Biscuit: Tasty Doesn't Get You A Date To The Prom

You know what is depressing? Getting a paycheck, and then being broke less than 24 hours later. It is a big pile of No Fun. I just dropped $130 to have my taxes done, $700 to pay the taxes themselves, and $400 on glasses and contacts to keep me in the world of the non-visually-impaired. Oh, and $65 to get my first Honest-To-Goodness™ Haircut in I do not even know how long.

I have been snipping and trimming and buzzing my own hair for quite some time now, so it really was quite a luxury to get my hair snipped and trimmed and buzzed by someone who could see the back of my head without resorting to sticking said head inside the Endless Corridor of Mirrors. Since I re-bleached my hair last Friday (I am, according to the bottle of toner, an official "towhead"), I am now the proud owner of a very well-shaped fauxhawk, once more. She cut the front very short, too, so it gets longer the farther back on my head you go. I have heard that I am now rather reminiscent of Spaceman Spiff. I have also heard that I think that description is fucking awesome.

Another thing that is awesome: My sister. I told her about my entrepreneurial plans, and about the brilliant idea from my roommate that I have two different names, market my services in two different ways to two different audiences, but be essentially the same company. Without missing a beat, my sister suggested that I name the other branch "[insert word here for something shiny and silver that usually describes fancy hubcaps and bumpers]," which I think might be the best idea I have ever heard. [word for fancy silver], and [word for fancy car bumpers]. Both are shiny. Both are silver. But each has a very different connotation. I love knowing brilliant people.

Also I totally got heckled on the train the other day by a pair of braindead krillfuckers who a) started by making fun of my hair, which was, while a ratty pink that needed to be bleached out, still undeniably pink; b) continued by making some unintelligible comments comparing me unfavorably to a Christmas tree light; c) then made the jump to how if I have pink hair I must be "QUEEE-EEER"; and then d) made several comments regarding that Comedy Central travesty, "Straight Plan for the Gay Man," revolving chiefly around the fact that if either of them were one of the straight guys on the show, all they would do is kick all of the fags in the balls until they learned how to toughen up, be a man, and stop being such fucking pussies.
Not that it would have done any good whatsoever, seeing as how both of them were waaay high, but I still wish I had the presence of mind to turn around and tell both of them to shut the fuck up. I think I kind of dissapointed myself. But next time? Next time I am SO there with the shut-the-fuck-up. (Also please note that by calling them "krillfuckers," i.e., ones who fuck krill, which are very very tiny, I have implied that they both have very very tiny genitalia. Thank you.)

Also I have been taking muscle relaxants for several days, which leaves me a little less enthusiastic about pretty much everything, so please excuse me if I do not seem as ebullient as usual. On the plus side, I think I do crossword puzzles better now.

In the grand tradition of the e-cafe, my lovely Little Owl is hosting an e-gathering of e-friends today to eat Seussically-Inspired e-treats! I was honored to be asked to e-cook for the occasion -- so do me a favor and pop on over to read about what I whipped up (and wrote all 40 of those couplets about!), and give a little hello wave to the lovely Miss K while you are at it.

My fantastic H.R. lady, of whom I believe I have written before, just forwarded me an email from a mailing list she is on. It seems that someone is looking for help catering a 30-person dinner party.

It also seems that I have written this person, offering my services. I made a new email account and everything, and removed references to what I would like to name my company from earlier entries, so that this diary does not come up on casual Google searches, exposing my fragile nerves to all the potentially-hiring-me world.

It also also seems that I am currently checking my new email account approximately 15 times a minute, and drinking a lot of water to counteract my suddenly very dry mouth.

I think this past weekend deserves some kind of medal with the phrase "Awesomest Weekend" inscribed on it, maybe in rhinestones. I mean, in just ONE weekend, I did so much fun stuff that you just would not even believe how much fun.

I mean, Friday pretty much blew. Because I was at work until ten at night. And then I went to a birthday party but I was really tired and as such not any fun. Plus I was still residually angry because I actually got into a fight with my optometrist when I picked up my new glasses. Like a yelling at each other fight in the middle of his office. Then I left his office and found out that the prescription on my new glasses is too weak, so I have to go back anyway even though I said that I would not ever go back, which is pretty awful. But then I woke up and it was no longer Friday, which automatically made it a nicer day than the one before. And then!

Then, people!

Then I called Taydo! Because Taydo was in town! And I have decided that when Taydo is in town, we have to hang out because he is lots of fun. So we met up and decided to go shopping at Barney's, since a large percentage of our online chat time is taken up with discussion of clothes. At least, unlike my usual trips to Barney's, I was completely untempted to buy anything at all because I only had $2.17 in my bank account. Still, we had a lot of fun touching pretty much every item of clothing for sale there and laughing at things like the green flowered men's hotpants.

