7 Things (8/17-8/23). [Part II]

5. Triple Date.
This week, in order to inspire me to get back to work on my own One Woman Show, I saw two very funny ladies perform their shows at the UCB. Instead of going by myself and drinking alone in the back row, I decided to try and make an event of it and invite some friends. As it turns out, none of my single friends could make it so I turned into Couples Night. I dragged along MD-BF and two of my very best hags (Jeannie and Beta) who brought their BFs (Adam1 and Adam2.) After the show we all went over to the Trailer Park Lounge for margaritas, tater tots and sweet potato fries. Beta, MD-BF and I entered Swingtown by having a threesome over a Lover’s Concerto. (Imagine a small fountain filled with slushy strawberry margarita heaven, and add three straws.)

6. My Upcoming B’Day.
I’ve decided against having a split Housewarming/B’Day party this year, as 1.) Jeannie, Adam and I have been dragging our asses and have yet to decorate the Living Room. (We haven’t even made time to sit down and discuss what the phrase “too much kitsch” means to everyone.) And 2.) I don’t want to ask people to trek all the way out to the ghetto of Brooklyn. (My neighborhood isn’t actually that bad. But when it’s 3am and you’re the only white person walking back to the subway and you’re drunk out of your mind… you might start to think otherwise.)

I’ve also ruled out a birthday dinner. I hate asking all of my friends to pick up my portion of the tab (where the amount each person owes is almost as high as my age), especially since in every circle of friends there’s always that one person who never forks over enough money. It happens at every birthday dinner I’ve ever been too… do all my friends have the same cheap friend? Or are we all being collectively cheap?

This year, in order to save that one kind friend who always ends up having to pony up the extra cash, I’ve decided to just hang out at a bar for a few hours this year. That way there’s no tab, and not everyone has to spend money on me. Unless of course only five people show up. If that’s the case, you’re all buying me a drink. I’ve decided 5 drinks is the minimum one should have on their birthday. 5 should probably also be the maximum. Unless the bartender is making weak drinks. If the drinks are weak, it’s okay to double your maximum number.

Now that the rules are all set… it’s time to pick a suitable bar for me to turn 29 at. Last night MD-BF and I researched two. Both are by his apartment, which is ideal because after 10 weak drinks, I would rather try and walk the alcohol off for a few blocks then endure a bumpy cab ride back to Brooklyn.

Bar #1 (Disiac) had a lovely backyard patio with pillows all over the floor, which will be helpful in case I get fall-over-drunk. However, the vibe was a little shi-shi, and I don’t want to ask my poor friends to nurse one drink all night long. Bar #2 (Bar 9) definitely gave off that dive bar feel (which is a plus in my book.) They had a jute box and couches in the back, which is nice, but the couches are under a roof. I guess I just have to decide what’s more important to me: Fresh air and higher prices? Or stale air and lower prices?

7. Project Runway.

Best. Episode. Ever?

My only disappointment was that my beloved Terri was robbed of winning the challenge yet again.

Fierce.

7 Things (8/17-8/23). [Part I]

1. My Job.
Now that I’m working for two, I’ve been putting in a bunch of OT… which is good for my checkbook, but bad for my mental health. This week I clocked in 15 hours of OT. Everyday I go into work thinking, “I can do this. I can stick it out for a few more months. The money is good.” But by the end of the day, the only thought running through my head is “Kill, kill, kill.”

2. Sugar Rush.
One of the only perks of my job is that about once a month we get a free lunch. This week, we got two. That meant back to back days of ginormous dessert trays. If you know me (or my sister) at all, you know that us Kennedy Kids have no self-control when it comes to sweets. Growing up the cupboards were always stocked with snacks, and no dinner went without being followed by a tasty dessert. It’s not that we didn’t eat healthy, we did. But sometimes “healthy” was in reference to the portions and not the content. (We were also a family of “options.” My mom would suggest that my sister and I have should have apple slices or grapes for a snack. But instead, we would always “opt” for the Twizzlers or Cheez Balls.)

At work, I have the misfortune of working in the basement… right next to the break table. So with the dessert tray staring at me all day long, I had no option but to fall into my nasty old habits of feeding my inner fatty. For the curious, Wednesday’s dessert tray definitely trumped Tuesday’s dessert tray. Key lime tart. Fudgy peanut butter bar with dizzled goodness. And my personal favorite: chocolate dipped macaroon!

