hedrinksalot, the blog

Wednesday, March 29, 2006

Dear Brett,

Thank you for taking the time to meet with us to discuss employment opportunities at Starcom MediaVest Group. After careful consideration of your background and abilities, we are not able to find an appropriate fit for you within our organization at this time. We do wish you the best of luck as you progress in your career. Again, thank you for your interest in Starcom MediaVest Group.

Sincerely,
STARCOM MEDIAVEST GROUP

i will never get a new job.

thank you, msn.
thank you!

"the neighbors said those weapons, along with catlike stealth, have allowed lewis to attack at least a half dozen people and ambush the avon lady as she was getting out of her car." [emphasis added]

he is an effing cat... doesn't get much more catlike.

...and what's with putting his name in quotes? does msn suspect that "lewis" might be an alias? are we to question whether that's the cat's real name?

genius!

Tuesday, March 28, 2006

everything ends in boxes.

this life o' mine is cha-cha-cha-changin'.

happened: job interview at starcom this past super saturday. it was crazy, go-go-go-style interviewing. met with like 5 different people for 30 minutes each. in, out, in, out, in... you get the picture. had a couple "oh, fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!" moments, but nothing too horrible. i think it went well overall. i hope anyhow. papa needs a new job so he can get a brand new bag. more gucci, preferably. we shall see.

also went on a date. not sure if anything is going to pan out... he was nice and lovely and delightful and supah cute, but... arranging a second outing has seemed to fall on deaf ears.

happening: mollea and i are in the midst of a big, fat, cunty, fucking move. packing and painting and bitching at people and bitching about people and thinking about bitching about something are consuming our every waking moment. april 8 cannot come soon enough. nothing in particular happens on april 8, but i figure by then all this "moving" shit will have become "moved" shit. ugh, honey... seriously.

about to happen: i am supposed to have dinner with the joseph some time in the very near future. this will be the first time i have seen him since breakup '06. i know i still have feelings for him. i know i want him still to have feeling for me. i know i want to tell him this. i know i shouldn't. i know i wish life was like tv where you can get away with stuff like that. i know watching several, freakishly appropriate episodes of sex and the city this past weekend while with ben in the 'burbs was not the wisest idea. i do not know if i can actually go through with this.

i'm also thinking of picking up some april's resolutions. i didn't really do any new year's ones, so april may be my redemption. at the top of the list, get my scrawny ass into a gym. bitch needs some arms and a chest and some thighs and two shoulders and for fuck's (or fucking's) sake an ass.

painting awaits!

Friday, March 24, 2006

i've got a story i'm almost too embarassed to tell.

but whatevs, here goes...

i've made it my recent practice to drink a bottle of water just before bed. i know it's important to stay hydrated, so it must be great to stay hydrated while your body is recuperating and rebuilding during the night. the downside to all of this, though, is that i have to pee like a russian racehorse come morningtime.

today, i was supposed to be at work at 8. in classic fashion, i woke up at 8. i went into crazy-crazy-super-fast-get-ready-for-work mode, throwing on whatever clothes i could find, frantically brushing my teeth and hurriedly doing something to the old hair. i rushed out the door without the slightest chance to relieve my bladder.

when i got to work, i literally thought i was going to explode, but since i was late and all, i had stuff i needed to do before i could go to the bathroom. hurting bladder. hurting bladder.

people kept bothering me. stuff kept popping up, and before i know it, it is 10:30 and i am yet to dispense urine that has been building up since late thursday evening.

finally, i lost it, telling a coworker, "that's it... i've gooooooooooot to pee!" and i stormed out.

doing the pee-pee dance in front of the toilet, i quickly-but-never-quite-quickly-enough-when-you-have-to-pee unzipped and went to use the flap (yes, i use the flap) of my boxers.

there was no flap.

i stuck my hand through the zipper hole, as perhaps the flap had twisted over to the side.

still no flap.

still dancing the dance of pee-pee.

"what the fuck, flap?!? where are you?!?"

sidestepping. 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2. no flap to be found.

so just before the hull was breached, i undo my belt and do an up-and-over pulling down the waistband of said boxers ever so slightly... and that's when i see it.

a tag.

yep, i put my underwear on backwards today.

i started laughing right there in the stall.

oh, and they're still on backwards.

i wasn't about to take my shoes off in the bathroom.

