too.
And that no matter what the future brings, he'll still occasionally wait on a bench outside a restaurant for me, me always 10 minutes late, willing to give me that big hug once again.
When my cab pulled up to the gourmet diner, I stepped out, called his name out, and ran to him to give him a hug.
I pulled back from the hug and absorbed the beauty of his face. The bright sweet eyes, his stubble, and the warm effusive way he smiles at me when we're not fighting.
We're at a strange point in our friendship because we both have finally taken the steps to move on. More than dating other people, its a sense of finality that hangs between us- a sense that we'll be just friends, and nothing more.
Over dinner we talked about work, or rather how talking about work seems to stress me out, and we talked about our love lives.
The subject of your love life is tricky with any ex, but its especially strange with Reilly because as insane as it sounds, I'm still in love with him. In love with him like an alcoholic is in love with liquor. I know the relationship is horrible for me. We fight. We bicker. I break out. And all of our friends plead for us to break-up for good.
But as we spoke about the new men in our lives, it was comforting to know that Reily will most likely move on, and will find love again post-psychotic me. And that I will too.
And that no matter what the future brings, he'll still occasionally wait on a bench outside a restaurant for me, me always 10 minutes late, willing to give me that big hug once again.
Friday, July 07, 2006
Soak it up
On June 27th I celebrated my birthday. Actually it was really celebrated on 16th. On June 22nd, Gay Pride was celebrated and I sobered up out of that blackhole sometime on June 29th around 5:30 pm....ish. On June 30th, a big gaggle of faggles got into two rent-a-wrecks and headed to Ptown for five days of glorious sunshine and reality-show-level dramatics. Lets just say that many gays cried, make-up was smeared, and we all left that town with plenty of war stories, sore noses, and new friends (and for some of us, less friends)
On my actual birthday, June 27th, I had to run an errand for my boss here at the magazine. I walked into Midtown and the expanse of New York just seem to envelope me.
Those kind of moments happen every so often. When life becomes apparant, and you realize that shit....this is your life. And I started to cry. I couldn't fucking help it.
And it wasn't like I was outright sobbing like some fucking nut. But I was tearing up. I had to wipe away the tears and avoid eye contact.
Because I had one of those moments when it hits me how lucky I am. I've had an amazing ride so far, and if I were to die tonight, I could say that I've lived a great life, and I thank God for letting me be the crazy little shit that I've been. But I'd have to say His biggest gift has been the amount of love I've had. From my friends, my family, and all my ex-boyfriends (especially the big one).
And I can say this after 4th of July in Ptown, which was quite honestly akin to a stay at Abu Ghraib prison.
Start off with ten gays- several of whom are on a steady mix of prescription anti-depressants, anti-anxiety meds, and frequent users of the biggest import from Colombia- put them all together in two small hotel rooms, add a Tea Dance outside on the pool deck and you got SO MUCH shit that I'd rather jump into a porta-potty than go back into that hell again.
I'll fill you in on all the deets later. right now i have to leave work and breathe some fresh air.
On my actual birthday, June 27th, I had to run an errand for my boss here at the magazine. I walked into Midtown and the expanse of New York just seem to envelope me.
Those kind of moments happen every so often. When life becomes apparant, and you realize that shit....this is your life. And I started to cry. I couldn't fucking help it.
And it wasn't like I was outright sobbing like some fucking nut. But I was tearing up. I had to wipe away the tears and avoid eye contact.
Because I had one of those moments when it hits me how lucky I am. I've had an amazing ride so far, and if I were to die tonight, I could say that I've lived a great life, and I thank God for letting me be the crazy little shit that I've been. But I'd have to say His biggest gift has been the amount of love I've had. From my friends, my family, and all my ex-boyfriends (especially the big one).
And I can say this after 4th of July in Ptown, which was quite honestly akin to a stay at Abu Ghraib prison.
Start off with ten gays- several of whom are on a steady mix of prescription anti-depressants, anti-anxiety meds, and frequent users of the biggest import from Colombia- put them all together in two small hotel rooms, add a Tea Dance outside on the pool deck and you got SO MUCH shit that I'd rather jump into a porta-potty than go back into that hell again.
