Guess what, I may be working at the new, shiny, and uber-trendy Maritime Hotel soon. Not sure yet, it’s all just speculation and possibility at this point but strings are definately being pulled thanks to my favorite little powerhouse, Jax. We’ll see, we’ll see… More on this later.

Hey, I kinda got hit on! I was walking through the Columbus Circle Station tonight after work, just minding my business and rocking along to some Mick Jagger on my mp3 player (”God Gave Me Everything” is the damn anthem, man!). It’d been a longass day, so I was all kinds of ready to get the hell home and just chill in my place. I was about to slip through the turnstiles when i felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around and it’s this guest from the hotel, a young French guy I’d checked in (and upgraded) earlier this weekend — really nice, kinda cute in a eurotrash way. I’d probably flirted with him some just b/c he’s from Paris and probably bi and that’s just what I do with all the guests anyway, but I couldn’t remember and it was late and I was sleepy. He said hi and we small talked and it was pretty boring… until I caught onto the fact that he wasn’t actually getting on the train. He’d apparently just spotted me crossing the street and darted down into the station after me to “uh, say hi”. Suddenly, this was all mildly amusing. “What’s up?” I prompted. “You going out?” He just sorta shuffled around with a slight smile on his lips. “Um, so I leave tomorrow…” “Oh yeah?” I replied. “Did you enjoy New York?” “Oh yes, I have friends here and they show me around. Very fun.” *awkward silence* “Thanks for the bigger room!” he blurted. “It’s very nice!” “Sure, no problem.” *more awkward pause* (he’s totally giving me the once-over at this point) “So…” I reach for my Metrocard. “Are you going…?” “Huh?” I asked. “Um, are you… this is the metro you take?” “Uh huh,” I nodded, humoring this French little poptart who was slyly attempting an indecent proposal. “Have you ridden the subway yet?” He nodded. “Cool. So, what are you doing now? Going back to the hotel?” “I don’t knoooooow,” he shrugged all sheepishly. “I’m leaving tomorrow…” “Uh-huh.” … I know where this is going and I am so not interested. “Well it was nice to meet you,” I announced as I began to walk away. He looked suddenly ALERT. “Oh! Yes! You too!” He extended his hand out and smiled brightly. It was really cute, actually. I couldn’t help it, I had to do it: I flashed a big smile right back and shook his hand. “Good night, then.” And I turned around and walked right through the turnstiles, cranking up the rest of my Mick Jagger, and walking with an extra little strut in my stride. Heh, nothing like some good, old fashioned, intercontinental human kindness (with a little bit of gay subtext) to make the world a better place. Spriteboy: uniting the nations, my friends.

I recently stumbled upon BlackTable.com and it’s quickly becoming an addiction. It’s perfect for ppl like me who want to know more about what’s going on in the world and in my lifetime, yet don’t really feel like watching the news to find out and would rather just catch it all in witty, snippety, blog-form. Cool site! Funny writers! I want to sit at THEIR table!

The ever-lovely Miss K threw her 25th b-day par-tay @ this kickass Bulgarian lounge in Chinatown on Friday, where they all just push the tables aside at some point in the night and just start dancing. It was hella fun! I raced down right after work (Randyboy in tow) to join the drunken, writhing masses and I just had a really good time. Saw some old friends, did some bumpin’ & grindin’, and Randy and I ended up crashing @ that amazing loft apartment again — it was just ONE BLOCK away from the club!!! I am telling you, I need to stop doing that b/c it really gets me spoiled and then I just hate the rest of my life once I have to leave. I need to be rich dammit! I need to be the one having amazing loft apartments in Tribeca! Who dropped the ball?! Somebody needs to recognize this shit and get me my inheritence, already. Fo shizzle my nizzle and whatnot.

I worked straight through this weekend and ohhhh am I glad it’s over. Tonight felt like an entire week’s worth of stress and madness all pushed into 8 hrs. Sucked. We’ve got them staying @ the hotel this week, they all checked in today and I was looking forward to banter with lots of edgy, trendy little fashionistas… no such luck. These are some of the bitchiest, ugliest ppl I think we’ve ever housed. What a letdown. Work has been such a headache lately. I don’t like working, it’d be so much better for my mental health if I didn’t have to do this whole employment, labor-in-exchange-for-money thing. I’d really love to just quit my job and run away to a tropical island with the Gyllenhaal’s or something.