Since they were cut into smaller servings (therefore smushed all together in my stomach, they probably only equaled one dessert…) I normally wouldn’t feel so bad about eating all three. But considering that Dr. Boyfriend also happened to hand deliver a Magnolia Bakery cupcake to me at work that day, (which I made my co-worker split with me) I ended up feeling like this. But in my defense, some of my gluttonous actions can be blamed on stress eating. (See #1.)

3. Running.
After my sugar feeding frenzy earlier this week, I went for a very hard run both Wednesday and Saturday. I did my usual 4-5ish mile run through Central Park, but both times I upped my speed. Saturday I clocked in at 35 minutes, which means I was doing roughly 8 minute miles. Considering that I used to have to walk the mile run in grade school with all of the fat girls and the girls who wearing having “women prloblems,” I’m pretty proud of my accomplishment.

Helping my speed was my competitiveness. Thanks to the Summer Olympics, I now like to pretend that I am competing in a race against my other Central Park joggers. When I fly by someone who is walking, I feel really good about myself. I would never just up and quit like that, no matter how much pain I was in. But on the flip side, when someone whizzes past me, I tell myself that they just started the race. They’ll get tired and fizzle out soon enough, well before the finish line. Welcome to my world. Check your ego at that door.

4. My Sister.
My sister (who is very short and has not been blessed with luxuriously long gams like me) has put my running exploits to shame by completing a half marathon with her BF this weekend. The most I have ever run is just over 10 miles. They did 13… in front of a crowd! After the marathon she sent me a text that read, “We finished! I met death half way through the race but he said I could pull through. Now time 4 my couch and some magic pills! PS even my toes hurt.” I congratulated her and told her that I too was on the couch after a grueling morning of sleeping in, eating breakfast and watching TV. Her courage has inspired me to maybe one day gather up enough energy to do a google search for half marathons in NYC.

Wish List.

My B’day is exactly one month away. It’s never too early to start your shopping, right?

And no, I am not referring to the shopping that I expect other people to do for me. Instead, I’m referring to the horrible habit I have of buying myself a bunch of “presents” in the name of my own birthday.

Here’s my wish list so far:

7 Things.

No, the title of this post isn’t a reference to that god-awful song sung by that god-awful slut, Miley Cyrus. Instead, it’s a new weekly feature that I’m adding to my blog.

Since I’ve stopped blogging on a daily basis, I’m sure you’re all wondering what boring, self-deprecating, semi-neurotic musing on my homosexual lifestyle you’ve been missing on out.

So, to appease the masses (there are masses, right?)… here are 7 Things I Would Have Blogged About This Week.

1. My Hair.
As much as I loved my short, Robyn-esque, dyke hair this summer, I’ve decided to grow it back out again for the fall. Specifically for my b’day. I’ve already picked out the outfit I plan to wear, so why not have the hair to match? The good news is that my hair grows fast. The bad news is that it’s not growing fast enough. Last week my hair entered it’s “Awkward Phase.” Currently, I look like a person with short hair who is too lazy or poor to get it cut.

2. My Skin.
It’s flaking. I got some serious sunburn in Miami. The parts of my body that had not seen the light of day since I was young and carefree enough to run around outdoors wearing just a diaper, turned unpleasantly pink. In the past week I’ve shed almost an entire layer of skin. Like a snake. Or someone with severe psoriasis who can’t stop scratching at it.

3. The Olympics.
I’m actually enjoying watching them!

Behold the power of Adonis-like men in spandex!

I suspect that my love of all things competitive is also to blame.

4. Work.
Surprise, surprise… I continue to hate my job. I’ve been looking for something new, but with the economy as shitty as it is, I’d probably have a better chance of winning the lottery and retiring early than finding a new job that will pay me a comparable salary to what I make now, working in hell. And speaking of hell… the one co-worker that I actually liked working with in the dungeon quit. So now, instead of doing the work of two people… I’ll be doing the work of three people, as my third co-worker continues to get paid to be a professional e-mailer.

5. Airline Outrage.
My sister and one of my dear Hags have been bugging to me come home for a quick visit this fall. My sis wants me to bring home Doctor Boyfriend to meet the rest of the fam, and my Hag wants me to come home to meet the love child that I may-or-may-not have fathered. (J/K, sickos.) It used to be that I could get a flight home for just under $200. Yeah, and I also remember the days when gas was 98 cents a gallon. Now the cheapest deal I could find was in the $300 range… and that was only if I wanted to go home for a week and a half. Tickets for a long weekend were dangerously close to the price of rent. Disgusting. Sorry kiddos, but it looks like I won’t be home again until Christmas. (Assuming of course, that I get approved for the small loan I’ll need to take out .)

