1. Oh, dear dear abused and ignored blog.
2. I’m sorry you haven’t been getting any love from me.
4. I’m all jacked up on Starbucks hot chocolate right now, so I thought I’d check in.
5. Even though I’ve been thinking maybe you were dead, dear blog.
6. But then I was talking to Jesse and he was like “let’s vow to write one blog entry every day for the entire month of September.
7. And I was like “no fucking way, the blog is dead.”
8. But then I started drinking all of this fucking aforementioned Starbucks hot chocolate and now it sounds like a good idea.
9. So, like, here I am.
10. I made these two new friends, Corey and Trixze, and I totally have a crush on them.
11. Not an inappropriate crush.
12. A friend crush.
13. It’s just, when you meet someone at a party and you’re like “oh my god we have to hang out” and then you actually do it—it’s a nice thing, when that happens.
14. So my two new friends Corey and Trixze invited me over to their home last Sunday to watch all 22 chapters of the “Trapped in the Closet” saga…
15. …which was amazing.
16. I don’t want to ruin any of Trapped’s myriad surprises if you haven’t seen it yet, so I don’t think I’ll say anything else about it.
17. Which is difficult because I haven’t blogged in so long and all I want to write about is how fucking surreal and weird and wonderful the new chapters are.
18. If you’ve already seen the new chapters, we need to talk about Pimp Lucius and “the package.”
19. I mean, seriously.
20. R. Kelly is stirring shit up.
21. SPOILER ALERT: I think everyone might die in Chapter 23 and then maybe R will continue his saga with an entire new set of characters. How radical would that be? Not that I don’t love all of the current characters, I’m just saying that I hope Kelly continues to shake shit up. Because just when you think he’s only knows one melody (after you’ve heard it five hundred times), he throws in a gospel choir; and just when you think he only knows one way to twist a plot (they’re sleeping together!), he throws in a completely random dream sequence; and just when you think no one else could possibly get trapped in a closet, someone else gets trapped in a closet—and it’s a flashback to boot! Genius.
22. My mustache TOTALLY smells like hot chocolate right now.
23. True story.
24. That’s the thing—and if you don’t have a mustache, maybe you’ve never even thought about this occupational hazard of being a Person With A Mustache—but the thing is, if you don’t wash your ‘stache frequently, stuff gets in there.
25. My friend Fefe was telling me about this massage place she went to where they throw buckets of water on your back in the middle of the massage. At least, I think she told me about a massage place she went to where they throw buckets of water on your back in the middle of the massage, but everyone I’ve mentioned this to has told me it sounds insane and unlike any massage place they’ve ever heard of. And so then I started to wonder if I made it up in my head. And so now I’ve convinced myself that maybe it isn’t true. But the problem is that I had started to think that it sounded like it might be, as Angela Chase would say, “a time.” And I was gonna call Fefe and ask her where to go to get this so-called bucket-drenching massage. But now I guess I should just call her and ask her if I’m insane and I made it all up.
26. Stay tuned.
27. Angela Kang (who just finished her first week of grad school!) (raise the roof for Angela) recently introduced me to Guitar Hero, and if I didn’t have so many other things to keep me busy I think I might move into Angela’s living room and just play Guitar Hero 24/7.
28. I rock, but only on the “easy” level.
29. My brothers have Guitar Hero too and I went over to their house to get in a few more guitar licks and I tried the “medium” level and I sucked ass at it.
30. Total ass suckage.
32. So for now I’m sticking with “easy.”
33. It only requires three fingers.
34. Do phone numbers have an expiration date? Like, when you meet someone at a bar and you get their phone number, how long is too long to wait to call said person who’s phone number you got? I ask because I got this guy’s phone number at Akbar about a month ago and I haven’t called him yet. Is it too late?
35. Sure, I realize it’s never too late, unless he’s gotten married or died in the last month.
36. That’s a terrible thought, the “died in the last month” one.
37. Maybe he won’t remember who I am, and then we’ll be able to tell people “I waited a month to call him and he didn’t remember who I was and now look at us.”