Yes, btw, that is my babymomma in the new issue of Maxim. I know, she’s lookin’ a little malnourished and hungry. We’re working on this, ok? I’m making her a burger right now.

BJ brought this to my attention. Ok, I’m a little scared now.

Do you think if I just pretend it’s not really happening that I’ll just manage to escape the danger and continue to pursue mp3 happiness?

I don’t like this, dammit.

What a night @ work. It was a freakin NIGHTMARE. The housekeeping staff all had a goodbye party for their manager, who is the latest poor unfortunate soul to be given the boot from our happy little HO-tel, and they basically just quit cleaning rooms for a few hours. Seriously, we had NOTHING. I don’t really know what happened back there but it’s my opinion that they are all pissed that their manager is getting “let go” and all decided to slow the hell down today, to like, spite the hotel. It’s just speculation. Whatever, all I know is that it was 9pm and I was STILL having to send people to the bar for a drink while I checked to find out if their rooms were ready. It was fucking ridiculous. People were flipping out and they basically had every right to do so, how the hell does shit like that happen? I want to write an email to somebody, a complaint about EVERYTHING, but at this point I just think that it’s pointless. And it’s annoying to think about, so I’mma shut up about it now. Had to vent, though. Eeeeesh, I’m glad the night is over.

I’ve spent a few days thinking it over and I just cannot even begin to imagine what she plans to talk to America about. If Kelly performs the theme song, I’m going to projectile vomit at the TV.

Must! do! laundry! I’m so low on shit to wear that I’m starting to get CREATIVE with my wardrobe. I even dug into my old bag of officeboy garb from back when I was a corporate bitch. Wearing a full-out pair of slacks with a button down shirt in the middle of July is just fucking wrong, man. Today I wore swim trunks as underwear. I didn’t even know I OWNED swim trunks, that’s the scary thing. I’d love love LOVE to just drop it all off and let the ppl at the laundromat do it for me but I swore long ago that i would never be that pretentious, to let somebody else handle my shit like that. Plus, I’m sure I’ve got like 4 bags to do and those bitches charge by the pound.

Ok, I’ve watched Queer Eye for the Straight Guy and the show is funny, man, I gotta lay it out there. The Fab Five are hysterical, in sort of a stereotypical way. I noticed that one of those guys is Jai Rodriguez, a young NYC actor who I always thought was kind of cool cuz of how he bounces between Broadway/Off-Broadway shows like it doesn’t even matter and I think that just rocks. He played Angel in RENT and I think he’s in that Zanna, Don’t!show right now. And he’s on this show. Fucking cool. Okay so, as a concept? I like the idea of the show. Kind of like Trading Spaces but with a funnier twist on things. At the same time, part of me just sort of resents the notion that gay men (as a people) all are supposed to embody this higher awareness of all that is fashionable and trendy and edgy, or the idea that straight men (as a people) are so clueless and uncool that they need to be reprogrammed and reshaped by gay men (cuz I sure as hell know some kickass straight guys who are cool-as-hell, and I also damn well know fashion-impaired homos who can’t dress for shit and are NOT nearly as witty as they want to think they are). As I’ve stated before, I opt for a more modern sense of identity, where traditional masculine lines are a little bit blurred and stereotypes quit coming into play. But whatever, it’s a TV show and it’s just fun anyway. I love it that they totally skipped over the entire renovation of the apartment and bascally just covered the trip to the spa, boutiques, and tanning salon.

By the way, this shit kills me. I watched it like, 4 times and was just cracking up over it. It’s been floating around on some of my daily blog-reads and I had to post the link here too b/c it’s just too damn funny.

