I'm watching some competitive hot dog eating championship on ESPN that is taking place on Coney Island. It's LIVE, people! Basically I've been watching a ten-minute eating thing and I wanna throw up. I can eat one hot dog per day maybe. They're actually in an eat off right now because there was a tie - why, oh why, would someone subject themselves to this. In saying that, I have a friend who just sent off for a packet containing information about competitive eating. I think he'd probably be mad good at it, but I can't promise I would support him by going to a competition, but, yknow, I'd think it was cool.
On the sports front, I'm pretty sure my roommates are getting bored with the amount of sports I'm watching. I watched a bunch of specials on ESPN the other day about USA Olympics teams then some swimming. Now professional eating and, of course, baseball.
Other than that, it's basically a dull holiday for me. I'm not a fan of holidays as it is, but it's chilly with a huge chance of rain here in Boston, so no beach time. Further, the holder of the barbeque had to go to a wake, which he forgot about, so instead of making different plans, I'm going to just watch America's Next Top Model reruns and write the paper I need to complete and cleannnnnn this damn house. Might pop off and go see Wanted tonight while the rest of the city runs amuck. So yeah, basically I'm mad old these days. Holler.
OH yeah.
We've been painting, alongside the moving of furniture and the cleaning of the house and the organizing of the kitchen. I feel either mad domestic or mad lesbian. Mostly lesbian when I'm putting together bookshelves and painting. Anyway, we're painting this bizarre room that is located in the back of the room in which I'll be moving - it's not a closet because the room has a closet, but it's more there was a half-bedroom-sized screened-in porch turned enclosed space. I understand you had to reread that shit three times before it even made fake sense. Anywho, the color is called Guava Jam, and it's funny because Jason and I hit up Home Depot and decided it was necessary that the room be some shade of pink. I asked him if he wanted to take some color palates home and he was all, no, we're getting it and we're starting tonight. Kaygreatthx. Anyway, I think we might be doing one more coat tomorrow but otherwise, I've definitely just helped to paint an entire room in my own house AND it was fun. Plus, I'm totally a grown up now.
My friend is texting me from his cruise to Bermuda telling me that the piano player is winking at him, so he bought homeboy a drink. He then asked me to Google this guy and asked if they could get married. I told him that he should propose and then ask the captain to officiate. Bermuda’s gotta allow same-sex marriage, right? Or, wait, under whose jurisdiction is the ocean?
Life plus grad school plus this never-ending move (stillllll happening, bee tee dubs, and I'm pretty much about to off myself just to get away from it) plus social obligations plus some needy gentleman caller who I plan to axe in 4.2 seconds is exhausting, and I haven't even added in the full time work yet (which I begin tomorrow). Eight o'clock tomorrow morning in the city, which means me time plus public transportation means a six-thirty (six-fifteen-to-be-safe) wake up time. Woe is me.
So homeboy who was to help me move called me exactly nineteen minutes before we were slated to leave in order to tell me he wasn't going to make it. He called the night before - after confirming the time and his presence nearly five hours earlier - saying that he couldn't make it because he had just returned from the ER. Turns out some female hit him in the face? To be completely honest, I'm sketchy on the details because all I heard was that he had a swollen eye, not that his legs quit working or that his arms could no longer lift. This is the same dude I've spoken about previously, the one who got quasi-pissy because I told him there would be no more sleepovers between us (which haven't happened since last summer, by the way, so it's not like he was getting some and then I took it away), so due to recent events, I actually figured this would happen, which is why I'm not flipping out. We had a back-and-forth about him helping me because he changed his "I'm bailing" to a "But I made a promise to you so I'm not going to bail on you" by saying it in a mad pathetic voice. I agreed to "let him help me", but got shot down when I called him this morning. All in all, a douche-tastic thing to do on his part, especially since he was well aware that he was my only option and that today is the last day I could go back to Never Never Land to pick up my bed and desk (both actually pretty easy to move). So yeah, fuck him.
I called G Dub (my father) to see if maybe there was some sort of super secret information that father's have access to regarding issues with moving and, surprise, there's not. G Dub told me to cancel my van reservation and just straight up call my landlord and tell him what's up and that I would incur all costs included in getting my bed, et al moved out of the place. Made the call and - cha ching! - I'm the luckiest bitch on the planet. Seems my landlord continues to be a god among men and is allowing me to keep my belongings in the apartment until next Monday when the new couple is moving in, no additional cost. (I'd like to make a note to Jandro that I was gonna lift your Will smith picture for this, but it seemed too obvious.)