I'll fill you in on all the deets later. right now i have to leave work and breathe some fresh air.
Thursday, June 15, 2006
Monday, June 12, 2006
Preparing for the Storm
With Gay Pride a little more than a week away, faggots all over the Eastern seaboard are fasting, pumping, and plucking in preparation for the de riguer shirtless events that characterize the celebration of our faggotry.
What "Gay Pride" means and what it has to do with popping pills of Ecstasy is beyond me, but I'm fully complicit in believing that I must
A) get laid by not just any guy but a super hot fucking stud &
B) get so high that I must wear sunglasses as to not scare those around me with the intense look of inebriation in my eyes.
All in the name of "Gay Pride." All to celebrate my queer identity. All of it nonsensical bullshit.
Anytime I've attended gay pride events I've felt pangs of panic as I realized that my fellow queers are trashy losers. Because of:
1. Gay Pride Beads
2. Mullets
3. Cracked out crystal queens (Yes I'll dabble in drug use, but doing meth is not cute, because honey, everyone can tell you're fucking high as a kite on Tina. It scares everyone and makes me want to initiate a bill to banish you from Manhattan to some hickville community where you can bond with Oxycontin fuckettes.)
4. Bad House Music- How is Kristine W a gay celeb? Amber? And who keeps hiring these haggard cows to keep performing at gay events anyway? I love that you "support" my community but all you are is a D-list entertainer/opportunistic fag hag.
5. Small swimsuits on steroid queens. Just a style thing but if you're massively big, wearing speedos makes you look re-fucking-tarded. And to think you spent how many hours in the gym to look that stupid- if only you had spent that time working and saving up money to fix your busted face.
6. Body Glitter
7. Malted Beverages. I'm fine with the amount of liquor sponsorship at gay pride events because its the reality of our community. We're lushes, and if they want to support Gay Pride, then go ahead, but who drinks Smirnoff Ice and the rest of that gross shit. Drink a real fucking drink-either beer or a cocktail. All I taste when I drink that fruity shit is sugar, hardly enough booze, and a horrible hang over.
8. Blonde Highlights; especially on Asians.
Honestly I could go on forever... but I'll spare you.
And for the record, I'm not self-hating- I do like being gay, and I am proud of being a fag. As Americans we get shit on all the time, and get reminded that we're second-class citizens if we want to have out lives.
My favorite gay pride memory was circa 98. I was a college frosh or sophomore and I headed up to SF for the weekend. The night before the parade I spent at a house party getting wasted and making out with some hot 22 year old waiter. The next morning I stumbled to the parade and met up with my best friend Lyle. A skinny energetic little fucker, Lyle, was mischievous and a riot to hang with.
We were scheduled to walk with the Stanford contingent in the parade but as we got closer to the group, we saw that it was filled with band geeks and awkward computer science students. Lyle promptly grabbed my arm and turned us around.
me: What are you doing?
Lyle: We're not walking with them. Jesse smells like pulled pork.
me: So where are you taking me?
Lyle: I have an idea.
Lyle ended up taking me to the high school contingent of the parade. Comprised of high school students from around the Bay Area, the kids all carried signs of their respective high schools, and apparently a couple kids failed to show up, leaving signs for us to carry.
So in that parade of that year, I walked among young teenagers- many of whom were attending their first Gay Pride event. There was the dykey girl on the skateboard, a young gay boy who sung musicals the whole fucking time, and even an Asian boy with highlights, but I saw in them the wonder and excitement that we all felt our first years. Before we got jaded and became our sophisticated "over-it" selves.
Close to the end of the parade route, we ran into the PFLAG parents who unabashedly came up and hugged us all. And in the middle of the street, many of those kids cried and hugged those parents back. And it felt amazing to be there, to be gay, and perhaps to even be a little proud. Because posing as a "Sacred Heart High School" student, I was reminded what it's really all about.
What "Gay Pride" means and what it has to do with popping pills of Ecstasy is beyond me, but I'm fully complicit in believing that I must
A) get laid by not just any guy but a super hot fucking stud &
B) get so high that I must wear sunglasses as to not scare those around me with the intense look of inebriation in my eyes.
