Labor day weekend

After the last couple hectic weeks at work it was a relief to have a nice, long three day weekend to relax and blow off some steam.

Saturday night I went to an impromptu dance party at @DCDebbie’s that was later dubbed #holdenittogether, after a mutual twitter friend that a lot of us follow (@AliHolden) lost her beloved dog earlier in the week. @DistrictOfRyan, @MikeSica, and @Claddah76 met me at Target and we (quite literally) stuffed ourselves into @BdgrLaw’s little Audi A4 and somehow reached Silver Spring, MD without being pulled over for impersonating a clown car.

Share photos on twitter with TwitpicOnce at Debbies I ate, I drank, I watched @rlybrg flawlessly recreate the videos for both Single Ladies and Got Me Bodied. I took a picture with my index finger knuckle-deep in @DCDebbie’s cleavage (coming soon, I’m sure.) It was an interesting night, to say the least.

Also in attendance were @urbanphish, @cubby1978, @jesserker, @DCPrincessQ, and @dupontdan. I’m missing some people, but I don’t remember their twitter names.

Notice who wasn’t there? That’s right, the person who the party was named after. I’m not quite sure what to make of that.

Sunday I was supposed to wake up and go see Inglourious Basterds with Tadd. He wasn’t feeling well so I decided to go by myself. Unfortunately my body had other plans – I wound up falling asleep watching TV and not getting off the sofa until almost 7. I did a little work on my bike and then went out for a couple drinks with @DistrictOfAris, @DupontDan, @DrGateWood and @MikeSica. I stayed out a little too late, missed my bus, and wound up walking home. At 2am. Cue Elvis Presley: “In the ghetto.”


Today I just about finished building my bike up; it’s pretty much rideable now. Yes, it’s still kinda wobbly in some areas but since I don’t have the tools to fix the bottom bracket or the headset at the moment – I’ll head to the local bicycle co-op, The Bike House, this weekend and knock all that out. I’d still like to get some new cranks for it at some point, but the ones that are on there will work fine for now. I rode around the neighborhood for a bit but it started to rain so I cut it short and went back inside. It is surreal to be riding it after so long. It feels weird, riding a bike that’s actually the right size for me. :)

This evening I had dinner at City Lights of China with a really sweet guy I met a couple weekends ago. After dinner we got a drink at Larry’s on 18th street and chatted some more while people watching on the patio. It was a great night out and Larry’s is such a nice place to go to just chat without yelling over thumping music or suffering the usual drama that’s at most gay bars. Whenever I go there I always ask myself why I don’t go more often. I never have an answer.

On the way to my bus at 14th and P I stopped in at JRs to say hi to @MarkDC and @DCBrent. It was showtunes night so when Maybe This Time came on I couldn’t leave just yet. Then, as I was telling them goodbye, Harper Valley PTA came on and it just wouldn’t have been proper to exit until it was over.

An hour later I deftly made my escape when some crappy rendition of Man of La Mancha started. I mean really.

I’m totally not ready to go back to work. Can’t I just have one more day off? :)

If life was like twitter I would hashtag this weekend #hotmess.

A (not-so) quick recap, shall we?

Thursday I stayed home sick with food poisoning and a 101 degree fever thanks to a delightful, non-lethal Indian buffet I had for lunch on Wednesday. It had made me so ill and drained so much of my energy that I was barely able to stumble periodically to the restroom to projectile vomit into the tub, much less sit up in my bed and watch x-tube. When I’d get bed sores from my mattress I’d slowly crawl down the stairs to the living room and lay down on the sofa in a fetal position, browsing porn and making a mental list of videos to watch when I regained my strength. (A girl needs something to live for, right?) I’d then climb back to my room, certain I would soon die alone, surrounded by regurgitated cat hair, piles of kitty litter and dirty laundry.

After work, Katherine kindly brought to my bedside some orange juice, Diet Coke, ibuprofen and toast. Alberto slapped a nasty cold wet paper towel on my face.

It’s the thought that counts.

Friday morning I was feeling better so I dragged myself into work and somehow sustained a moderate pace of work for the day on nothing but a banana parfait from Cosi. The thought of chewing solid food still made me want to vomit into the nearest open container larger than my head.

I was hoping I’d feel better in time to go to my friend @districtofryan’s potlock dinner Friday night, or as we referred to it on twitter, the #pansypotluck. (the # denotes a topic of conversation — a “hashtag” in twitterspeak.)