I popped over to the old spot today, despite not being able to move the bed or desk, just to clean up and to grab the remainder of things that I had just left behind (hangers, laundry detergent, Ranch dressing ...) After a quick assessment of the situation and a little lifty lifty, I found that it would have been possible - barring a little spinach consumption and a kick of fight in my heart - to move that damn bed but, for some reason, not the desk. At all.
Whatevs, quick summary is that next Saturday my girl E and I are headed up to finish the job. Badda bing, badda boom, I'm out.
Ready?
I wrote my last entry in a semi-drunken, semi-pissed state and am actually pleased with its outcome. I think the only thing I want to add is that this is one of the first times in my life I believe I'm making good decisions, and this one regarding my heart is amazing. Now, I'm going to go ahead and be honest again and admit that I will turn into a crazy bitch here in maybe four days due to lack of a sexual release (sorry, that was kinda gross) but maybe by then I'll be back in the gym beating the fuck out of punching bags, so it won't matter.
I hit up this staffing agency today in the city that was mad chill. Homeboy that I hung out with (slash who interviewed me, but it was totally like we was chillin) thought I was amazing, so he's setting me up with a guaranteed work program there whereby they give me mad temp options and I get to pick and choose, and if I don't have something lined up for a particular day then I just go into the office and sit around getting paid ten bucks an hour until they get a call that some company needs someone for that particular day (for instance, their receptionist called in sick that morning and they neeeeeeeed a receptionist). Basically I'm just sitting there waiting to spring into action to be all Super Stella. Otherwise, maybe checking out some temp-to-hire positions and to check out a few industries. I'm starting next Tuesday, as I'm gonna hit up the move Monday.
Annnnnnd there we go with just one more problem: How in the FUCK am I going to move on Monday? I have one friend who has no life and no job who had promised to help me, but he just so happens to also be the guy of the last entry. You know, the one who I refused sex to? Yeah .. and y'all can go on about how that makes him a shitty person, but I really don't see it happening that he would go back on his promise because lord knows we've had bigger fights over smaller issues, but considering that MY BIG FAT MELODRAMATIC LIFE DEPENDS ON HIS HELP, I'm not going to sleep well until my bed and desk are safely in this apartment.
Remember how I said moving back to Boston was going to cause drama and a half? Yeah, well, I really might be on psychic status right now. Call me Miss Cleo.
Just had a conversation with a friend slash former "lover" (that term kinda sucks yet certainly encompasses his past position in my life) that ended poorly. We were chillin havin a good time, hit some drinks whatever, and he started getting mad touchy-feely about things, decided we needed to have some serious relationship talks. Seeing as I'm kind of a dude when it comes to talking about my feelings to the actual person, I stuttered and stammered and wished death upon myself so that I could have a really easy exit. This could probably be construed as being mad immature, but really the fact is that I'm mad careful with my heart and my feelings and I strongly dislike putting myself out there like that - this will probably render me single for the rest of my days, but I'm really trying to work on it. Scout's honor. So anyway, he kept saying her was "impressively perplexed" with my distance and hands-off approach to him (as opposed to the mad hands-on approach the last time we lived in the same zip code) as he was stroking my thigh. I finally asked what question is was, specifically, that he had. "What are you asking me? Like, for real, what questions do you have?"
"Not sure," he replied.
"Are you wondering why we're sitting here talking instead of fucking?"
"I mean, yeah, kind of. I guess that's a good question. Why aren't we fucking right now?"
Deep breath.
I told him that I'm tired of directionless relationships, and that I've clearly mastered this sex without relationships thing. I'm just not looking for that sort of thing we had going on last summer which, although it was honestly one of the best, most simple relationships I've had, is just part of a cycle that is completely unfulfilling for me these days. I'm not looking for someone to marry, but I'm also not looking to be someone's piece either cuz I'm much more worthwhile than all that.
And that, ladies and gents, is growth.
So obviously the course of the evening changed. He became hostile and said some things that weren't necessary and I bounced. End of story.