All in the name of "Gay Pride." All to celebrate my queer identity. All of it nonsensical bullshit.
Anytime I've attended gay pride events I've felt pangs of panic as I realized that my fellow queers are trashy losers. Because of:
1. Gay Pride Beads
2. Mullets
3. Cracked out crystal queens (Yes I'll dabble in drug use, but doing meth is not cute, because honey, everyone can tell you're fucking high as a kite on Tina. It scares everyone and makes me want to initiate a bill to banish you from Manhattan to some hickville community where you can bond with Oxycontin fuckettes.)
4. Bad House Music- How is Kristine W a gay celeb? Amber? And who keeps hiring these haggard cows to keep performing at gay events anyway? I love that you "support" my community but all you are is a D-list entertainer/opportunistic fag hag.
5. Small swimsuits on steroid queens. Just a style thing but if you're massively big, wearing speedos makes you look re-fucking-tarded. And to think you spent how many hours in the gym to look that stupid- if only you had spent that time working and saving up money to fix your busted face.
6. Body Glitter
7. Malted Beverages. I'm fine with the amount of liquor sponsorship at gay pride events because its the reality of our community. We're lushes, and if they want to support Gay Pride, then go ahead, but who drinks Smirnoff Ice and the rest of that gross shit. Drink a real fucking drink-either beer or a cocktail. All I taste when I drink that fruity shit is sugar, hardly enough booze, and a horrible hang over.
8. Blonde Highlights; especially on Asians.
Honestly I could go on forever... but I'll spare you.
And for the record, I'm not self-hating- I do like being gay, and I am proud of being a fag. As Americans we get shit on all the time, and get reminded that we're second-class citizens if we want to have out lives.
My favorite gay pride memory was circa 98. I was a college frosh or sophomore and I headed up to SF for the weekend. The night before the parade I spent at a house party getting wasted and making out with some hot 22 year old waiter. The next morning I stumbled to the parade and met up with my best friend Lyle. A skinny energetic little fucker, Lyle, was mischievous and a riot to hang with.
We were scheduled to walk with the Stanford contingent in the parade but as we got closer to the group, we saw that it was filled with band geeks and awkward computer science students. Lyle promptly grabbed my arm and turned us around.
me: What are you doing?
Lyle: We're not walking with them. Jesse smells like pulled pork.
me: So where are you taking me?
Lyle: I have an idea.
Lyle ended up taking me to the high school contingent of the parade. Comprised of high school students from around the Bay Area, the kids all carried signs of their respective high schools, and apparently a couple kids failed to show up, leaving signs for us to carry.
So in that parade of that year, I walked among young teenagers- many of whom were attending their first Gay Pride event. There was the dykey girl on the skateboard, a young gay boy who sung musicals the whole fucking time, and even an Asian boy with highlights, but I saw in them the wonder and excitement that we all felt our first years. Before we got jaded and became our sophisticated "over-it" selves.
Close to the end of the parade route, we ran into the PFLAG parents who unabashedly came up and hugged us all. And in the middle of the street, many of those kids cried and hugged those parents back. And it felt amazing to be there, to be gay, and perhaps to even be a little proud. Because posing as a "Sacred Heart High School" student, I was reminded what it's really all about.
Monday, June 05, 2006
Fabulous and Broke?
After an exhausting and debilitating work week, I was on my way to the gym on Friday night when it hit me that I had forgotten to deposit my paycheck. (Direct deposit doesn't start till after a couple paychecks...why? No one knows) And since Washington Mutual likes to hold paychecks for 48 hours, I then realized that I had $40 in my bank account. Glorious bankruptcy!
Anyone who's ever moved cross country can attest to the level of pissing away that occurs with costs. All the small incidentals that make up your apartment end up costing you a lot of money to either move or replace- and that is why I've decided to become a buddisht Zen freak who cares not about material possesions, but only of spiritual righteousness. IF ONLY! Who the FUCK can live without their down feather bed and 1000 thread-count egyptian cotton sheets?! NOT ME!