I waffled a bit on whether I’d go, since I hadn’t had time to make a dish, but at the last minute I pressure-cooked the hell out of some veggie chili and took a cab out to Crystal City to join the rest of the #dchomos.

Crystal City, from what I can tell, is just an area of Arlington with a big cavernous, maze-like underground mall. It’s totally not the home of any super villains, like it sounds. Well, unless your super hero is sobriety – then Crystal City would indeed be their liar. The #dchomos can drink. And stumble. And take photos. And scream quotes from First Wives Club at the top of their lungs.

And drink.

I put the crockpot of chili on the table and placed the packages of crackers upon the mound of other carbs that had been exiled to the center of the table where no one could eat them, because their starved, toneless forms couldn’t raise their arms high enough to reach them as I always say “out of sight out of mind.”

cake At least once during the course of the night, each of the 20 or so guests would happen to mention a word or two, like “table”, that also happened to be contained in the script for First Wives Club or Steel Magnolias. At which point, a shrill voice would shriek from the living room and finish whatever scene it assumed was being invoked. Being a party of mostly gay men several other voices would soon join in, forming a cacophony of lispy, horrid fake southern accents trying desperately to channel Dolly Parton. They would holler random quotes at the top of their lungs: “but a seven feels so good, I buy a size eight!”, “Get your roots done!”, “he don’t know whether to scratch his watch or wind his butt.”, “You are a pig from hell.”, and of course “Are you *high*, Clairee?” After a few hours, I couldn’t take the screaming anymore. I wanted to turn *someone* into that armadillo cake.

As soon as the opportunity arose, I got a ride home with @MarkDC, @DCBrent, @BoogDog and someone that lived way the fuck out in Van Ness.

Who the fuck was that, anyway?

Saturday I slept in. I was invited to go way the hell back out to @districtofryans to go swimming, but I decided to stay inside and watch x-tube and do laundry and otherwise go to sleep be productive. I missed out on the poolside drama, but I heard about a lot of it later that night at Nellie’s. I’d spill the beans here, but I’m not one to gossip.. :)

(Ok, I am, but some of it is too much even to be posted on a shitty little site like this, even if the word “cunt” is in my sub-title.)

After the dirt got dished, I met @mikesica at Omega where we walked around aimlessly drinking diet cokes. Mike tried to hit on some guy that couldn’t speak English and I chatted with some old creepy queen that tried to eat my face when I told him good bye.

No really. Did you see Cloverfield? At the end? When you see the monster’s mouth come down and wrap around the head of the guy with the camera from his point of view? You actually felt like the monster was eating you.

It was just like that but much gayer and with more tongue.


Sunday I went and saw some shitty movie named Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. I won’t get into that though, I don’t want hate mail.

This morning I read a quote from a comment on my blog in Express, a condensed version of the Washington Post that is primarily circulated on the DC Metro; that was kind of cool. So welcome to my blog, those of you who arrived here from there. I’m thrilled that the first thing you’ll learn about me is that I’ve had zits on my head since I was 16.


@seymour Feed me.

Just in case your murderous houseplant’s incessant singing and bloodthirsty rampages aren’t quite high enough maintenance for you, the folks at ThinkGeek have available a DIY Plant Twitter Kit.

Now your psychotic Sago Palm, berserk Begonia or unhinged Umbrella Tree can pummel you with constant tweets, just like your other, non-photosynthetic friends.

And I quote:

Once the kit is assembled, connect it to the Internet through the built-in ethernet jack, jam the leads into the plant’s soil, and subscribe to the plant’s twitter feed. It will tell you when it needs watering, or scold you if you’ve overwatered it, and report its status in between.

I think they may have gone too far this time.


And now we bring you, the iHeadache

My twitterstream is full of my friend’s bitching about all the problems they’re having activating their shiny new iPhones 3Gs. I have to admit there is a small, evil, envious part of me that is glad their nerdvana has been delayed a few hours. The truth be told, I’d love to get my grubby paws on an the new iPhone — but I’m going the route of getting the First generation model off of craigslist for cheap. I figure by next week we’ll be able to pick up a ton of 8GB iPhones for about $200 then, 15 minutes later it’ll be jailbroken and sitting next to my SideKick LX and my Daxian x999+ that I got last week.