So I went to Target yesterday and bought me a muffin tray and a cake pan. This afternoon I stopped by the supermarket and got some eggs and milk and oil and mixes and all that junk. Yes, kids, I’m embracing my inner housewife and learning to bake some shit. All I know is that I want muffins — piles and piles of muffins. And I want strawberry cake with lots of icing on it, like way too much. Maybe tomorrow I shall rise early in the morning (like before 2pm) and bake muffins while I do laundry. That would be productive of me, right? Maybe while I’m at it I’ll throw out some of my old magazines b/c I have way too damn much up in here. FHM, Details, Entertainment Weekly, Detour, Stuff, Paper, Time Out NY, Premiere, Men’s Health, WIRED, Rolling Stone, Interview, FLAUNT, and way too many teenybopper movie-mags for me to even admit to owning. Dude, I’m a freakin’ Hudson Newstand over here. I need to just burn everything and make it some kind of tribal cleansing ritual or something.

I’d like to address the concerns of all who were traumatized by my sudden over-share the other day in regards to sexing Mr. Timberlake. I have a tendency to let my imagination get the best of me, and sometimes this involvs a celebrity or two (or sometimes three, depending on how frisky I’m feeling). My sincerest apologies if I happened to disrupt the pure and chaste sanctity of your Christian minds. Carry on with your piety, good people of the world, and ignore my random naughtiness. Summertime is here and I’m just a little bit juiced up. It’ll pass.

Oasis is playing on my CD player right now. I guess after all these years I have just not gotten any cooler or smarter, cuz I still have no clue what the hell a wonderwall is or how I became one afterall.

So I metup with Randyboy tonight for some biweekly misadventures. I’d spent the entire day lounging around indulging myself and had no real plans for the evening, and he’s been itching to go bowling lately, so we trekked it down to Bowlmore Lanes in the east village for some late-night fun. We strolled up to the front doors, the fine strapping young bucks that we are, and were met by these two burly, bouncer-types. The bigger, balder one took one look at me and goes, “Oh no. Not with that hair. Sorry.” Whaa? Excuse me? I chuckled awkwardly at his totally-out-of-place joke and searched his face for a sign of a smile. He just stared back at me blankly. “Ummm, you’re kidding, yeah?” “Nope,” he said, shaking his head. “You can;t go in there with hair like that, man. You look like friggin’ Dragonball Z.” His coworker busted up laughing. I looked over at Randy, who was just as astonished as I, and was at a total loss for words. “Didn’t nobody ever tell you that you look like Dragonball Z?” taunted the bouncer. “It’s a BOWLING ALLEY,” laughed Randy. “Do you guys really have to sort through the crowd like this?” The bouncer chuckled to his coworker and looked at me, “Next time you need to bring some gel with you, man.” Suddenly I just felt STUPID, and in front of Randy. I could feel all the blood rushing to my face, all the attention on me at that moment, and I fucking hated it. I’d come to this place to chill and have some fun, and I’m being told I can’t get in b/c I look like a cartoon — and I’m being told this by a guy who looks like a fat, bridge&tunnel version of Mr. Clean. The rest of the exchange was a blur, I don’t really remember much of it other than I spent most of the next few minutes totally embarassed and feeling like I’d just been voted off the latest round of American Idol. Just as Randyboy and I were getting ready to go, the asshole at the door totally breaks down and admits that he’s only fucking with us. We went upstairs and look around but I totally didn’t wanna stay anymore, neither did my trusty sidekick. At that point I just felt like finding an empty lane and hurling myself down it, or just smashing a hole into a wall… with the bouncer’s head. I felt DUMB. We left and grabbed some diner grub, which was nice… I just spent most of the rest of the night trying to be cool and not let the whole thing get to me even though it did. I just fellt SILLY and awkward, like I’d been “pantsed” in the locker room or something.

I am not blind to the truth: For someone with all this attitude and swagger, I sure let a total stranger’s offhanded ribbing get me all riled up, man. Tonight sent my little mind into a whirlwind of self-questioning. Who was this asshole to embarass me like that? Who was he? Why did I let the exchange make me CHECK MYSELF instead of just dismissing it? Why’d I let the whole thing BUG me and taint my night? Questions, questions, stupid questions. And they only make my head hurt.