Fucking shit.
Being broke sucks donkey balls. I can't shop, eat, or drink. The only thing I can really do is be a big fucking slut and suck dick left and right, but who really wants to do that sober.
I'll be fine in a couple weeks, but for the time being it looks like I'll be playing board games at the local YMCA and watching "The Hills" on repeat.
Anyone who's ever moved cross country can attest to the level of pissing away that occurs with costs. All the small incidentals that make up your apartment end up costing you a lot of money to either move or replace- and that is why I've decided to become a buddisht Zen freak who cares not about material possesions, but only of spiritual righteousness. IF ONLY! Who the FUCK can live without their down feather bed and 1000 thread-count egyptian cotton sheets?! NOT ME!
Fucking shit.
Being broke sucks donkey balls. I can't shop, eat, or drink. The only thing I can really do is be a big fucking slut and suck dick left and right, but who really wants to do that sober.
I'll be fine in a couple weeks, but for the time being it looks like I'll be playing board games at the local YMCA and watching "The Hills" on repeat.
Friday, June 02, 2006
Drama Sofa
Tonight my friends and I are watching our TIVO'ed premiere episode of "The Hills," the spin-off of the LEGENDARY INSPIRATIONAL Laguna Beach.
Laguna was MTV's "reality" show that followed the lives of a group of vapid rich high schoolers who dealt with serious issues such as clique in-fighting, hottie girl rivlary, and gossiping best friends.
So in other words the show is about faggots.
Now one of the breakout stars of Laguna, Lauren Conrad, is getting her own reality show that focuses on her adult life as she moves far from home (read: about an hour max if you take the 73 to the 405 to the 110, I've done the drive Lauren, youre basically in your parents fucking backyard) She's living in the hills of LA, and interning at Teen Vogue.
Check out the following youtube video from Mad TV spoofing Laguna Beach and read the great NYT article praising the merits of our favorite Laguna Tuna, Lauren.
http://www.nytimes.com/2006/05/31/arts/television/31heff.html
Laguna was MTV's "reality" show that followed the lives of a group of vapid rich high schoolers who dealt with serious issues such as clique in-fighting, hottie girl rivlary, and gossiping best friends.
So in other words the show is about faggots.
Now one of the breakout stars of Laguna, Lauren Conrad, is getting her own reality show that focuses on her adult life as she moves far from home (read: about an hour max if you take the 73 to the 405 to the 110, I've done the drive Lauren, youre basically in your parents fucking backyard) She's living in the hills of LA, and interning at Teen Vogue.
Check out the following youtube video from Mad TV spoofing Laguna Beach and read the great NYT article praising the merits of our favorite Laguna Tuna, Lauren.
http://www.nytimes.com/2006/05/31/arts/television/31heff.html
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Back from Hiatus
Okay gents, as usual, my life undertook some dramatic revamping in the span of a month.
1. I lost my last job after the company folded- but not before I dealt with the Old Skeez one last time. I worked one last fashion market in NYC and I made it clear to the old man that there was a bigger chance of me participating in a butch n' hairy muff diving session than us getting beyond basic handshakes.
2. I went into a complete panic mode- stopped eating basic meals- sustained myself on raw organic almonds and baby spinach leaves and lost 20 pounds in 3 weeks. some of us eat when we stress out, I regress to my former Nicole Richie eating habits. Completely unintentional. and so not appropo for a gay boy in love with biceps.
3. Was offered amazing job at Time Inc as an Associate Editor. Extreme joy. Thoughts of expansive benefits package and paid vacation filled my mind. Celebrated with a ketel one gimlet and a steak frites meal.
4. Realized inflexible start date meant that I had ONE WEEK to move to New York . Panic sets in. Return to nibbling on almonds.
5. Checked out approximiately 47 apartments in New York over a span of three days. Most looked like crime scenes from a CSI episode. Others consisted of lofted beds, with kitchens smaller than an office cubicle- which is fine but when the asking price is 1600- because its located in Manhattan- and not even cute Manhattan but a neighorhood like Kips Bay ---then you know you're fucked because you've returned to New York in the Springtime. The Gods laughed at me and I ate more almonds.