Thursday, March 23, 2006

yep, more bullet points.

get over it, you know you like me when i'm listy.

moving blows.
new apartments don't.
my room looks like my closet threw up.
i really, really, really want like 4 new pairs of pants - 1 pair of jeans and 3 other for work - but you try finding something that accommodates both a 28 inch waist and 33 inch legs. i'm like a lifesized version of those clowns on stilts at the circus.
i effing hate clowns. in the words of ms. bradshaw, "nothing scarier than a clown."
it was determined today that i really should investigate becoming a stylist. i can work wonders when dressing a girl.
meanwhile, the sweater i am wearing just may be two sizes too small.
it's too bad my desk doesn't have space for a picture of molly and i.
i need to find a new job because the one i am in would have me working the day after cinco de mayo, the saturday of pride weekend, my birthday, and the saturday of market days. can we say "bogus"?
speaking of bogus, the movies i need to go see are only piling up... this makes me a very sad boy.
a vacation would certainly pick me up. maybe, just maybe, a visit to see drew is in order. is it warm enough in nyc to wear one of my new bathing suits to the beach?
probably not, what with all this talk about some huge hurricane destined to katrina the big apple.
i enjoy creating new verbs... especially as infinitives.
i still think when faced with a genie i'd wish for infinite wishes then world peace.
is there still a ms. america pageant? didn't it air on cmt (country music television) last year? wasn't james denton the host? what a sad, sad era to be ms. america.
i should call a plumber. our bathtub simply does not drain as quickly as it should.
crack kills.
i read some really fucking crazy quote from the killers the other day, but i can't remember where or what exactly it said. if you know what i'm talking about, write me a little ditty with the quote in it please.
i've been thinking lately that if i were a newspaper columnist, i'd call my column "the skinny". then each column would give the skinny on something... like a celeb in town or a new restaurant that just opened or how wonderful i am. see, it's funny because i'm rail thin.
and you're not.

stream of consciousness owned this post!

hoozah!

Friday, March 17, 2006

happy irish day!

i am ever-so-slightly scottish.
i am a tad french.
i am a sprinkling of dutch.
i am a pinch of austrian.
i am a smidge of welsh.
i am several pints of english.
i am a smorgasbord of german.

...but above all of my european-mutt heritage, i am irish. roman catholic irish, to boot. my mother's grandparents were fobs, arriving in america in the early 20th century. the newest members of brooklyn's irish community. they struggled here. they worked hard to make a better life for themselves. regardless, they were hated for who they were. despised for a part of themselves so innate.

i am irish. i am gay.

no gay irish groups will march in new york's st. patrick's day parade. correction: no gay irish groups can march in new york's st. patrick's day parade. a group once so denigrated for something they are without reason, now turns the blade on another.

john dunleavey, the man in charge of the parade, said, "if an israeli group wants to march in new york, do you allow neo-nazis into their parade? if african-americans are marching in harlem, do they have to let the ku klux klan into their parade?"

while mr. dunleavey is certainly entitled to his opinion, i have major issues with his analogy. not because he compares gays to nazis and klan members, but because the comparison is improperly applied.

nazis hate jews. klansmen hate blacks.

irish-american gays don't inherently hate irish-americans.

his analogy fails.

the inverse, however, seems to work:

if a group of irish-american gays wanted to have a st. patrick's day parade, do they allow mr. dunleavey to march?

no one in new york is asking mr. dunleavey to let hate into the parade.

the hate is already there.

Thursday, March 16, 2006

sorry for the lack of posts lately.

blogger and i are having quite the little spat.

...so once it's ready to stop being a stubborn little bitch, i'll start posting again.

until then, adieu.

oh, and hooray for post #200!

woot woot motherfuckers!

Thursday, March 09, 2006

bullet points make it feel "creative".

