Why It Truly Is The Grand Life

I am on the third day of a five day birthday celebration. I requested off from work and emailed my prof's telling them not to expect me. This week and the coming holiday weekend are strictly devoted to fun and festivities. I think I can safely safe I have been to about eighty percent of the bars in this city. I already had a handle on when to go where on what night, but now I am seeing what bar is known for what drink(s). And I haven't had to pay for anything. It's fantastic. These past few days have been tremendous. Going out at night and not coming home till the early morning. Sleeping until linner time. Walking to the Bell to get some tacos. Or having Jimmy's bring the sammich right to my front door. Reading one of the new books that were gifted to me for my birthday. Or watching the movie I bought with my gift cards. I strongly recommend "The Holiday", it's really got something--or someone--for all who watch it. So besides all the new fantastic drinks, I have once again realized I'm the luckiest basterd around here. My friends are the greatest people who ever lived, and they really all deserve awards. I know I'm swept away in a tide of endorphins, smiles, and Amaretto and OJ's; but I really do know some of the coolest, most genuine, people around. And I strongly looking forward to all the future dinner's, bar crawls, and late night drinking story times that will come along. Also, I had the best of luck when it came to who rang me up or took my order on my actual birthday day. The boy at the Bell was so punk-rock-Armani it was captivating. I nearly invited to meet us at the bar later that same night. And then the boy at Meijer was a skinny version of Chris Evans! It really is the Grand Life. So now I'm sitting in the kitchen nook, waiting for Jimmy's to deliver my country club sammich, after having watched a good two hours of Absolutely Fabulous episodes on YouTube, recovering from last nights events and building up energy (and PR) for tonight's events. Reading "Everything I Ate" by Tucker Shaw, a gift my sweetheart Amy, and browsing through "The Cocktail Bible" a gift from Andrew's sweetheart Carolyn. I rather like this whole birthday thing, a boy could get use to this. But I do know once November begins it's back to work, I can't get all my drinks for free.....or can I? Oh! My sammich is here now. More to come later.

iHeart...

+watching my tivo-ed episode of Brothers and Sisters through the ears of the pup because she is sitting on my lap and has her head on my shoulder.
+downloading a bunch of brand new, flashy, sparkly, gaga-rific remixes for my new iPod
+my new iPod!courtesy of my amazing, lovely parents.
+seven coffee mugs of green tea everyday.
+having pie for breakfast, and not caring about the calories.
+not caring about the calories because I am dancing while eating thank to the iPod and the brilliance of David Guetta.
+David Guetta. Nuf said.
+Bad Romance by Lady Gaga, and thinking to myself that she put out a new song just in time for it to get remixed for the dance floor in time for my birthday celebration.
+my friends and hour long phone conversations.
+Golden Girl episodes and a stack of Oreos...cheesecake was too expensive.
+skinny denim, cardigans, and boots.
+the smell of Fall.
+getting to carve pumpkins.
+sharing dessert with my sisser.
+pancakes with bacon and chocolate chips inside them. YUMMY.
+planning my four day birthday extrava-Gaga-ganza!
+the house Halloween party!
+finding out my highest grade this semester is in a Math class. total irony.
+playing catchphrase and kicking ass at it.
+Bad Romance by Lady Gaga, seriously, it's worth mentioning twice.
+this girl called Brittany who promised to make sure I don't die during the birthday extrava-Gaga-ganza. She's a sweetheart.
+the house I live in and the boys I live with.
+and the pup!
+the fact that my compy didn't asplode when I downloaded iTunes. Good work compy.
+the managers who pay me to listen to them vent while on smoke break. Getting paid to give out advice...hells yea!
+knowing I'm going to be single for this birthday and not being completely terrified about that fact.
+the fact that I'm going to be burning calories left and right now that I have remixes in my ear 24/7. yahtzee!

