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

Okay, look.

Here is the deal.

I am dreadfully boring.

I do not MEAN to be. I just kind of am.

I am so dreadfully boring, I think about my days sometimes and they make ME fall asleep. I am not sufficiently interesting to interest MYSELF. And usually, I am my own favorite topic of conversation.

I feel completely out-of-the-loop because I am no longer on AIM all day, so I have no idea what is happening with any of my friends.

I was all fucking SET to go to culinary school, with loan applications and such happening on July 15, the date my previous student loan is all sorted out -- the product of twelve months' work. Now, of course, I cannot get federal aid because I made too much last year and they do not care about my unemployment, and I cannot get a private loan because I am unemployed and they do not care about last year's income. So, that was fun. If I had been laid off, say, two, three weeks later, I would have been fine. Golden. Dancing through the daisies. Instead, now I have to get another fucking full-time computer job, build up a history with them, and then apply for a loan in six months. Of course, I could get a loan with a co-signer, but when I very VERY reluctantly asked my mother, she replied with an "Absolutely not. I can't risk my credit that way. No way," which left me feeling all warm and fuzzy, as I am sure you could imagine. This is all by way of saying that I have been on the razor's edge of tearing out my hair and screaming myself hoarse for just about every minute of the past two weeks.

On the plus side, I am in a play this summer. Twelfth Night. Malvolio. If you are in New York the first two weekends of August, you have to come see it. We are going to be fantastic and funny as all hell. So, yes. Do that.

Also, while I sit in my living room all day, at least it is a pretty color. Satin Ruby Slippers indeed.

I am making friends with a new cartoon: Code Lyoko. I really like their theme music. Also, it is kind of anime, but it is also totally French, which I dig.

And furthermore, since I am not doing anything else, I have taken to working out. (pause for shocked gasps and over-keelings) Mike bought this thing called the "POWER 90!" a while back, and it has been sitting in a corner for quite some time. So last week, I busted it out. In 90 days...well, in 82 days now...I am going to be SUPER RIPPED. I am even contemplating posting a horribly embarrassing "before" picture on here, just so I have the extra goad of mortal shame spurring me on to the heights of pumpitude. So if you see some SUPER RIPPED guy walking around Park Slope in October, say hi. It might be me!

And besides all that, despite my maudlin and, as I said at the beginning, intensely boring, attitude -- things are actually fairly okay. I am not going to be evicted, I am not going to starve. And I am doing my level best to avoid the siren lure of turning on Passions, beloved soap opera of joy, in the middle of the day. You know that when you start watching soap operas, that is really the beginning of the end.

So, there you have it. I just figure that one's 500th entry should be full of drama. Angst. Human interest. Emotion. Now we can all hope for a rebound "Everything's okay after all!" episode soon. Five Hundred for me! Now where is my Oscar?

Sometimes, all you need is a good drunk and a drag queen.

Once again, it was Miss Shasta Cola to the rescue. You might remember Miss Shasta Cola as the performer on the very first night the Taydo and the Kate and I actually got together and created our unholy troika of fabulosity and drunkenness (not to be confused with the other troika, which, while equally fabulous and almost as equally drunk, probably would never be characterized as unholy, given the angelic nature of its members). Three costume changes, twelve tip-jar dollars, four drinks, and a dozen songs later, Mike and I had no voice, but some new lesbian friends from a nearby bench. The "Whitney On Crack" song made a reprise from the first time I saw the Lovely Miss Shasta, as well as a bit of Peaches and that "Turn around, bright eyes" song that always reminds me of the first time I ever saw someone else's genitalia.

As a result, my mood today is much elevated over how it has been the past few. That, and my lovely boyfriend installed an air conditioner in our bedroom window, which is a) my first A/C in New York, and b) ungodly fucking wonderful.

I know they meant well. I know that someone said, "Oooh, right, THIS will be a GREAT idea!" and then a whole gaggle of people got together and worked really hard to make the idea a reality.

That does not negate the fact that VH1's "I Love The 90's" should not have been made. At least not YET -- give it a decade, and then we can see. I am, personally, not quite ready to reminisce about when Goodfellas came out, or the advent of the "I've fallen and I can't get up" lady. Breakin' 2: Electric Boogaloo and the "Where's the beef?" lady from the 80's? Absolutely! But if the show on 1990 seemed a little too recent, just wait until the show from 1999, when we can watch things that happened over FIVE WHOLE YEARS AGO. (No! Surely not! No one was alive back then!)

Give it some time, VH1. Patience.

Oh, and also? Why the fuck is the Snapple Lady one of your commentators? Sure, she is nice and all. But all she does is sell Snapple.

Last night I had this dream. I was at a party. A fancy dress party, and all of the guys were in these cool tuxedos, and all of us were, quite clearly, fabulously rich. It was a lovely party, and I was enjoying a glass of champagne (served in a lovely crystal flute, of course). The only sour note is that Paris Hilton would not stop throwing up.

