I have to (sort of) (kind of) come out (in a way) (not really) (just a coming out of sorts) (how many times can I use the word “sort” in one sentence?) (I mean, really) (anyway) and I was going to write a Lance Bass related post about my coming out (of sorts), but Lance Bass is, like, so yesterday (but speaking of teeny bopper singers, how embarrassed should I be for LOVING that Hilary Duff song “So Yesterday”) (it’s a really good song) (I LOVE IT) (in fact, I’m listening to the song on my ipod right now as I type this) (I would marry this song if I could) (oh, and speaking of pieces of entertainment I would marry, I would totally marry the trailer for “John Tucker Must Die”) (I am DYING to see that movie) (I am such a twelve-year-old girl sometimes, it’s ridiculous) (when my cousins, Stephanie and Taylor, were, like, babies, they could sing every lyric to every Backstreet Boys song) (I can’t do that) (I’m not THAT MUCH of a twelve-year-old girl) (I mean, I don’t even know whether Lance Bass was in Backstreet Boys or if he was in *N*Sync) (or however they punctuate it) (okay, I DO know which band he was in, but I’m going to keep pretending I don’t) (this is shaping up to be a really embarrassing blog entry) (but even though I know that Lance Bass was in Timberlake’s group, I don’t have any of their music on my ipod, and that’s the god’s honest truth) (“So Yesterday,” however, is on heavy rotation) (but, again, anyway) so now that Lance Bass has come out of the closet, I’m waiting for Liberace to come out again, because if anyone didn’t know Lance Bass was gay, then they’ve got a lot of catching up to do, and I don’t really have anything else to say about that (and besides, Willam Belli already said it all better than I could), so I’ll just get on with my own coming out (of sorts) (I so love saying “of sorts” tonight) (what's up with that?).
I’m 28-years-old (that’s not the thing I’m coming out about) (and, by the way, I’ll be 29 in a week) (where have my 20s gone?) (not that I really miss my twenties) (I think that most people really start to hit their stride in their 30s) and I live with my mom and my step-dad (that’s the thing I’m coming out about).
Okay, if you know me IRL (in real life), then you probably already knew I lived with my parents, but I feel like I have to come out about it because I’ve totally (kind of) (sort of) been pretending that I don’t live with them when it comes to the blog. See, here’s the deal: I moved back home so I could focus on getting out of credit card debt (which I’ve been doing) (I’m totally making progress) (the big one will be ALL PAID OFF next week and I cannot tell you how happy that makes me) (it feels like a major accomplishment) (I guess it doesn’t just feel like one, it IS one) (it feels rockstar, that’s what it feels like) (speaking of rockstar, WHY ARE NONE OF MY BLOG READERS WATCHING ROCKSTAR: SUPERNOVA???) (it’s sooooo good, and I want people to dish with about it) (hey, people out there in the world, if one of your “Rockstar: Supernova,” “Dilana,” or “Storm Large” google searches lands you on my blog, then we should totally talk because, I mean, fuck, you know? How amazing was Dilana’s performance of “Time After Time”???? Chills, I had.) (And apparently I’m Yoda now) and I also moved home so that after I got rid of the credit card debt, I could start building up a savings account (since I haven’t had a savings account since I was in high school and I bought my first car) (rest in peace, Topaz) and I’ve been (sort of) closeted (on my blog) about the fact that I live at home with my parents because I got it into my head that if people (blog readers) (people out there in the ether) knew I lived with my parents, then they wouldn’t respect me, and I also got paranoid that maybe I’d miss out on work opportunities (because who wants to hire a writer who lives with his parents?) but the truth is, no one really cares, so I finally decided to come clean about where I live.
Okay, so, New Thing #125: I came out on my blog about the fact that I live at home. Oh, and it says that I live in Los Angeles in the “about me” section of my blog (up there in the top right corner). The truth is, I live in Orange County. Newport Beach. But I don’t think it’s really a lie to say I live in Los Angeles, because I still live in Los Angeles in my head, I’m a total Angelino at heart, and I’m moving back in January (which is when I’m planning on flying the coop again). So I consider that “Los Angeles” stamp in the top right corner of my blog to be a place holder of sorts.
I have to talk about my new bicycle. I am officially a biker. I fucking love my bike. I’ve only had it for five days, but I’ve already been on four major bike treks, totally roughly 26 miles. (I meant to type “totaling roughly 26 miles,” but there’s something poetic about that typo. Read it again: “I’ve only had it for five days, but I’ve already been on four major bike treks, totally roughly 26 miles.” It’s like surferly poetic, you know?) That’s a lotta miles!
I got my first flat tire the other night. I know, I know, I’ve only had the bike for five days and I’ve already gotten a flat tire. I guess I was riding too hard. I was 10 miles away from home. The sky was black. There was lightning. And Cingular was having a blackout, so my cell phone wasn't getting any service, and I couldn't get through to anyone to ask them to pick me up. It was all very dramatic. I finally gave up on the thought of ever getting home again (I definitely wasn't going to walk) and went to my favorite sushi restaurant for dinner, where I met this limo driver who kept telling me that the reason my bike busted a tire was because I'm "supposed to be right here, right now."
And she's right. I'm getting my shit together and I guess that's what I'm supposed to be doing right now. Sorta like Lance Bass’ gayness.
(Okay, to be totally honest, I don't know how me getting my shit together is "sorta like Lance Bass' gayness," but I had written another paragraph to sum this blog entry up, and that other paragraph ended with the sentence "sorta like Lance Bass' gayness," and then I read the paragraph and decided it wasn't necessary and so I started to delete it and then when my delete key got to the last sentence, I stopped--because even though "sorta like Lance Bass' gayness" might not be an appropriate closing line, it's the best closing line ever.)