Did I misconstrue the things he said and take easy offense to them? Maybe, I don't really know. It's not like I've been hoin it up wit mad people, so this conversation really is only going to happen probably once more, but it's difficult to go from one end of bein chill with someone and having your certain thing goin on to making bold statements like "I'm not having sex outside of a relationship now, so not that I'm purposely giving you an ultimatum, but obviously I am."
You know what, despite all this personal growth - drug free, no more emotional drinking, showing a lot more respect for myself and my body - my life actually seems and feels worse. Despite all of these things, I'm really happy to be back.
I realllllly need to charge my digicam because that's all that stands between me, you, and some fancy snapshots of the delicious cupcakes I made last night. It all happened because a group of us were walking around Newbury Street and noticed a large crowd outside of Johnny Cupcakes. Victor does this thing where he asks me questions that are impossible to answer (e.g. when watching a movie we're both seeing for the first time, he'll ask me what's next or what a particular character was thinking when he or she was doing something .. because I know things) and he asked me what the hell was going on. I came home and read all about him, fell in love with the guy and his product, and basically became a stalker (no big deal), but all of this kept cupcakes on the brain for the majority of the day, so obviously I had to make some. Also, I may or may not have used said cupcakes as a bargaining tool to get someone to help me move my bed on Friday.
Know what I think is hella cute and I just can't help it? Jon and Kate Plus 8. I seriously searched YouTube for twenty minutes trying to find a video that would represent why I think it's so quality but I couldn't. See, the thing is, I don't necessarily like kids so much, and I'm sure this is all creative editing, but these kids are so damn cute and have so much personality that I'm ready to adopt them. Or, yknow, more realistically I'm ready to hang out with them for a couple of hours or something.
I really wish I had my camera today when I was walking home from the subway because I saw a peculiar sign. I have a funny thing about traffic signs just because some of them are overkill and some of them are hilarious. In Never Never Land there were yellow diamond-shaped signs that said "Thickly Settled" and it took me all nine months to figure out what it might mean. I also enjoy the signs that say Buffalo Crossing or something to that effect because it causes me to envision a nice, neat row of five buffalo crossing the street. Anyway, this sign in particular stated that there is no turning right between 9 AM and 7 PM unless you are a resident. I'm really left wondering if this is ever enforced or if anyone bothers to follow its command.
I love my friends, I really do, but Gay Time is seriously about to make me jump of a fuckin cliff. An hour ago I told the roommate that I was going shopping and to get a pedicure and asked if he wanted to go. I had just gotten out of the shower, so obviously some clothing and hair time had to be placed into the equation. "I'll just wait for you," I stupidly said. After moving at a glacial pace and even stopping to check PostSecret, I walked into his room where he was sitting on the floor scrolling down someone's Facebook wall. "You were in the bathroom," he replied when I asked what in the holy fuck he could possibly be doing. Untrue. He has just "jumped into the shower" and so begins a forty-five minute routine I've witnessed a hundred times because gay men obviously have no perception of time. One of these days I'm going to learn that I shouldn't extend invitations.
The move is proving to be successful thus far, though I have a great deal of maneuvering left - fitting all the pieces together, really. The most troublesome is something I foresaw, but really couldn't do a whole lot about, and that's the immaturity and irresponsibility of my housemates. Only one of the three cleans the bathroom, washes the dishes, mops the floors, etc., etc., and of course this is the one whose room I will be taking when he leaves the country in August. There are dirty glasses scattered about the house and flatware hiding in the boys' rooms, yet neither of the two will cop to using any of the dishes in the house, using this excuse for an answer as to why they don't lift a finger of help with the cleaning. The bathroom is a wreck - I actually feel dirtier after using their shower - so I'm going to buy supplies today to remedy that situation. What happened to them fulfilling the stereotype of gay men being mad clean?
I can't exactly complain because I really am just crashing at their place for two to three weeks with no plan of showing them any money for it. I plan to give each of the two remaining roommates some more responsibility as far as the bills and whatnot are concerned by having each of us in charge of one set of bills (electric, cable, rent) and by setting up some sort of rotating system with respect to cleaning common areas on a weekly basis. You know, the more I think about it, the more that maybe living alone was a good thing for me. Grass is always greener ...
