It turns out they were wrong all along. You CAN buy happiness.

I got a dog. He’s a purebred Yorkshire Terrier, approx 4lbs and six weeks old, and I got him from a private groomer. He apparently comes from a fine pedigree but I don’t even care about that mess cuz I’m so happy to have him. Yorkies are great city dogs and they’re a “toy breed”, so he’ll stay tiny (like me) — he fucking fits in my Jack Spade bag, man! Yes, I already tried it out. He’s ADORABLE, ya’ll, and loves me already. I just got him today, haven’t picked a name yet. Any ideas? Can’t rush these things, you know, he’s gonna be a big part of my life now so it’s gotta be something good and something that folks will hear and go, “Oh my god that’s perfect for him”. In a fantastic coincidence, Fort Tryon Park & the Cloisters are right across the way from my apartment and they contain Sir William’s Dog Run, the largest dog lawn in Manhattan. It’s coming together quite nicely, I gotta say.

HOW THE HELL DO I OWN A DOG? This is insane, are we in the Matrix? I need to stop @ Spoiled Brats tomorrow and get him all setup right proper. Retractable leash, faux-fur puppy pillows, scented grooming products, pleather raincoat — shit man, he needs a blog. My little pup will be the talk of the town, the little mack daddy of NoWa (North of Washington Heights… it’s a thing I’m trying out but dammit, not really catching on). Maybe when he’s a few months older he’ll be ready for the Washington Square Park Dog Run! We gotta be careful though, them viscious little West Village poodles can be straightup BITCHES.

Um, dogs are a lot harder to lose than fish, right?

Karma made some rounds and stopped in @ my place over the weekend. In an ironic twist on that ordeal, my bathtub drain actually IS fucked up for real now. All this eroded food crap from my kitchen sink keeps coming up outta my tub drain… it’s symbolic almost. You can’t ignore residue or shove it down a pipe, or it’ll come at you from other angles and really dirty things up. It’s just gross, I gotta get some of that liquid plumbing shit.

In other news, I’m beginning to think that nobody out there can really hear me. Signals going out, not much coming back. My ass has got this castaway thing down like you wouldn’t believe. It’s almost like I’m marooned, straightup marooned on an island with a clogged bathtub drain. Hey, I guess I sorta am, actually.

Shit, when I start waxing poetic on this blog you know it’s time to turn the computer off.

p.s. btw, Suhasini? thanks.

My new favorite reality TV indulgence is Blow Out on Bravo. It follows this uber-West Hollywood hairstylist Jonathan (and his staff) as he starts up his new salon in Beverly Hills, and it’s just fucking fantastic. All these dramatic people in the grooming industry, throwing hissyfits and snorting coke, and just constantly playing status games. I love it. I also love how all the male hairstylists take every fucking opportunity to butch it up in front of the cameras, so they can show the world that they’re not a stereotype. My favorite person so far is Jenn, the senor stylist and right hand to the bossman and she’s constantly just appeasing all the freaks on staff, puting the smackdown, and holding the ship together. She’s always telling people, “Ok, I understand that you’re having a Moment. Just get it done ok?” I’ve gotta start using that more. When the girl @ McDonald’s just can’t my combo meal together I need to be like, “Look, can you just make it happen? I’ve got things happening. Thanks.” This show is addictive, and they have celebrity clients popping in all the time for haircuts. Margaret Cho is in the next episode and Jonathon is just dishing with her like a fucking faggot about how stressed he is over the new salon, and she’s sitting there hagging it up all, “Oh God, honey, have you slapped anybody yet?” Cracked me up. God, I miss working in a salon. I think I’d totally do it again, for free even, just for the energy and attitude. It’s like aromatherapy.

So dudes, I had a blast the other night @ that party thing. Agave was fucking gorgeous, like a white stone Mexican ranch or something. They were passing out these little frozen blue drinks like candy, it was like sucking down Windex slushies, and there were mini-chicken quesadillas (I still ran across the street to Duane Reade for a Snickers tho, man). I was suprised how many people showed up, there must have been at least 50 other Concierges from around town there so it was cool to meet and network or whatever. When I get to these things it becomes really fun to work the circuit and be something of a Hudson ambassador, and after a day getting pampered and prettied by the fine folks @ Dorit Baxter (look into it, ya’ll, and tell them I sent you) and then some last minute shoppping (my slim fit pink tuxedo shirt was HOT), I was totally in the party mood. City Guide magazine was there and took a picture of me and Canyon, we were probably the youngest ones there so it was fun mingling around. In a brave effort to be colorful and inventive, the City Guide folks dropped the limo idea and actually took us across town in a few of those huge double-decker touristy buses that we book people on. It was so much fun, even when it started to rain — they passed out panchos and we stayed the fuck on the upper level, looking like a cult of fools to all the people down below. The roof the roof the roof was fire, we didn’t need no water, let the motherfucker BURN. Seriously, I think everyone needs to sit atop one of those tacky things and just tour the village in the pouring rain one day. It’s an experience. Watch your heads for low-hanging streetlights, though… learned that shit the hard way.