do you ever get those times when you can feel yourself about to be depressed? like you're not sad yet, but you can feel that the tide is about to come in... you're about to be swept under. yeah, that's where i am. i'm not sure what it is - maybe the change in seasons, maybe joe, maybe all the stress i've been under, maybe my job - but i know it's coming. i gave molly an appropriate heads-up.
i had thought for awhile that i was in desperate need of a pedicure, but today, when i was getting in the shower, i caught a glimpse of my tootsies and, by golly, they look fabulous. i think i might pursue a career in foot modeling.
today is the popsicle's birthday. he's now 45. in celebration, i will more than likely be venturing home for the weekend. first time i'll see my mom since dropping the gay-bomb on her-oshima.
i am exchanging a swimsuit for the third time. while i bought 3 suits from andrew christian, for some reason this one's sizing is all fucked up. i've now paid way too much for a suit i don't even love all that much. ugh.
chloe fucking dao won project runway! despite the fact that she beat my current boyfriend (who i am thinking about dumping now that his haircut is starting to look very mrs. brady), i am very happy for her! i thought her collection was pretty damn good... not very versatile, but fuck, it was structured and crafted to no end. well done, ms. dao, well done. d.vo, we need to talk.
last week, molly saw a man shit off the edge of the l platform. this week, i caught a man pissing on the l platform. the homeless love to share their bodily functions with molly and i. it's lovely. kinda like the face some random woman gave me when i told her she was standing in pee... "not mine," i scoffed at her to suggest what a fool she was for even looking at me like that.
my skin is an absolute trainwreck. it's like i have leprosy of the face or something. end puberty, now!
molly and i are moving at the end of the month. we now spend each evening convincing ourselves that tomorrow we'll start packing. i should probably start pricing movers.
i'm not entirely sure i like that i'm the friend who "will probably have like 5 husbands", despite the fact that i'm quick to agree with the statement.
i want to pick up a not-entirely-useful-yet-not-entirely-useless skill. maybe i'll start taking french again. or finally learn to sew. or take voice lessons. or get a complete handle on html. or start practicing archery so i can go to the olympics. i don't know. i need something.
it is not wise to wear white shoes for the very first time to charlie's. they are now your new gray shoes.
i didn't give anything up for lent this year, though, i'm sure a few of you thought i had given up blogging.
hello, 60 degrees! where the hell did you come from and why were you away so long?
i wish i liked going commando so that i could use "i'm not wearing any underwear" more often.
how can i have sex without upping my "number"? i'm scared i won't make it to 30 without surpassing my slut quotient.
last weekend, i broke my gucci cherry. i couldn't be happier with my purchase. it defies description.
i am frightened by the fact that it is march, and i am already planning the party i plan to throw during pride. especially since i am not even sure which weekend pride is this year. regardless, it's going to be fantastic, and you all better be there. you know, or else.
i need to start dating someone because there are seriously like 12 movies i want to see. please direct all single traffic to moi.

if you need me, i'll be in my trailer... and this weekend, that's more true than i'd like to admit.

Thursday, March 02, 2006

hiatus!

i am declaring a hiatus from $1 drink nights!

they are a bramble in my wing. i get too shitty, too fast, and make too many bad decisions.

so hiatus!

we're over $1 drink nights... over!

but drinking... now that's a different story.

don't forget - gay bloggers bash 2 is tonight!

i'm so excited.

i feel like jessie spano.

Wednesday, March 01, 2006

there was that day i might have changed everything for the better.

it was 1990, i was eight years old, and despite being at one of the poorest moments in our family history, my brother and i attended the lone private school in town because it was also the only catholic school. i will never understand how my parents managed to pay our tuition, and i am certain that they will never explain it to me.

regardless, somehow they paid it, allowing kyle and i to be st. mary's midgets.

1990 was the first year that kindergarten became an all-day class, so while three years prior, i only attended school in the afternoon, my brother was now in the building as many hours a day as i was... every morning, i'd hold his hand as we walked from the car to the school's ominous front doors, two towering stretches of glass that never seemed to suggest of the vibrance and life held within them... always dark and cold, hidden beneath a heavy stone arch. at the top of the stairs, we'd stop each day and turn to wave goodbye to our mom.

inside, i'd send him to mrs. breckenridge in the basement, and i'd climb to the top floor to join the rest of my third grade class in greeting the first and second graders, just as we did every morning.

at the end of the school day, i'd fetch my brother, then we'd wait outside as the long line of cars paraded slowly by, children shouting the moment they spotted the one they belonged to. we'd wait and wait until finally we saw the familiar silver two-door of rita, our afternoon babysitter.

i hated riding home with rita.

the car always smelled of cigarettes and motor oil. it was small - full of all the other children rita picked up before us - and with kyle on my lap, i couldn't provide proper protection for both of us from the onslaught of wet willies, purple nurples and indian rug burns from the other kids. the nine blocks in that car from school to rita's house were the worst four minutes of every day.