And then? At four or five that afternoon? That is when the drinking started. We met lovely Flex who has been lovely enough to float me while I am destitute until my next paycheck, bought me margaritas and food, and then we tried to go bowling but decided not to wait for a lane, and then we went and got more drinks and do-it-yourself s'mores, except with giant Oreo pieces instead of graham crackers, so they were actually s'moreos, but I figured I should explain their contents before their name so it would be less confusing overall. And THEN we went to a Pretty Pink Pisces Party, which was a birthday party for all of the Pisceans we know, sort of collectively. And also it was pink. And pretty. I wore my pink shirt and pink tie to it, and Flex bought us pink cigarettes. And then there were far more pink drinks than one could shake a stick at, both ones made from a recipe, and ones made by pouring various liquids into a glass and stirring with one's finger. Taydo seemed to have gotten along famously with everyone at the party, both those that I already knew and the friends-of-friends that I had not ever met before, so that was nice. I think that he thought it was...nice...too.

And then I tried to bargain with Flex to let us stay a little longer because it was fun, and then ended up going home anyway, and then I fell asleep approximately two microseconds after sitting down in the cab with my head firmly ensconced on Flex's shoulder. I am pretty sure that Taydo got home too, eventually.

So then it was Sunday and my entire day was spent in my sleepypants and my cute grey Abercrombie t-shirt and lounging on the Klaus with the adorable Shiv, watching TV and movies and eating bagels and burritos. And then Flex came home and I kissed him into submission and then we went to sleep and it was only 11:30.

See what I mean? About that medal. Yes, I know, I mentioned it WAAAAY back there, but I expect you to keep up with me. The medal for Awesomest Weekend. Yeah. It totally was. Sweeeeeeet.

I have an assignment for you. Well, for some of you. The yous that live in the U.K., at any rate. For those yous, you have an assignment. Here it is:

So Graham Norton.

So Graham Norton is going to be airing an episode tomorrow, that is, FRIDAY, that was filmed here in New York City. The particular episode, I have been led to understand, will not air here via BBCAmerica, until summer at the earliest. Now, normally I would not be so conversant in the scheduling of Graham Norton's eponymous TV show, except for the fact that sharp-eyed viewers tomorrow will be able to see bleach-blond-fauxhawked li'l ME, being bodyslammed by a very large and sweaty wrestler. And I know that you all want to see that! The inimitable Flex might be on it too, as might the delicious Shiv, but I do not know yet as we have not yet filmed the part of the show that actually has Graham Norton in it. Just the bit where I get thrown around by a wrestler.

Now, the assignmenty bit: I do not want to wait until summer to see this show. If there is any way that any of you could record this show, preferably in a format that is compatible with my domestic American equipment, and then you could send it to me...well, I do not think I even need to TELL you how fantastically delightfully wonderful that would be. And then, if there is something from New York that you have been craving? Well, I would be willing to bet that I could see my way clear to sending that over to you. See how it works? An assignment, but one with a special prize! And plus you get to see me get wrestled! Everybody wins! Drop me a guestbook message if you have any brilliant ideas about how we can make this happen. Hooray!!

P.S. I just received word from my wacky former-neighbor that if anyone can provide something in your strange, alien PAL format, he can convert it here to a nice, sedate NTSC (or whatever acronym that is) format for my home viewing pleasure. Rock!!

I have just decided that I am really just hopelessly in love.

I am in love. With a word, you see. I have decided that this word and I are going to be best friends.

Me and "dainty."

dainty and me.

Just look at it.

Go on. Keep looking at dainty.

First of all, how weird is THAT? All of a sudden, that strange "nty" combination just leaps out at you, right? And then there is that oddly heavy-looking "dain" part. Dain? What does that even mean? But somehow, when you combine the dain and the nty into dainty, the heaviness just sloughs off of "dain" and the word magically sprouts little silken-slippered fairy feet, skipping lightly through the dappled glade of language.

And then? Then there is the sound of it. At first it sounds normal. But then repeat it. There are those two delicate little plosive sounds. dainty. It sounds so...so fragile. Just a tiny little slip of the tongue, and your dainty will break. Be careful! Be careful or you will break your dainty! Ohh, poor, tender little dainty.

If you need me, you can find me dancing down the street with my new friend. Tiny diaphanous little dainty.

WWWWHHHHHEEEEEEEEEEEEELIJAH!!!

Elijah Wood, that is. I can also rephrase that by saying FRODO FRODO FRODO FRODO FRODO FRODO FRODO FRODO FRODO FRODO FRODO FRODO FRODO FRODO FRODO FRODO FRODO FRODO FRODO FRODO FRODO FRODO FRODO FRODO FRODO was on the Graham Norton show! And so was John "Shall we go up? Unless you prefer this, if memory serves, rather...purgatorial...sofa?" Malkovitch! And also so was I! Like, twice! And so was Flex! Also twice! And so was Shiv! Naughty Shiv! It was so awesome I can hardly even tell you just how awesome. John Malkovitch and Elijah Wood had a conversation about me, people. It was freaking CRAZY TOWN. I loved it completely, even if my voice was more than a little bit shaky while being interviewed about my stuffed puppy by Mr. Norton.

It should air on BBCAmerica this summer some time, and I will be sure to mention just exactly when. And everyone here can watch me ride a big sweaty wrestler like a pony!