The show (”The Normal Heart”) was incredible. It was a revival of this play that came out and stirred up all kinds of shit back in the 80’s, when AIDS was still being ignored and nobody really understood what it was. Raul Esparza and Billy Warlock were the leads and they just ripped my heart out. I tell you, by the end of those 3hrs, not a single person in the room was the same. I cried like a BITCH in the last 10 minutes — I swear, total strangers know what I sound like when I sob now, my soul was just BARED. I walked around town for a long while afterwards. It was just the kind of thing that you have to allow to affect you for a little bit, you can’t really plug your headphones in and start blasting Outkast after that. Between the spa, the margaritas, the pink shirt, and the crying? I think it was just a big gay day all around.

In other exciting news, my dawg Mishy (who I love like a fat kid loves cake) is heading back this way for a bit next week. We could use a friendly blast from the past up in here, especially when other friendly faces are making grand exits (and when other faces just ain’t friendly no more).

Well, I’ve been spending a lot of time kicking it with myself these days. Mostly it’s b/c not a damn one of my friends will get the fuck on the train and meet me anywhere. But it’s good I think, b/c alone time makes you deal with things that are not always in your awareness. For instance, I’m starting to realize how little I communicate with my family anymore. That’s something I really wanna work on cuz I’m sure they miss me and I’ve sorta been neglectful with them. It’s funny the things you find yourself realizing when you take the time to look. When you’re surrounding yourself with people and busy situations all the time, it’s easier not to pay attention to this stuff. Anyway, I think I might try to skip home to Texas for a few days later at the end of the summer, it’s been over a year since I saw my family. I have 2 weeks of vacation time to use too, and I have no clue what to do with it. I made nice with this hot young couple who were staying at the hotel last weekend (some sort of Columbian royalty, I hear) and they offered to host me in Miami anytime I wanna go… that could be fun. I’ve never been to South Beach. Also, they sort of gave off a slight “swingers” vibe and that just got me all kinds of happy.

I might go see Napoleon Dynamite tonight, just cuz I wanna see that little girl from Corrina Corrina all gawky and grown up. Enjoy your weekend, winners.

I went out to some party with a bunch of Hudson Kids last night and it was pretty fun at first but folks kept dissappearing, like, in groups. After awhile I finally put it together, cuz I’m sickeningly slow like that — shit, it took me years to register the whole cocaine joke in Clueless (when Tai is like “I need an herbal refreshment” and Cher’s like, “Oh the cafeteria doesn’t have tea but there’s coke and stuff” and Tai’s like, “No shit, you guys got COKE here?!”). Yeah, WHOOSH right over my head. I had no clue. The real dissappointing part is that 2 semi-prospects of mine (who, not-so-strangely enough, hardly paid me any mind at all) were all up in the mix with the Happy White Powder People, and I’m just comepletely through with that endeavor. Not even PROSPECTS exactly, just folks I was feeling…. not so much anymore. It’s weird how a small pinch of powder can draw lines and divide grounds and shit. Maybe I’m not being the urban hipster I’m supposed to be, but I don’t even waste time with those types of scenarios. We like a clean nose and blood system up in here, and just b/c you can’t jump the bar doesn’t mean I’m gonna lower it. A bitter cab ride home, it was. Disenchantment is casting its ugly face all over my life this week. Clearly, I’ve been getting wise on some stuff lately and all of it kind of sucks in general.

Whatever. Today I’m heading over to a Day Spa to forget my troubles come on get happy, or at least have them rub, scrub, and peel all my cares away. Word hit the street that Hudson’s looking for a new massage company to use, so we’re getting bombarded with all these invites to day spas in the city. Shit man, the things I do for work. On my day off no less. Later on tonight I’m supposed to hit some Concierge party — it’s drinks @ Agave and then we’re going to see The Normal Heart afterwards, they’re driving us in a limo or something. It’s insane. I actually am looking for a plus one — anybody wanna come? The person I’d really love to bring along isn’t around like that and none of my buddies wanna come. What’s the matter with you people?!