6. Found a decent apartment in Williamsburg but with three roommates- but it was honestly the only place I could find that was A) built and/or renovated in the past decade B) was close to a train and C) and wasn't inhabited by complete social wackos, odd hipsters, or fat people. (I'm sorry but we all have our prejudices, and I can't for the life of me live with anyone who could use a call to Jenny Craig.
7. Packed up my stuff in LA- and said goodbye to my LA friends who all cried and proclaimed me their best friend ever. They now have forgotten and replaced me with some other latin queen. Why? Because they're gay and live in LA. And you can't really miss anyone for too long while living in LA because there are many house parties to hit up.
8. I'm crazy because I honestly and genuinely miss LA. I miss my huge room and my car. I miss my garden and being able to see my family on the weekends if I fancied it. (which meant that I went once a month.... i'm lying, it was more like every 6 weeks, okay im lying again.....) and I miss my friends but I seem to meet incredible people whereever I go. Which either means I have really low-standards (slightly true) or I'm really lucky.
So here I am.
Back in New York with an amazing job. And a totally different take on New York. 9 to 6 in NYC? What the fuck?!
Here's to more steaks, Barney's Warehouse sales, taxi mishaps, and the return of the saucy latina to New York. I know that I have a lot more almonds in store for me but I gotta tell you, I'm really fucking excited about this job- and my new life in New York, post-LA, post-partying,and post-distressed denim.
1. I lost my last job after the company folded- but not before I dealt with the Old Skeez one last time. I worked one last fashion market in NYC and I made it clear to the old man that there was a bigger chance of me participating in a butch n' hairy muff diving session than us getting beyond basic handshakes.
2. I went into a complete panic mode- stopped eating basic meals- sustained myself on raw organic almonds and baby spinach leaves and lost 20 pounds in 3 weeks. some of us eat when we stress out, I regress to my former Nicole Richie eating habits. Completely unintentional. and so not appropo for a gay boy in love with biceps.
3. Was offered amazing job at Time Inc as an Associate Editor. Extreme joy. Thoughts of expansive benefits package and paid vacation filled my mind. Celebrated with a ketel one gimlet and a steak frites meal.
4. Realized inflexible start date meant that I had ONE WEEK to move to New York . Panic sets in. Return to nibbling on almonds.
5. Checked out approximiately 47 apartments in New York over a span of three days. Most looked like crime scenes from a CSI episode. Others consisted of lofted beds, with kitchens smaller than an office cubicle- which is fine but when the asking price is 1600- because its located in Manhattan- and not even cute Manhattan but a neighorhood like Kips Bay ---then you know you're fucked because you've returned to New York in the Springtime. The Gods laughed at me and I ate more almonds.
6. Found a decent apartment in Williamsburg but with three roommates- but it was honestly the only place I could find that was A) built and/or renovated in the past decade B) was close to a train and C) and wasn't inhabited by complete social wackos, odd hipsters, or fat people. (I'm sorry but we all have our prejudices, and I can't for the life of me live with anyone who could use a call to Jenny Craig.
7. Packed up my stuff in LA- and said goodbye to my LA friends who all cried and proclaimed me their best friend ever. They now have forgotten and replaced me with some other latin queen. Why? Because they're gay and live in LA. And you can't really miss anyone for too long while living in LA because there are many house parties to hit up.
8. I'm crazy because I honestly and genuinely miss LA. I miss my huge room and my car. I miss my garden and being able to see my family on the weekends if I fancied it. (which meant that I went once a month.... i'm lying, it was more like every 6 weeks, okay im lying again.....) and I miss my friends but I seem to meet incredible people whereever I go. Which either means I have really low-standards (slightly true) or I'm really lucky.
So here I am.
Back in New York with an amazing job. And a totally different take on New York. 9 to 6 in NYC? What the fuck?!
Here's to more steaks, Barney's Warehouse sales, taxi mishaps, and the return of the saucy latina to New York. I know that I have a lot more almonds in store for me but I gotta tell you, I'm really fucking excited about this job- and my new life in New York, post-LA, post-partying,and post-distressed denim.