In other news, I would also like to mention that WE ARE TOTALLY INTERNATIONAL TELEVISION SUPERSTARS.

So, the more observant of my British viewers have noticed that there was a distinct lack of sweaty-wrestler action in the most recent episode of So Graham Norton. It seems that it was cut, due to time constraints. The bit where Flex and I discuss a stuffed bloody puppy is still on there in full force, though.

Since, however, I very much want a hard copy of my exertions, I wrote the producer to see about getting a copy -- and discovered that apparently, they want to use the bit in another show! And want us to come back for another filming! So I might be in not one, but TWO separate episodes! And I'm probably going to have to wear the same clothes which means that everyone in the UK is going to think that I only own one shirt. I have way more than that, people! I promise!

Also, huge thank-yous go out to my friend dj-e for his wonderful advice regarding H&M's underwear selection. I am now the proud owner of eighty dollars worth of stripey boxer-brief, and have the most dashingly-attired hiney this side of the Mississippi.

Hi everybody! My pants just fell down! Fell! Down! All the way to my ankles!

I'm wearing a suit today because I have a lovely evening planned for Flex and I. So, suits! He is also supposed to wear a suit. My suit is a very lovely lightweight dark charcoal grey wool/cashmere Ralph Lauren suit (which by the way I purchased for $25 at a Salvation Army because I am the best shopper in the world). And I just went to use the restroom at my work. And I unbuckled my belt and unbuttoned my pants and unzipped my zipper.

And my pants fell down!

I am used to wearing pants with a tighter fit, which will keep themselves up while unfastened, by resting gently upon my derriere. Not that I have a big ass or anything, mind you, but there's enough butt to keep my PANTS from falling DOWN. These slacks are more generously cut, and the fabric is so airy, that they just fell right down. I keep saying it and it keeps sounding silly. My pants fell down.

I mean, lucky for me I was alone in the restroom at the time! Otherwise, a co-worker might have seen my red-and-black-stripey-boxer-briefs-from-H&M-clad behind. Happily, I was spared that embarrassment, but I still stooped down really fast to pull my pants back up and came really, very, perilously close to putting my face right into the urinal in front of which I was standing. Or stooping, as the case may be. Thank every deity you can think of that did NOT happen, or else I might have been forced to remove my face in a frenzy of scrubbing and clawing in horror and revulsion. And nobody wants that.

My pants fell down!

Is it okay that I think it was really funny to see an MTA worker riding in a cab this morning?

Things have been so crazy inside my head lately. I want a new job, I want to go to Hawaii, I want a new apartment, I want to go dancing, I want a huge kitchen with counters everywhere, I want new jeans. I have just been feeling tremendously antsy about everything, and it might be the weather or the season but I have absolutely zero patience for waiting for any of it.

In other news, last week I ate the very best meal of my entire life and came to the conclusion that everything that I have ever cooked has been wrong. It was fucking unbelievable and just thinking about it makes my tummy rumble.

I am going back to Graham Norton tomorrow night. So that should be awesome.

I am not going back to Colorado at the end of this month as was previously planned, due to a ridiculous fight with my mother that went on too long and meant I did not buy my ticket in time so it was too expensive. Apparently (I am not even exaggerating here) she thinks that if I have bleached hair, I look too gay to be in Colorado, and she wanted me to keep my "over-the-top stuff" to New York and just be "normal" when I am home. This did not go over very well with me, as one might imagine. In theory it is worked out now, at least to the point where I doubt she will bring up the topic again and we can all live in a pleasant state of denial.

I am wearing my fauxhawk today, as I have to re-create my outfit from my first appearance on British TV this evening. While walking to the subway, a young boy yelled out to me, "Hey mister! That's a really cool haircut!" I said thanks, with a laugh at being called Hey Mister. And then he continues: "Yeah! That shit is gangsta."

Gangsta, people. I. Have. Arrived.

Things are a little frantic in my world right about now. Flex and I are apartment hunting -- and the gods of good timing decided to frown at us. We found what might be the most wonderful apartment ever (dishwasher, washer/dryer, HUGE freaking kitchen, private garden, all that amazing stuff), but it's available...NOW. Get the money...NOW! Figure out everything...NOW!!!

It is more than a little bit nervewracking. Send me good vibes.

Also did I mention that I won a freaking digital camera on Graham Norton?

The apartment with which Flex and I had become obsessed is now only a fading possibility, as the landlady has left it open until the weekend to see if anyone will pay her any more money for it than we were willing to spend. Given the dishwasher/washer/dryer/huge kitchen/huge bedroom/huge livingroom/private garden nature of the place, I do not think that is an unreasonable possibility. Cross your fingers until this weekend, after which I am postponing the apartment search for a few weeks in order to a) save up more money and b) give my poor heart a chance to recover.

I am pleased that I have several other friends (Shiv included) who are looking for apartments at the same time, so at least there is plenty of commiseration.

When I told Flex that we probably would not get that place, he responded in exactly the perfect manner, reassuring and quiet and certain, saying that our benchmark from here on would be some place as good as that or better, and we would refuse to settle for anything less. He was perfect, and I love him for that.