6. Running.
Thursday night after work I went for an extremely long run in Central Park. Afterwards, Doctor Boyfriend took me out for dinner. Unfortunately, I pushed myself too hard during my run, and I suddenly felt nauseous. I took about 5 bites of pasta and spent the rest of my time staring at my plate. I was afraid that if I lifted my head too far up, the bright lights might make my head explode. After dinner MD-BF was sweet enough to put his doctoring skills to use by laying me down on the couch, and treating my illness with a dose of ginger-ale and a Project Runway booster shot. Which brings me to my last point…

7. Project Runway.
How could they have sent Kelli home?

Really? Over Blayne? I was having flashbacks to last season’s Ricky Gate.

Also, I still hate Brooke Shields.

SJP, you ain’t.

Perhaps I’ll Be Watching The Summer Olympics After All…

Meet Raj Bhavsar.

He looks good in red.

Is very flexible.

And you could do your laundry on his abs.

They do award gold metals for hotness, right?

Mary-Kate!

Best. Celebrity. Sighting. Ever.

I know I haven’t posted recently. (The BF and I were on a relaxation-vacation in Miami. Promise to tell you all about it later!) But something so wonderful happened to me today, that my blogging silence must be broken.

I saw Mary-Kate Olsen, (half) alive, in the flesh!

I went to see ShaLisha perform Shakespeare in Central Park. After the show she pointed to a group of young kids having a picnic behind us, and she informed me that it was MKO and her posse. I took one look at the girl wearing the headband and the John Lennon sunglasses, and thought: “Nah, she’s way too fat to be Mary-Kate. She weighs at least 100lbs.”

But then I remembered that the latest issue of US Weekly had praised MKO for her recent “healthy” weight gain. I took a closer look, and sure enough… those thin, smirking lips sucking on that cigarette belonged to none other than my little Mary-K.

It’s sort of serendiptious that I should run into MKO today. (Do you like how I said “run into” as if I actually talked to/knew her?) Anycrap… Earlier this morning, during my improv group’s set at the 10th Annual Del Close Marathon, I made a MKO reference when someone gave my character a handful of sleeping pills. I’d like to think that if Mary-K was in the audience, she would have had a good enough sense of humor to laugh at my little joke.

Had I not just stepped in a pile of dog shit prior to spotting her, I might have dared to get a little closer to my MKO. But alas, instead I had to admire her from afar.

God bless. Love ya MKO.

Kennedy Kids Reunite!

If you’ve been wondering why I haven’t posted much in the last week, it’s because I was busy walking all of New York City, showing my siblings and their significant others around town. Yes, that’s right… the hottest week this summer, and I had four people crammed together in my un-air conditioned apartment.

And yes, I was forced to go to a sports game. Two of them actually. Yankees above. Mets below.

(Here with my straight girlfriend, Alisha.)

Everyone met my gay boyfriend as well. My sister already knew about him before she came out here. But considering I never officially told my brother and sister-in-law that I was a flaming ‘mo, I wasn’t really sure how well that would go over.

When I picked my bro and sis-in-law up at the airport there just wasn’t time to tell them that I bugger men. And it would have seemed inappropriate to talk about it in the cab ride into the city. It wasn’t really a conversation that I wanted to share with the cab driver as well. So instead we talked about my place in Brooklyn. I told them that I lived in the ghetto. When the cab stopped and we got out one block west of Columbus Circle, my bro and sis-in-law had a look of confusion on their face that said, “This is what you call the ghetto?” My exact words were, “So I have a surprise for you guys… this is my boyfriend’s apartment.” After they recovered from their initial 30 second shock, they got very excited about being able to meet him.

My sister made a great first impression on Doctor Boyfriend. Her first night out here she got a little tipsy off of a few margaritas. After dinner we took a crazy cab ride up to Magnolia Bakery. My sister made fast friends with the cabbie, Ali Mohammad. Sitting up front with Ali, my sister closed the partition to the back, cranked the radio up so that no one could hear anything, and then almost threw her leftovers from dinner out the window. At Magnolia she started eating the frosting off of a cupcake the moment we stepped in the door. She did the Kennedy name proud!

Because it was my bro and sis-in-laws first time in NY, I got to do a lot of tourist-y things. Here’s me on the Circle Line looking crabby.

But I wasn’t actually crabby. I think I was giving my sister-in-law a look that said, “Do you really need another picture of me?” She took over 600 pictures in 4 days. 100 on the Circle Line (an hour tour) alone.

Here are some other great shots of me:

Too cool for F.O.A. Schwartz

Being interviewed (cuz I’m famous.)

Being a good sport at the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens.