Paris Hilton ruins everything.

Somehow, I managed to get out of that dream by being run over by a reindeer, and got into a dream where I was rehearsing for my role in Wicked. That was fun. We had pyrotechnics! Fshooooom!

If I ever left my house, I might have more interesting things to tell you. I will just add that my tummy is about half the size it was two weeks ago. (To clarify: my tum-tum has smallened due to my workout regimen, not from lack of eating. Sorry if I worried you for a moment!)

Warning!! The Mystery Blogger Strikes Again!

Yes, yes. Long time, no read, I suppose. What amazing event could be wonderful enough to raw me out of my self-imposed exile? Only the MOST IMPORTANT DAY in the WHOLE WORLD.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!! LA LA LA!! I am OLD and GROWN UP and BIRTHDAYING and going to have LUNCH and DINNER and a PARTY and also I am going to DANCE AROUND in my invisible BIRTHDAY HAT all day long! I am going to watch some Food Network and perhaps read some funny stories in my birthday present books. I already took a hot bath with peppermint and sage bath salts that I just got from my sister. I am going to drink Mike's Hard Lemonade all day too, to augment my collection of Mike's Hard Lemonade bottlecaps, each of which has a word on the bottom in the tradition of Magnetic Poetry. (I only have twelve words so far, so I cannot say much as of yet. Ponder, pretend, stumble, back, all, always, discover, art, barbeque, lemonade, ing, and ed do not lend themselves to very complete thoughts. Except maybe "Pondering always discovered art." "Barbeque all lemonade." You know.) I have to find a cute shirt to put on and then I have to shave and then I am going to go outside and have my hippo happy birthday day! Tra la! Jig-a-jig! Whoooppeeee!!

Hey, look, everybody! I got a baby for my birthday!

You now have the option of viewing the photograph where Mike and I look better: Option One, or where the most adorable little baby boy in the world, my nephew, looks better: Option Two.

Of course we all look at least reasonably cute in both of them. Ha! I get to be narcissistic! It is my birthday!

Hey, look, everybody! I got an interview for my birthday!

It is true! In my inbox today! A request for an interview on Thursday, July 29! 2:30 p.m.! Of course, I have no idea what the interview is for, as it was in response to one of the gajillions of resumes I have sent out to various Craislist postings. It has something to do with making web pages, it seems. Good thing I know how to do that, eh wot?

Currently I am spinning like a Tazmanian Devil™ around my apartment, cleaning, reorganizing furniture to make room for my new hot-as-fuck chrome and black leather director's chairs that I just got from hot-as-fuck ArtStudent for my birthday, and also I am rocking out to Tali, and her hot-as-fuck song, "Blazin'," to which I was introduced at Miss Shasta Cola's recent show.

That was a ridiculous sentence.

Also, three freaking entries in one day, after a week of utter silence? One might almost think I was in a fucking great mood, or something.

In the aftermath of my natal celebrations, one thing in particular was very clear to me: I have the best group of friends that anybody could ever, ever hope for. We drank, we sang, we smoked, we chatted, we flopped on the squooshy bed, we danced, we drank. (After that last sentence, the word "we" looks very strange.) My handsome love, of course, supplied the 1996 Veuve Clicquot Reserve, and he and I downed it out of my new insanely gorgeous crystal champagne flutes, so fret not that my decadence quotient is suffering due to unemployment. It was the first actual party in the new digs, and I have to say, it went over like a lead balloon that is, in fact, made of ultra-light rubber and filled with helium and starlight. For the record: I am beyond pleased and honored to be friends with all of you. (Even the ones who could not make it due to falling-asleep-on-the-couchness, or living-in-another-cityness. You still rock my face!)

The following, apropos of nothing, is a recommended reading list.

Michael Chabon's "The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay." Everyone should have already read this, but in case you are of the unfortunate few who missed it, go read it now.

Michael Chabon's "The Amazing Adventures of The Escapist." Do not be fooled into thinking that Chabon writes only of Amazing Adventures like some pulpy hack -- this is a companion volume to my first recommendation, and the last comic therein came very close to making me weep like a baby who was very sad indeed.

Tad Williams' "Memory Sorrow and Thorn" trilogy. Yes, this is full-on fantasy fare, but easily among the best I have ever read. I still exactly remember vacationing with my family in the mountains and sitting outside on the balcony until 5 am, finishing the final volume, "To Green Angel Tower."

Michael Marshall Smith, anything you can get your hands on. Surreal sci-fi, with the most dryly acerbic protagonists you are likely to find anywhere. I just hope that Hollywood gets on with making the movies they have optioned.

Kate -- Cyanophyta. An online treat this time. I know I have her linked off to the right there, but she deserves a special call-out for what might be my favorite thing to read while I sit at my desk. Living in China has clearly done absolute marvels for her writing and her confidence therein, and I can hardly wait until she is back in New York and I can move her up into the Tribe Members category. Maybe she can guide me through Chinatown and tell me what the heck is going on in there.