Interestingly enough, as I was walking into the subway on my way home tonight, I was called out to by these two hipsters standing outside the station. “Hey, where’d you get your hair done?!” one called. I cleared my throat, “Um, I did it.” And then I waited for the word of judgement. “It’s CUTE!” he hollered back. “You look like a calico kitty!” The other one chimed in, “I like your pants!” I laughed and quickly relayed the events of the evening for them. “Awww, don’t worry, Dragonball Z,” one of them cooed. “forget about it. Bowling is for ugly people anyway!”

Indeed.

I had sex with Justin Timberlake last night. I never have sex dreams, man! Then BOOM — full surround sound, digital remastering, full-on gay loving up in here, up in here. Wha?! I have never thought that Justin was gay (a little bit Metro maybe) and I still don’t… but I think I need an explaination or something. It was just me and Justin but we were in a room plastered with pictures of Britney. FREEEEEAKY, much? He kept breaking up with me and then we kept “making up” and getting our freak on. God what a vivid dream, those are so damn jarring. It was the weirdest fucking thing in the world. I didn’t even know I was into him, it must have been from listening to that “Rock Your Body” single too many times. He sure as hell had me nekked by the end of this song and I’m telling you kids, after last night? we better damn well be on a first name basis now. Next time he strolls into Hudson I am outing his ass and demanding to know why he didn’t call me this morning.

Damn you, Justin Timberlake. Damn you and all that you stand for.
Now take off your shirt again.

Ughhhhhhh…. I just payed off my IRS shit and my wallet hurts. Sweet Lord, the pain is too much. It was like, 1/4 of what’s in my checking account! I spend all year paying those bitches out my paycheck and they STILL want more! OH GOD, the humanity!

Reading this made me happy, b/c you know I will be in the theater on Friday showing some love for my girlfriend Mandy Moore. Oh you guys didn’t know? Yeah, we’ve been together for a long time, ever since she emerged at the MTV Movie Awards last year with that cute haircut. She totally stole my heart. We’ve been keeping it low-profile since then, she got together with that gay tennis player and they’re pretending to be dating… you know, just to throw the press off. And if you saw her someplace and went up to her and was like, “Hey, you’re dating Spriteboy aren’t you?” she’d probably give you a look like she had no idea who I was. Heh. Yeah, that’s part of our little thing. Heh. It’s all worked out that way. Mmmm. Mandy Moore.

By the way, fuck you mothertruckers @ the MTA! Apparently, it’s been decided that the MTA did NOT violate the law by witholding their financial info from us when they instituted the fare hike. Bullshit! You ppl SUCK. I was totally supprtive of you guys when you wanted to strike, man. I was like, “Hell yeah, go get your strike on! If you’re not being treated fairly and not getting the respect or wages you deserve then go for it! I’ll figure something out for my transportation in the meantime, you go ahead!” And then you bitches turn around and hike up the fare w/o telling us that you have $2million hidden in the budget. It’s not right, man. You ppl best WATCH YOUR BACK.

I’m jamming to some Annie Lennox right now. This bitch is the shit.

The movie in the park was a lot of fun last night, I was so engrossed in the story that I stayed for the whole thing. The (mostly white) crowd kept annoying me though, b/c they’d applause everytime the (mostly black) characters did or said anything that sounded black and proud. They did it over and over. The mama onscreen would be like, “Baby, pass me the cornbread” and the crowd would just go nuts, everyone would be all, “Yeahhhhh! Right on!” It was just so stupid. I liked it though, when the movie was about to start and the HBO intro started playing and most of the crowd jumped up and started dancing around on their blankets. Wiggling around is more like it. They did that last time too. It’s hysterical, they —hundreds of New Yorkers!!!— all just jump up out of nowhere and start waving their hands in the air and spinning and wiggling around. It’s like a bunch of little woodland gnomes and faeries dancing and celebrating that the big humans have all gone home for the night. It cracks me up. I wanna go again next week just to watch it happen again.

Oh, and for obvious reasons, I want to see this. It just looks too fucking funny.