Posing for my senior picture.

Here’s another good one of my sis:

Chewy has a crossbow, and I told her to pose like he was about to shoot her in the head. It ended up looking kind of perverted instead.

Here’s my favorite one of me and my bro:

My brother and I don’t have a lot in common, and when he first told me he was coming out to visit I started having anxiety attacks. Thankfully, this trip proved to me that although we don’t have a lot in common, we can still have a good time.

In fact, a good time was had by all. I look forward to the next time they all visit… which should be in a few years. That gives me plenty of time to recoup, and them plenty of time to get rich enough to rent a hotel room the next time they come out here.

Momma Mia, Indeed!

Friday night the Good Doctor and I saw our first movie together. It was also my first movie of the summer. I wanted it to be good.

Instead, I got this stinking heap of shit:
Seriously, WTF? All the reviews I read said the movie itself wasn’t great, but that the music made up for it. I would have had been happier paying $12 to sit in a dark theater and listen to ABBA while staring at a blank screen.

In the movie no one could sing. But worse than that, was the choreography. It was so bad, it was offensive. It was either very literal, like at the beginning of this clip, during the “Shooting a sitting duck” line:
(And let’s not even get into the guys coming out of the water while our two young ingenues awkwardly give each other their best “Come hither, I’m sexy” look on the beach.)

Or the choreography was non-existent, like when Pierce Brosnan just stands there as Momma Meryl flails her arms about and sings:
(Although, Pierce just standing there and saying nothing is loads better than when he opens his mouth and actually attempts to sing.)

If it wasn’t for the fact that I wanted to slap and/or punch all of the main female characters in the face (Sorry, I’m all of girls having fun… but no one should giggle, squeal and squeak that much), I might think that this is one of those movies that’s so bad it’s good. But alas, I doubt that even a room full of bitchy queers watching it while drinking could make it any better.

Consider this a public service announcement. Don’t see this movie! I would recommend something else to you, but like I said… it’s the first one I’ve seen all summer.

Here’s a list of potential movies I want to see to wash the shitty taste of Momma Mia out of my mouth:

1. Sex in the City. (Yes, I know this came out three months ago.)
2. Wall*E. (Feel like I should see it.)
3. Dark Knight (Feel like I should see it.)
4. Brideshead Revisited.
5. American Teen.

If you’ve seen any of these, and you know they’re bad… can you return the favor and try and stop my from seeing them? Thanks.

No More Boxes!!!

With the pending arrival of my sister and her BF tomorrow, a small flame had finally ignited under my ass for me to finish unpacking my boxes and find a home for all my kitsch in my new apartment.

When I realized that tonight was also the premiere of Project Runway, and that I’d have to be at the Good D’s to watch it since we still don’t have cable… or a TV, that flame turned into a forest fire.

I was planning to do a half day at work, but thanks to Ms. Heidi Klum and my love of all things reality TV (and all things gay), I went ahead and took the entire day off… Which of course meant that I spent all morning procrastinating. By mid-afternoon I finally got in the swing of things. But by early evening I was over it, and I had to start drinking in order to keep going.

8+ hours and few cans of cheap beer later, and I was finally done. I’d like to thank the makers of Miller High Life (classy, I know); the Dixie Chicks; Adam, who was home and had to listen to me listen to (and sing along with) the Dixie Chicks; and the makers of the Swiffer, a mop that’s fun to use while slightly tipsy!

I’m finally unpacked and I finally feel at home in Crown Heights.

We probably won’t be having a house warming party until Sept. to coincide with my b’day. But for those of you just dying to see it, here’s a sneak peak of my room:

This is my tiny, tiny closet. Not much to see here (literally.) But I am proud that I finally found a spot for my pink circle mirror! I love this mirror because it reminds me of something you would have seen in the Stephanie and DJ’s room on Full House. I’ve had it for awhile, but never on display. Before my move, I told myself I should just throw it away. Sure glad I didn’t.

Random shit I hung above my dresser. I have very little storage space in my new apartment. So everything must go up! Looking at this pic now, I realize that the frame around the Virgin Mary looks crooked. Ugh.

The place I lay my head at night. To the left is my great-great grandfather. Above my bed (starting top left and going clockwise) is: Dolly, Judy, Crystal, the Judds, Judy (again), and some chick who is holding her hands together in prayer.

And my favorite part of the room: My mantel of kitsch! Hanging on the wall to the right, is Tipsy (or Tripod as Jeanne calls him.) He’s a three legged cat that I purchased during my last trip to Mary Land. He was also the very first thing to go up on my wall when we first moved in two weeks ago.