Somebody be my plus one tonight. This is just sad. I have access to all this shit and nobody to hare any of it with. Dude, it’s ME, DRINKS and A PLAY, and I’m even providing LIMO SERVICE for us — and you don’t even have to drop a dime! You don’t even have to makeout with me at the end of the night. Somebody call me, dammit! What the hell? I’ll dress up, iron my clothes, pull out all my stops. Don’t laugh, ok? Hey, on a good hair day I can look just shy of not bad looking, ya’ll.

There won’t be coke there, though. But I’ll bring some Sprite.

It’s a curious thing when folks who you’re not the best of terms with want to pull the cool, idle, aloof card with you. When they want to pretend that things between the two of you aren’t a certain way, or that a ball is sitting in somebody’s court, or MY PERSONAL FAVORITE that they’re totally unaware of the situation. A fake distance. It wastes time and it’s a bullshit passive game, one that I don’t like to play. I think regardless of what gets said or left unsaid, people truly know when there’s an imbalance in the space between and they just generally try not to own it. Methinks the “unaware” game they’re playing is just a game they play with themselves.

Forgive the unclarity of this post. Plus I’m being a little bitchy too. Does my self-righteousness know no bounds? Things surface, man, and a few things are coming into light. And just it’s been one of those days.

Dude, I went to a sneak preview yesterday for the Kate/Jack Spade Summer Sample Sale (the real one starts TODAY!) and bought so many cute things. This was my first sample sale but now that I know, I need to start hunting these down. I know they pop up in Manhattan all the time. Absolutely functional, coolass merchandice was severely marked down — and it was all shit that’s they haven’t even released yet. I’m so not a label whore, I proudly rock my H&M and Target-brand shit with gusto man, but I love me some Jack Spade. Schoolboy silk neckties for just $15? Messenger bags I’d normally pay $225 for? I dropped $40. A $65 wallet? I paid $25. I bought three small messenger bags (coal, navy, and green), a backpack (dusty brown), and a leather flat wallet with blue plaid interior. I walked outta that pavillion with huge bags in tow and bigass smile on my face — and I STILL had money to burn @ Burger King. That was a damn happy day in my little world, I’m all over the city with my damn little Jack Spade bags. It needs to stop.

A hotel guest accused me of hanging up on him the other day. Actually what had happened was I placed him on hold and he just assumed I’d killed the line and hung up on ME. Details, really but yeah, he was livid. Threw my name all over the place with managers, supervisors, housekeepers, anybody who’d listen. I think he even talked trash about me to the nekked homeless lady outside Columbus Circle Station. I heard he wanted to pay for lie-detector equippment to be brought into the hotel and for me to actually deny that I hung up on him. Dead serious, he wanted to put $1,000 down for it. Can you believe that shit? Damn, give ME the $1,000 directly and I’ll tell you I did whatever you want, dude.

So, my business cards got caughtup in the crossfire of some billing dispute between the hotel and the printer, so in the meantime I got some personal ones printed up:

What do ya’ll think? They’re really shiny, tiny and also come in cobalt blue, lime green, and siren red. Design via Kyle (where else could I have gotten something so cute?). If these cards aren’t a shreiking cry for attention I don’t know what is.

Random thought: Do you think Will Smith continues to get jiggy with it? The man is 36yrs old now. Does one cease operating in a state of jig after a certain point, or is it an ongoing pursuit? I’m genuinely curious. If The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air doesn’t get an ill shout-out on the upcoming Vh1’s I Love the 90’s, there is no hope for mankind. I so needed to be a panelist on that shit. Michael Ian Black, Hal Sparks, and Mo Rocca are all funny and great but they were all well into their 20’s back in the 90’s. They didn’t live it and can’t retell it the way the rest of us who were live highschool teenagers at the time could. Am I right?

Watched an old episode of Dawson’s Creek on TV this morning. God, I forgot how INTENSE this show was. These kids rocked major baggage. Joey Potter annoys the shit out of me, all mutli-funcional with the perfect grades, the waitressing, the artistry, the boy drama, and the lip-chewing. It’s funny how Jen and Pacey were the most “fucked up” characters on the show, yet would be the two most normal easygoers out of the bunch in real life. Real life? What am I talking about, this was a fucking TV show. Oh shit, I forgot to say a prayer for I!