38. But is it intrinsically weird to wait a month?
39. Not that I really care if it’s weird.
40. I’m just asking.
41. Speaking of waiting too long, I wonder if anyone will ever even read this blog post, or if it’s been so long since I last posted that no one reads anymore because you all got so tired of checking the blog and reading the same damned post about how I was “Too. Busy. To. Blog.”
42. And every time you read that, you were like, “whatever asshole.”
43. Sorry about that.
44. And that last “The Walker Identity” post was a sorry excuse for a post, i.e. not really a post at all.
45. And I’m sorry about that too.
46. Oh my god I’m listening to Ani Difranco on my ipod right now and she’s totally my new music crush. I’ve always loved people who love Ani Difranco, but I’ve never really listened to Ani myself, so I never knew what all the fuss was about, and now I can’t get enough about her and I’m all, holy crap THIS is what all the fuss was about.
47. Current favorite Ani song: “Imperfectly”
48. My current second favorite Ani song: “Untouchable Face”
49. I wasn’t intending to be transitional and all segue-ish here, but speaking of “face,” I got dragged onto Facebook this week and I hate it, but I’m already obsessed with it.
50. I need more hot chocolate.
52. Okay, back.
53. Theatre of NOTE is producing my play “He Asked For It” in April, so mark yer calendars.
54. I’m excited.
55. It’s been way too freaking long since I’ve had a play in production.
56. I miss being in a rehearsal room, figuring it all out.
57. Okay, stop reading right now if you’ve ever walked barefoot in my kitchen because I have to tell you the most disgusting story.
58. It’s so completely gross and it makes me want to throw up, so I figure it’s perfect fodder for the blog. I’m getting all situated in my new apartment, right? Moving in, spreading out, making the place my own. Loving my space. Even though it’s really hot. Like, abnormally hot, unless you have the fans running in every room at all times. That kinda hot. I mention the heat because it’s important and I totally BLAME the heat for what happened next. I don’t eat at home very much because I don’t really cook. And I had thrown away some meat in the kitchen trash can, but it was at the bottom of the trash, and then it took a week for the trash can to fill up, and I forgot about the meat at the bottom of the trash can, and I forgot about the heat, and these are all things that I should have been really aware of. Because, like, you shouldn’t let trash stay in your trash can that long, especially if that trash includes meat and you’re dealing with sweltering August heat. You just shouldn’t let the trash sit that long. I KNOW THAT NOW. So, like, the trash was finally full and I pulled the bag out of the can and then I felt these little things falling onto my bare feet. Little wet squishy things. And then I looked down at my feet, at the ground, and I saw, with horror, that fucking maggots were freaking raining down from the bottom of my trash bag. And that’s when I started screaming. I’m not embarrassed to admit that I started screaming. It was the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life, give or take the time I threw up bad milk and the throw up somehow managed to hit the kitchen ceiling. So at this point I’m still freaking out about the maggots on my kitchen floor and ON TOP OF MY BARE FEET and then I looked inside the trash can and my horror multiplied. The bottom of my trash bin was, like, straight out of Suspiria—that’s how many maggots there were. Like, YOU COULD NOT SEE THE BOTTOM OF THE BIN because there were so many maggots swimming all over each other. And those buggers are fucking fast movers, slithering all over the kitchen floor. So I dumped the maggot-leaking trash bag back into the bin and then I grabbed the only artillery I had in my kitchen—a can of Pledge—and I fucking Pledged those maggots to fucking death. And I was still screaming, but I started channeling my inner Linda-Hamilton-in-Terminator-2, so instead of screaming in disgust, now I was screaming AT the little assholes: “Die you little fuckers, die!” It was intense. And then there were all of these dead maggots everywhere, covered in Pledge. (So, like, shiny as all get out.) All of these dead little white things all over my beautiful wood floor. It was a total massacre of the maggot kind. So then I wiped up all of the dead little maggot bodies and I threw them into the trash can with all of the still living maggots that I’m trying not to think about, and then I lifted the entire trash bin into a huge, hefty Glad trash bag and tied up the bag and then I brought the entire thing down to the dumpster around the corner and threw them away, trash can and all.
59. It was so gross.
60. Like, the story above only scratches the surface of how gross I felt.
61. Maggots are the enemy.
62. And I throw my trash out EVERY SINGLE DAY now.