...and every night at home, i'd let my mom know about it, begging her to let kyle and i walk to rita's after school.

"but mooooom, it's not very far. i'm old enough to walk to rita's," i'd plead.
"brett, we've been through this," she'd reply tersely, tired of having the same argument.
"but moooooooooom," i'd counter.
"you're eight, brett, and kyle is five... you simply aren't old enough to be walking that far with a small child."
"jeff walks all the way to his grandma's house everyday... that's way farther than rita's."
"brett, i said no."
"rita's car doesn't have enough seatbelts for all of us and most of the time, kyle sits on my lap," i offered, knowing i had just won.

the next day, i triumphantly walked into school with the note staying further torture in the silver dungeon. we could walk.

and that afternoon, we did just that. i grabbed kyle from mrs. breckenridge and threw open those glass doors, glancing over at the sorry sacks who had to wait for their ride. we were no longer like them. we each had two feet, and we got to stepping.

the walk was long, and i'm sure kyle complained here and there, but overall, it was a million times better than riding in rita's car. despite the heavy backpacks and sore feet, we both agreed on that.

after about 20 minutes, we finally made it to rita's house. i helped kyle up the stairs and, for some reason i can't even begin to remember, i rang the doorbell. perhaps i thought she might not have returned with the other kids or maybe i was just being polite, but nonetheless, i rang the doorbell and waited for someone to answer.

and some awkward stretch of time later, someone did.

only someone i had never seen before.

a man, probably in his early thirties, with dark brown hair that was showing signs of recovering from a mullet and a five o'clock shadow that had to be pushing three days old, opened the door. he extended one arm to keep the screen door open, while lazily leaning against the doorframe, a can of pabst blue ribbon in his dirty, leathery hand.

he opened his mouth to speak, but...

"who're you?" i asked right away, shuffling in front of kyle and holding him in place behind me.

he gave me a look, that look people give you when they are both a little pissed at you and a little impressed by you.

"well, well... real mannerly, aren't we? i could ask you the same now couldn't i? you rang my doorbell afterall," he half-snidely spewed.

i stood still and just looked back at him.

he didn't say anything. just stayed standing in the doorway, holding open the screen door. he took a tug from the can.

"is rita here?" i asked, guessing the answer before he spoke.
"nah."
"what about kris? is she here?" i hoped, knowing that sometimes rita's daughter would watch the kids if rita needed to leave or step out or was sick.
"nah... just me."
"are they coming back soon?"
"don't know."
"they didn't say?" kyle squirmed a little behind me. he probably had to pee. i know i did.
"nah."
"where are the other kids?"
"with 'em, i guess. don't know," he said, clearly getting a little agitated by my questions. he took another hit from the can, and shook his head to toss hair from his eyes.
"well, where did they go?" i exhaled, trying to keep kyle still, while maintaining eye contact with the stranger in the doorway.
"look kid, they had some kind of emergency or appointment or something. i don't know what. you coming in or not?"

i turned and looked at kyle only to see that he was looking to me for answers. answers i wasn't sure i had.

"i... i don't know..." i said.
"well, those bags look heavy and you're probably hungry," he said, showing the first traces of kindness since we got there. still, i didn't like him, and i knew he wouldn't let us pick what to watch on tv.
"i don't think so," i responded, shrugging off my backpack, tossing it toward the top stair and pushing kyle to join me.
"suit yourself then," he blurted, shutting the door just as we sat.

we didn't see him again. in the 2 hours that kyle and i waited on the front porch for our mom to come pick us up, the man never once checked on us or opened the door again. from my backpack, i pulled the remains of my lunch, which we snacked on while i made kyle do his reading homework. i had him look for mom between sentences, while i kept a constant eye on the door, failing to really check that kyle was reading the sentences correctly.

when our mom did arrive, she was puzzled to see us outside, waiting for her.

"just take us home," i said as she bolted from the car to us.

in a move quite unlike her, she obliged, and only asked what was going on once we had pulled away from rita's block.

in the nine blocks and four minutes to home, i told her about the man.

that was our last day at rita's.

in the weeks after we stopped going to rita's after school, rumors started circulating about abuse and molestation at the hands of her daughter's boyfriend, a man named tad or buck or butch. not long after the rumors, rita and her daughter left town... i don't know if buck went with them, but i know he was the man from that day on the porch.

that day i might have changed everything for the better.