Biscuits Make It Better

Had some type of flu for the majority of the week. Probably more then once because there was a couple moments when I thought I was recovered but then had a sneak attack tummy panic. Thank everything the toilet is close to my bedroom. I hope getting sick early will leave me safe for the rest of the season, but living with five other guys kind of leaves your immune system on overdrive. So we'll see. Didn't really do a whole lot this week at all, and since my compy is older then Joan Rivers, I couldn't even catch up on television shows in bed. All I did was drink my weight in fluids and sleep in the fetal position. But I do get to return to my home city for the weekend, so that should be nice. See some friends, stay with some family, maybe walk the magnificent mile. I love the Mag-Mile. Other things I have grown to love this week due to my extended bed visitation. Flannel Sheets! The new song from One Republic. Chicken broth. Cookies. Biscuits. Green Tea. It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia. Planning my upcoming birthday celebrations. That's right it's plural. But now I need to nibble on some flaky, multi-layered biscuit goodness before I try to sit through class without getting sick or feeling the effects of the flu(s). Chicago, you can't come fast enough.

Out And About

I didn't realize it was National Coming Out day...I think it's a big bucket of horse shit. Turkeys need days. Pandas need days. Breast Cancer Awareness needs days. If you're gay, you need to grow a pair and kick open the closet door. It's not fun. It's not easy. It's sort of as painful as surgery without being put under. But it's something that you have to do. The whole pride concept really baffles me. We want to be treated as equals, and yet we parade down Michigan Avenue in sparkled banana hammocks: where is the logic you stupid queens. You aren't doing anyone any favors by drawing attention to your obnoxiousness. There is such a thing as a demure gay. Try it on sometime, eh? Often times the quiet, observant people are the ones who get their way and make a place in the world; while the screamers and flailers are easily misplaced. So there is something to be said for quiet determination and silent action. The squeaky wheel gets the oil, but eventually it gets thrown out. And I don't know about you, but I didn't come out just to be thrown out of society. Get your homo act together and become a civilized gay.

Ill Maestro

Not fun at all to run the show when you are kind of under the weather. None of the notes sound good and all the melodies fall flat. You're supposed to be hitting the high notes and you can barely hum along. When the music does play though, it's amazing. I think song is a great way to communicate what you are feeling. Kristen Chenoweth does such a great job of proving my point for me. The trick is to act out a song and just happen to be singing while you do it, you have to use your whole body to really convey what emotions you are letting out. But we can't all belt it out like the cheno, so some of us just stick with singing to our steering wheels. Tonight, while I was driving home from class and singing my stress out with Nelly Furtado, I happened to remember the last boy who sang to me. The whole thing hit me so hard I had to check and make sure my airbags weren't deployed. It happened nearly a year ago and still the whole memory came back so vividly I could hear his voice. The drive home just got a helluva lot longer. But instead of playing out the events of what would happen if my car slipped over the white lines, I sang even louder and harder. I could have put Catherine Zeta to shame, her Velma Kelly don't have nothin' on me. It's funny what invokes emotion and what doesn't. I almost got run down by a car today while crossing the street to get to my two o'clock class. Some stupid bitch tried to run the light and instead almost ran me down. Her license plate nudged my bookbag. No joke. But I wasn't even phased. I didn't even flip her the bird. I could have gone all "Im walkin here!" on her, but I just barely looked over my shoulder and kept on walking. I had a class to get to. Obviously I would have been pissed if I had gotten hit. And had lived to complain about it. But it didn't happen, it was just another melody that ended up not being a hit. I seem to have encountered a lot of those lately. But I think it was because I was trying to conduct so much at once. Now I'm working with a more acoustic lifestyle, so I think it should be better. Easier to make a song worth singing. Easier to find someone to sing with, someone worth singing to. I may not always be a good conductor, but at least I'm singing for myself now and not just lip syncing. It's good to know I have a voice of my own. The cheesier the post, the more tired I am. HAhahahah

You Have To Signal First

I don't even remember this weekend. It's just a blur of money making, passing out on top of my bed, throwing myself in the shower, and then going to make some more money. Somewhere in there I figured out I should quit job two before I got fired from it. My blinkers stopped working on my car. I ran out of shampoo. And I got a tummy ache. From the poor choices in food or from the lack of food in general. I felt awful driving around without my blinkers working, because I felt like a huge hypocrite. I'm the driver that yells at cars when they cut into my lane with out signaling first. There is no need to surprise me like that when you could have clearly signaled first and let me know what was happening. I like that approach in life too. I don't care for bomb dropping and surprise omissions, but sometimes it's unavoidable. Like quitting a job. Ninety percent of the time though you can give a reasonable heads up before you let it all hang out. It might be the childish thing to do, or make you lose upper hand points, but it makes the results easier to handle. The rules of the road can be applied to life as well. Signal before you make a move. Don't go too fast. If you have road rage pull over and sort things out before you hurt yourself or someone around you. Stay on your side of the road. Keep your eyes on the horizon. Try not to worry about other drivers, you don't have control over them. And follow the advice of Bette Davis, buckle up. All this talk about motors reminds of my truck desire. It's been put on hold for the time being. But the massage therapist thing has a full tank of gas and is ready to ride. I think now that I'm only going to have job one to deal with, I will be a much happier driver. No more road rage, excess exhaust, crossed wires. I think my engine will be running much better from now on. I've still got a couple miles of country road and some tight curves to pass in the next couple months, but I'm close to getting on the highway of my future. And I have a working blinker so it will be easy to merge.

Drenched In Vogue

Changing outfits four times in one day. Getting naked in the parking lot to do so. Making sure your outfit has enough black on it. Cigarette to the right, hips to the left. Champagne flute on the table in front of you. Zip up your black boots. Skinny jeans on, tucked in, too make sure your edgy. Glamorous poetry read, followed by a fabulous post party, capped off my a tremendous late night stroll through the sparkling downtown streets. All the while checking your hair, your make up, your waist line, your smile, your pout and where your eyes are wandering. Don't show too much interest, but don't look bored. Seem completely enticed, but radically detached. Laugh with your eyes, but disapprove with your mouth. Arms folded, arms crossed, hand in pocket, hand on hip, shoulders curved, ribs out, heels planted firmly on the pretentiousness that is the pseudo-new-age-post-future-art-vogue moment you fell into. Strike a pose. There's nothing to it? I love Madonna like it's my job, but all that vogue shit is tiring. The song is great, but have you ever tried living it out for an evening? It's exhausting. My motives weren't entirely legitimate in the first place, but I was definitely up for the evening. Or so I thought. It was part homework assignment, and part boy chasing. Not just any boy though. A boy crafted so perfectly your eyes hurt if you look directly at him for too long. It's like staring at the sun. And you want to get as close as you can without getting burnt too. He was so perfect I would have cried in front of him, he has that effect. Have you ever seen someone and you just thought you'd be so safe with them you could cry in front of them and not care about it later. You just want to crawl in their lap and hold them, and try as hard as possible to have their atoms swirl up with yours. Maybe you haven't. But if you have, then you'd understand the lengths you'd go to get close to the sun without getting burnt. But somewhere between my second marlboro and my third outfit change I had to face the vogue, as it were, and admit that I can't keep up. I was wading in an ocean of retro-modern-vintage-fit-denim wearing hipsters, doing my best to stay afloat but I had nothing to cling to except my own failed expectations. The boy was sweet and personable but a wolf confined to solitary for hundred years wouldn't be able to touch this boys lone wolf mannerisms. And, after all, no one can live on the sun. It's hot and delicious, but you will end up getting burnt. Who knows, maybe I can go tanning every once in awhile. But, for now, I'll have to keep my glamorizing to a minimum because I'm not sure how to wash pretentious party out of my favorite coat. Or scrub the fakeness off my boots. What's the cleaning solution for that again? Two thirds realism and one third average. I think I could handle it all if I had a metaphoric pair of sunglasses and better denim. But I've not the time or energy to require such things. For now at least.