Friday, March 31, 2006
Chicago
I'm in Chicago on the 57th floor of a luxury high-rise looking out of huge windows onto the the entire landscape of the city and the river. It's absolutely beautiful. Small churches and old brownstones in the distance, with behometh skyscrapers nearby. And the cars making their way like little ants on a trail on the freeway next to the river.
Taking in the breadth of the city is awe-inspiring, but I find myself not wanting to go down to explore. I don't know what part Chicago I'm technically in. Nor do I know the name of the River to the right. Omar told me the Sears Tower is here, but I haven't cared to know which of these is it.
So unlike me not to care, but as of right now I've maxxed out poor brain. I can't possibly absorb a minutiae of trivia, another piece of information or any detail because I am completely utter-fucking-ly exhausted.
I started March with a job, a shaky love life, and a overly friendly boss who seems to have found the joys of Viagra.
I end March with no job and as a completely battered singleton. But somehow my scheezy sexual-harassing boss is still a player in my life for another 4 days.
I'm in Chicago for my final business trip for what will hopefully be my last stint as a sales rep for women's contemporary clothes.
Yes, I sell clothes. Women's clothes. How fucking gay is that?
But I sell them to boutique owners and department store buyers.
Which means I sell them to overwieght middle-aged women who dress like whores. (Boutique Owners.) or to former soriority girls who've realized they want their MBA by the time they hit 30 (department store buyers)
Half of the time they're completely evil vacuous cunts; the other half they have no clue what they're doing and are kind of affable in a retarded child sort of way.
So I've never really liked this job, especially because I was getting gross come-ons lodged at me by my 60-something year old boss.
Boss: Astro, is it okay for us to share a hotel room? Since this past season was so slow for us, we need to cut back on expenses.
Me: Oh sure, I guess that's okay.
Boss: And I won't try anything.... unless you want me to.
(Silence)
Boss: I was kidding, you know that right?
Astro: (Horrified) Yeah. what?
Boss: I was kidding. We don't have to do anything if you don't want to.
Astro: (Flabergasted and scared. Astro speaks very quickly, almost not stopping to breathe as he says) Oh. haha. Well you know I just realized that one of my closest friends has a huge place in Chicago. His parents bought him a luxury high-rise apartment to live in while he goes to medical school. I'll just go stay there with him. He's awesome, my best friend. Omar. And that way everyone will be more comfortable. Yeah. Oh I should go, the other line is ringing.
Boss: Oh, okay. Uh. I'll talk to you later.
So after such an exchange, which actually played out pretty much as I wrote it, you'd think my boss would get the hint and move on.
But no. He hasn't. He really wants my milkshake.
And he's now offering a job in New York. Working with him.
Life is so fucking twisted. I so badly want to move back to New York yesterday. Fuck fuck fuck.
I just got a call from my co-workers. I have to meet them at their hotel and get some work done.
Be back later.
Taking in the breadth of the city is awe-inspiring, but I find myself not wanting to go down to explore. I don't know what part Chicago I'm technically in. Nor do I know the name of the River to the right. Omar told me the Sears Tower is here, but I haven't cared to know which of these is it.
So unlike me not to care, but as of right now I've maxxed out poor brain. I can't possibly absorb a minutiae of trivia, another piece of information or any detail because I am completely utter-fucking-ly exhausted.
I started March with a job, a shaky love life, and a overly friendly boss who seems to have found the joys of Viagra.
I end March with no job and as a completely battered singleton. But somehow my scheezy sexual-harassing boss is still a player in my life for another 4 days.
I'm in Chicago for my final business trip for what will hopefully be my last stint as a sales rep for women's contemporary clothes.
Yes, I sell clothes. Women's clothes. How fucking gay is that?
But I sell them to boutique owners and department store buyers.
Which means I sell them to overwieght middle-aged women who dress like whores. (Boutique Owners.) or to former soriority girls who've realized they want their MBA by the time they hit 30 (department store buyers)
Half of the time they're completely evil vacuous cunts; the other half they have no clue what they're doing and are kind of affable in a retarded child sort of way.