AND NOW BACK TO PROJECT RUNWAY!

Here are my initial impressions…

People I Am Rooting For:

Keith, Kelli, Kenley. Only people who’s first name begins with a ‘K.’

People I Am Rooting Against:

Blayne, Suede. And if their name’s didn’t give me reason enough to hate them, their hair sure did.

Hipster Twins I Can’t Tell If I Like Or Loathe:

Emily, Leanne. I swear I see these girls everyday in Brooklyn.

Bitches In Waiting:

Daniel, Jerell, Terri. Mark my words, one (or possibly all three) of these people will act like a major cunt.

People Who’s Bio Pic Looks Like A Mugshot:

Stella. Love her!

Water Gap?

A water gap is a “geological formation where a river cuts through a mountain ridge.”

You’re welcome.

Saturday the Good Doctor and I went canoeing down the Delaware Water Gap… which is actually in Pennsylvania. And Jersey. But not Delaware.

Yes, I know I swore off Jersey after a 5th of July BBQ that almost left me stranded at a bus stop out there. But this time we had a rental car. And we didn’t actually have to step foot in Jersey. We just had to drive through it. My window stayed rolled up the entire time.

Once in the Keystone State, we coasted down the Delaware River where I sang songs from Pocahontas and worked on my life vest tan:

The Good D. and I were the only gays on The Gap that day. While rafts full of frat boys and their soon-to-be-gangbanged girlfriends rolled by drinking 6-packs of Bud Light, we nibbled on cheese wedges and sipped our vodka and o.j. on the rocks.

Later we pulled our canoe up on the real rocks (not ice), and had a picnic courtesy of Whole Foods. Old wives’ tale be damned, we went for a swim right after eating. The rental company suggested wearing water shoes. Um, no thanks:

If only I had listened… While laying on a mossy, submerged rock I felt something about the size of a silver dollar on my foot. IT WAS A FUCKING LEECH!!! I hate leeches. They’re right up there with centipedes and worms that lay out in the rain and get run over by cars for me.

After I pulled the sucker (literally) off of my foot and threw it back in the water, I had a mini-freak out and decided that I was done swimming. I began to tell the Good D. about the time I went swimming as a child and stepped in a pool of baby leeches, when I felt something on my back.

Please don’t let it be more leeches. Please don’t let it be more leeches… Sure enough, I scratched my back, and when I pulled my hand back around to inspect it… it was crawling with baby leeches. Now it was time for a MAJOR freak out.

After a lot of whimpering and hyper-ventilating, I got back in the canoe and rowed like there was no tomorrow. I wasn’t trying to row fast to get away from the leeches. But rather, I was picking up the pace because on our way into town I spotted a Flea Market store that was only open until 6pm.

This is me in heaven:

The Good D. knew about my sick love affair with kitsch, but this is the first time he had seen it in action. I could have spent hours in that store. They had a whole room full of boxes where everything was a dollar. There was a sign on the wall that said if you spent $25 in that room, you got $5 for free. It was a challenge that was just begging for me to accept it… but I didn’t want to freak the Good D. out too much.

So instead I just decided to freak out the local shoppers by buying the gayest shit in there.

My conquests:
1. Culture Club’s Colour by Numbers.
2. A white leather bracelet, with the word “PUNK” in pink rhinestones.
3. Rainbow elbow pads.

and my crowning glory…

4. Teenesha Campbell-Jones.

That’s the name I bestowed upon her. I’m working on her backstory, which I’ll post soon.

I told the Good D. that he had to buy at least one thing. He did me proud by buying The Ungame, “the world’s most popular self expression game” where everyone is a winner. Good D. bought the “Christian version” that tacks such bible-riffic questions as “If you could add two new commandments to the Ten Commandments, what would they be?”

Surprisingly, he also bought this:

He said he wanted it for the picture on the front. But I suspect that some day I’m going to come home and find him lounging on the couch, waiting for me with nothing but the body suit, a Princess Leigh wig, and a crooked smile.

In the dollar section, I found the perfect purse to match:

But I ended up passing on it. I just couldn’t bring myself to carry it up the register where the lady with the side-ponytail and pink scrunchie was waiting with judging eyes. Besides, the theme for my purchases was “faggot,” not “drag queen.”

Driving back home we got stuck in Jersey traffic for at least an hour, which only solidified my hatred for the Garden State. But after a fun day of canoeing and thrifting… it was almost worth it.

For those of you wanting to see a picture of the Good D… I’m sorry, but I’ve decided to protect the innocent. Instead, here’s an artist’s rendering of us in a cornfield: