so like after a few weeks of not remembering what my password was for this thing….i FINALLY grew a pair and got the ish sorted out…partially because i wanted to/partially because i needed something to make me look busy at work
allow me to make another SWEEPING generalization….but i’m PRETTY sure that there is no coincidence that the power went out at the superbowl after halftime for a reason. and that reason is that the QUEEN herself, lady Beyonce, won the superbowl. like sorry, but she did.
(disclaimer: i am not saying this because i was at a homo-centric superbowl party…pretty sure that all heteros will agree with the fact that Lady B won as well)
Bear with me now, all 2 followers that are not related to me and thus read this of their own volition and not due to threats of death, bodily harm and/or me not cooking at the beach this year, as I outline some basic grudges that I have, in list/rant form:
-That ignorant B-i (spell the rest out with me now people, T-C-H) who got fur banned from West Hollywood. For those of you that live under a rock, fur has been banned for sale in West Hollywood, and it wasnt even at the hands of the awful PETA. Some dumb bored ho from Beverly Hills was bored one day and to remedy that she decided to cure said boredom she would get fur sales banned, not from her OWN city, but from the one right next door. LIKE SRSLY this happened and I’m not a huge fan of it. I have since stuck it to her and purchased a hoodie with a fur hood (arguably the most komfortable/kardashian thing that I own besides my helmut lang blazer/alexander mcqueen scarf ensemblé that makes me a dead ringer for my girl Kris Jenner) from a shop on Melrose which will remain anonymous, so like the ban apparently isnt THAT strictly enforced…but for good social karma and since you never know where this B-i might be lurking to throw paint I have resorted to telling people that it is…sigh…fake (i know, i vomited typing that just as you will probably vomit reading it). My hatred for her stupid ban is paralleled by my hatred for the dicks who banned foie-gras from California (i cant even discuss this as my blood literally will start to boil)
-Parking enforcement. they are hands down the SCUM of the earth. This could easily turn into a multi-volume expose on why West Hollywood Parking Enforcement are to blame for most of the world’s problems so i’ll spare you and just leave it at that.
-whomever controls when girls/homeland is released onto itunes. As of recent ive been “trying” (read: failing mi$erably) at saving $$$$$ and one of said tries included canceling ALL ondemand channels….aka I have a REAL bone to pick with whomever decided that both Girls and Homeland season 2 like arent important enough to be put on itunes in real time. (update: i have since caved to the social pressure of not being able to talk about Girls, and thus HBO has been re-subscribed to)
-the makers of prednisone for really sticking it to the gays/weight-conscious community. Sinus infections have been the only real constant in my life since i was 12 (not counting the daily interactions where I list all of the ways to blow through Rick’s hard-earned dollaz and he has a subsequent coronary), thus making the dreaded prednisone-related weight gain the second only real constant in my life. its a vicious cycle, people…
-#RichKidsOfInstagram. slightly douchy + very pretentious pictures of ultra-wealthy instagrammers flaunting their 9878983 birkins, rando trips on private jets, garages of exotic cars, vaults of jewels, etc… = one EXTREMELY ENRAGED AND JEALOUS BEN. But seriously Im beginning to come to terms with the fact that no matter how much i want it….my 2 hermes bangles and slightly scuffed small version belt (thanks for nothing Hermes Rome for having such a shitty collection in my desired colorway) will never cut it. ever. ill never have it.
-genetics. yes, i know youre thinking that hating genetics is a random and sweeping generalization, and quite frankly it is and i dont care because the fact of the matter is that no matter how many squats (or any exercise, for that matter) i do my ass will NEVER look like Beyoncé’s…and it KILLS.ME.DAILY.
-restaurants that try to be too culturally inclusive in the creation of their menus. if i wanted to eat chinese/bbq/sushi/southern/pub/really take your pick here it could be anything, i would go to one of those awful mid-western buffet places. but i would rather first stab my eyeball out with a fork and allow pigeons to eat me to death before i ever stepped foot into a buffet. take away lesson: to paraphrase my girl BonQuiQui, restaurants: do NOT get crazy.
I feel that now is the appropriate time to go over some general points, and make a few apologies to the three of you that read this blog.
FIRST. I’m (somewhat) sorry for my blatant disregard of grammar, sentence structure, correct punctuation, etc. In my own defense I am actually a pretty sound writer (I minored in creative writing in college…CRAZY I KNOW THAT I MINORED IN WRITING AND YET I CANT SEEM TO PULL IT TOGETHER HERE)…and if I sit down and take a minute(and a pill so that only one personality is present) to collect myself I can usually bang out a decent piece of writing that would make Strunk & White pretty damn proud. Google Strunk & White if you dont know who they are/slept through EVERY.ENGLISH.CLASS.YOU.HAVE.EVER.TAKEN. Since I so infrequently sit down, collect myself, and think about what is spewing out of my rather large mouth…youll just have to deal with the reality that is that i write things as they come to me, and with all 87 of my personalities all vying for attention (constant theme in my life) sometimes you just have to throw caution to the wind, say SUCK IT GRAMMAR, and let it flow. Im pretty sure that my favorite writing professor from college just rolled over a few times in her premature grave so…sorry about that, Jackie. And Uncle Walt too…I know how much you love a good session with a red pen and im PRETTY sure that this blog will lead to an aneurism.
SECOND. im sorry about this awful layout and weird picture that says “Bello” in the corner. GENERALLY IM NOT SURE WHY IT SAYS BELLO and I also generally loathe anything that looks generic so TRUST that this issue is getting resolved on the quick.
THIRD. to anyone that I inadvertently offend, F off. seriously though. most/all of what is written on here SHOULD NEVER BE TAKEN SERIOUSLY BECAUSE I ENJOY BEING A DICK. except for what i write about Maurice/Rick and Julie…because I cant even make that shit up.
FOURTH. to anyone that i blatantly and repeatedly make fun of….this means I more than likely already know you and that means you should know that for me, making fun of someone is the highest form of flattery. so either get on board or get out of my life (but please get on board because at the rate im going i will have like zero friends by tomorrow).
So lets take a minute and talk for a (few) second(s) about the most significant love/hate relationship of my ENTIRE 23 years…and no I’m not referring to the tumultuous long-distance love/hate with Rick and Julie (parents). Random aside: from a very young age I have exclusively called my parents by their first names because really…how annoying is it to be a (precocious) midget six-year old being traipsed around any number of locales (supermarket, some C-Level mall, the marine terminal at LaGuardia – puke) and call out “Mom/Dad,” only to be met by EVERY.OTHER.MOM/DAD in the entire joint, probably plus a few outside, turning around. Every parent. EXCEPT MY OWN. Case in point…one time while in a full on sprint to get to a gate in some rando airport (thanks RICK for showing up to the airport with 67 seconds before the flight closed, REALLY appreciated) I decided that I would absolutely die if I didn’t have a pack of gum – stopped dead in my tracks – and shreiked MOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMM (she’s always the better parent to approach for an impulse purchase). Did Julie turn around? absolutely not. But do you know who did? Some woman who in hindsight looked ALOT like what I imagine 50 year old Beyonce will look like. So like lets get real here lady…I’ve read that book “Are You My Mother?,” and I hate to break it to you…but you definitely are not. Sorry that “random aside” turned out to be more diatribe-y than anything, but lets be real here it helps to show you that I’ve always been ‘special.’ I also just kept going with it because I was trying to find a natural way to slip it in that Rick’s legal name is Maurice (i cant) so there…Rick’s name is really Maurice.
Anyway, Rick/Maurice and Julie are indeed NOT the subject of this post, their time will come (sorry in advance R&J), but the most significant love/hate relationship i have.EVER.HAD is with the gym – a place I interchangeably refer to as CHIC-quinox or the torture chamber. Lets get one thing fleshed out up in here for the -8 people that are reading this that aren’t being forced to by moi – I live in Weho (West Hollywood for those not in the know), which is like gay ground zero. Every.single.homo here looks like a ken doll with perfect hair, a perfect smile, perfect muscles, perfect body odor…EVERYTHING is perfect. No one seems to have a steady 9-5 job besides going to the gym and looking pretty and non-sweaty while bench pressing a small japanese car. NOT ME. Enter the semi-short ‘mo who is ALREADY sweating my balls off and beat red in the face (escalators are NO JOKE people), who at best has a five-year-olds understanding of how to use ANY piece of equipment in the entire joint.
Did I also mention that right now im slightly bloated, puffy, and carrying around an extra 5 to 7 lbs due to a week on prednisone for previously mentioned sinus infection. Apparently prednisone just makes you gain weight flat out. I cried to my doctor that he didnt understand that I am gay, living in weho, and medicine-related weight gain just wasnt an option, to which he replied “seriously you need to stop crying this is awkward, and you should stay on prednisone because even if I wired your jaw shut you would STILL gain weight from it.” I obliged, partially because constant sinus infections since middle school are REALLY STARTING TO GET OLD; and partially because perhaps one day after following every.single.piece.of.(unsolicited).advice said doctor gives me, he’ll agree to wiring my jaw shut for reals. A girl can dream, right?!
So back to the lovely CHIC-quinox. Here I am on my trusty friend the elliptical, sweating out last nights tequila/vodka/champagne/in-n-out/take your pick, ruining my ear drums listening to trance music (the only way if you ask me….I used to listen to whitney and mariah until a ‘friendly’ neighbor clued me into the fact that I was full on singing along. out loud. and had zero clue. less lyrics in trance music = less chance of me randomly breaking into song). I’ve been at it for a good 45 minutes, look as if I just jumped into a pool, and im still flabby with no discernible muscle definition while over on the mat Joe McHomo does half of a crunch and stands up with a 12-pack. #unfair.
I won’t bore you with some random excuse as to why my genetics prevent me from having a ripped bod. I work out. ALOT. like M/W/F with my trainer, and Tues/Thurs I do Pilates, I usually throw in my own cardio routine a few times a week and once every 4 years i suffer through a hike and call myself outdoorsy. But for as much as I work out, I also absolutely do NOT watch what I eat. at all. To the point where every time I ask my friend Joe why i work out so much and see no results he just shrieks back “BECAUSE YOU DGAF ABOUT YOUR DIET.” Incidentally, every single one of my trainers has said the same thing to me at one point or another, and quite frankly I think they may be on to something here…
So if there is a moral to this long, drawn-out, run-on sentence of a rant, it would be this: Im sorta over talking about the gym because I try not to think about the torture dungeon when I’m not there (and even when I’m there I’m usually objecting to EVERYTHING my trainer tries to get me to do on the principle that half-jews such as myself cant lift more than 25 pound weights, and thinking about eating a whole pizza). And all of this exercise talk is making me hungry – so in the spirit of appeasing Joe and all of my trainers, I will forego a trip to Umami and ordering 2 of everything on the menu and go pretend to eat soup instead.
i guess you can thank Lena Dunham for this. I had a raging sinus infection last week and to pass the time I watched the entire first season of Girls in a day. I’ve always been interested in/confused by the blogosphere, so I woke up today and decided that instead of walking my dog (sorry, Mister), that he could do sprints on my balcony and I would create a blog (arguably a much more productive use of my time than schlepping around my neighborhood while he stops – i kid you not – every four god damn steps to sniff something).
in my head this was a GREAT idea, sort of like when I decided that my calling in life was to be a dog owner. Just like how when you’re thinking about getting a dog no one tells you the bad stuff (i have a pug and not ONE person told me that they snore and are attention whores)…the ABSOLUTE SAME applies to creating a blog. I surely can’t be the only retard that thought you made up a witty title, wrote something, clicked a few other buttons and VOILA. As the divine ms.Whitney Houston (rip angel) would say, “oh HELL NAW!” So yeah, no one told me that I would have to buy a domain, then realize I had made a huge mistake and transfer said domain to another hosting service (i know…i still dont know), and then figure out how to use this all by my lonesome. side note: where is my tech-savvy boyfriend to get this working when I need him…oh right, he doesn’t exist…
So…let me try to wrap this up into some sort of cohesive idea here. Basically, just like I can never play any sort of team sports, I can also generally never get all 17 of my personalities firing on the same cylinder to make a cohesive idea either. This, much like my life, will mostly be a stream of conscious(ness?) rant. If you’ve gotten this far and haven’t abandoned me for something FAR more compelling, I applaud you, because I sure as hell am lost.