So I've never really liked this job, especially because I was getting gross come-ons lodged at me by my 60-something year old boss.
Boss: Astro, is it okay for us to share a hotel room? Since this past season was so slow for us, we need to cut back on expenses.
Me: Oh sure, I guess that's okay.
Boss: And I won't try anything.... unless you want me to.
(Silence)
Boss: I was kidding, you know that right?
Astro: (Horrified) Yeah. what?
Boss: I was kidding. We don't have to do anything if you don't want to.
Astro: (Flabergasted and scared. Astro speaks very quickly, almost not stopping to breathe as he says) Oh. haha. Well you know I just realized that one of my closest friends has a huge place in Chicago. His parents bought him a luxury high-rise apartment to live in while he goes to medical school. I'll just go stay there with him. He's awesome, my best friend. Omar. And that way everyone will be more comfortable. Yeah. Oh I should go, the other line is ringing.
Boss: Oh, okay. Uh. I'll talk to you later.
So after such an exchange, which actually played out pretty much as I wrote it, you'd think my boss would get the hint and move on.
But no. He hasn't. He really wants my milkshake.
And he's now offering a job in New York. Working with him.
Life is so fucking twisted. I so badly want to move back to New York yesterday. Fuck fuck fuck.
I just got a call from my co-workers. I have to meet them at their hotel and get some work done.
Be back later.
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
Just when you thought it was safe to sleep
Don't you just hate it when adulthood gets in the way of life.
You haven't really missed much, just several thousands cups of coffee, half-smoked cigarettes, and a slightly alarming appetite for joints.
I'm still a lovesick New Yorker who's broke and happy in LA.
I now have a fancy new job. Still in fashion though so the people who surround me on a daily basis are insane, prone to meltdowns, and loud tantrums. Working with these people has the odd effect of making me more mellow- I think it puts the whole thing in perspective.
But then again, maybe its the pot I've been smoking.
People who work in fashion are a comedic lot. High strung individuals who use the word "cute" so often it makes you want to vomit a little in your mouth.
And of course everyone's convinced they belong to the small subset of people who get what fashions about. You certainly don't because you're a trashy proleat and didn't get the memo. No, you're so out of it no one even bothered sending you the memo because you simply don't matter.
I hate those fucking people because I like to hate. That and they're usually dressed in some ridiculous oversized hat and swear their lives on a line they can't afford anyway.
You have no idea how badly the people who work in fashion dress. Maybe they're over it, but grown men were wearing Uggs, carpenter jeans, and extra small t-shirts.
Oh yeah, let me help out my gay brethen and the newly minted metrosexuals- if a shirt is tight, and you're over the age of 16, then get a slightly larger t-shirt because its not sexy, just sort of desperate.
It's a fine line, people, but we need to keep vigilent.
You haven't really missed much, just several thousands cups of coffee, half-smoked cigarettes, and a slightly alarming appetite for joints.
I'm still a lovesick New Yorker who's broke and happy in LA.
I now have a fancy new job. Still in fashion though so the people who surround me on a daily basis are insane, prone to meltdowns, and loud tantrums. Working with these people has the odd effect of making me more mellow- I think it puts the whole thing in perspective.
But then again, maybe its the pot I've been smoking.
People who work in fashion are a comedic lot. High strung individuals who use the word "cute" so often it makes you want to vomit a little in your mouth.
And of course everyone's convinced they belong to the small subset of people who get what fashions about. You certainly don't because you're a trashy proleat and didn't get the memo. No, you're so out of it no one even bothered sending you the memo because you simply don't matter.
I hate those fucking people because I like to hate. That and they're usually dressed in some ridiculous oversized hat and swear their lives on a line they can't afford anyway.
You have no idea how badly the people who work in fashion dress. Maybe they're over it, but grown men were wearing Uggs, carpenter jeans, and extra small t-shirts.
Oh yeah, let me help out my gay brethen and the newly minted metrosexuals- if a shirt is tight, and you're over the age of 16, then get a slightly larger t-shirt because its not sexy, just sort of desperate.
It's a fine line, people, but we need to keep vigilent.
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