Hey I downloaded that “I Believe” song by Fantasia from American Idol 3, it’s been playing on my iTunes repeating for like, an hour. Times like this remind me that it’s good I live alone. The song just makes me emotional, I get to crying and thanking Jesus for stuff. I think I heard somewhere that Tamyra Gray from American Idol’s first season actually wrote the lyrics. Doesn’t that seem wrong? First she got ROBBED outta the competition and then she writes a hit song that the NEW Idol winner turns into a hit? I actually saw her @ Hudson just the other day, she wanted reservations @ Nobu. Couldn’t help her ass, you gotta book that place a MONTH in advance. Poor Tamyra, man. Girl can’t get a break.

I just started working some evening shifts @ Concierge and it’s a whole new kind of ballgame. Guest lists and lounges, bars, clubs and pubs. I don’t know much about this stuff yet so I figured it’d be a good idea to spend some time afterwork tonight kicking it around Hell’s Kitchen and doing a little bit of homework.

Do you folks know about the iParty @ APT? APT is slick, it’s basically this duplex apartment in the Meatpacking District that somebody turned into a lounge, and on Tuesdays they spin music from ppl’s iPods. I tried it out tonight and it’s really fun. Everything you’ve heard is true, and I think I may just bust out Kiddo and Levi next time I go. Tag team.

On the way back uptown through Hell’s Kitchen I stopped into this underground lounge called Single Room Occupancy. They’d invited the Hudson Kids to some party they’re hosting nexting next week and while I don’t really get into bars, it’s sort of my job now to know what’s new in the hood so I stopped in on the way home to see what it was like. Fucking cool as hell. The place is tinier than a mofo and hidden in a brownstone basement, there’s no sign out front and I only found it b/c the bartender who invited me mentioned the glowing green bulb out front. Inside it’s pretty much candle-lit with some padded black leather seating and metal stands here and there. They also do the iPod DJ thing, and I guess it’s a cuter idea here b/c the space is so small. Big ups to James and Goldie the head bartenders, they slipped me some white wine on the FREE tip.

I didn’t go into VYNL but it looked like a fun spot. I love diners and this one looked really kitchy, but in a novel way. Is that possible? Maybe not.

Also, check out Code, which is just a few blocks up from SRO. It’s sort of a girly bar — they have fruity sweet cosmo’s there, colorful decor, and seems likt the kind of spot Romy & Michelle would be running if they were gay men in New York instead of dumb ho’s in L.A. Hey I’m not hating, I love those girls but let’s be honest. Anyway, my buddy Gregory T. Angelo just celebrated the his anniversary as music editor of HX and the launch of his own radio show, he held the party @ Code. It’s an overall really cute place.

I love that reaearching this kind of shit and then telling folks about it is my job. I’m really enjoying it a lot, it’s cool to make people happy and make money doing it, and it’s also nice having free things to do at night instead of just sitting @ home night after night with my Daria reruns. I’m still all about Daria but damn, shit can get old. And hey, I don’t intend to blather on and on lots about Concierge-type stuff (you all got your fill of that Front Desk shit anyway, right?) but I’m trying to keep a little log of all these places I find and enjoy, that’s what posts like this one are for. Hopefully this won’t get too old, and maybe some of this random info might be useful to other folks. And btw, if any of you wanna reciprocate some of that love? I’m in ill need of an mp3 — “Moses” by Coldplay (the radio edit, not the 6minute long 2003 live version). Any suggestions as to where I might find a *cough* COMEPLETELY LEGAL */cough* download of it? Share your knowledge, dudes… and your music files!

UPDATE: Oh, by the way, one cool thing about working evenings are the invites! I got invited to the Friends & Family Preview Sale for JACK SPADE tomorrow, all stuff for the fall line. WOOT! Oh hell yeah, I need to get my man purse on. I actually got myself a new little happy a couple months ago but I’m feeling the itch once more. At least I hope that’s what that itch is. Ew.

I was a normal person this weekend with a proper Saturday and Sunday (and Monday!) off from work. After an entire weekend of dreary wet weather I finally got my full of staying in and updating this blog, so I spent today out and about downtown. I don’t kick it down there much, so when I go it’s always so refreshing. I took my new little toy (who I have named Kiddo) out with me and it was just a really nice time. Does anyone else ever go out on their own and just have the best time? Maybe that’s weird, I’m not sure yet. I try not to stay solitary for too long b/c I tend to start going insane when I’m left to my own devices.

So I metup later with my dawg Brigid @ her cute apartment on the Upper East side and we were gonna head down to this downtown spot called Mojo that I needed to try out for work. They’re actually owned by the same people who run Suba, where I was heartily fed and treated like a KING the night before — no I’m serious; tapas, shrimp, martinis, steak, chocolate, it was just endless and I, the pickiest of all eaters, chowed down every single delicious thing they brought me. What’s up with that?! When did I start eating full meals? Hello, I eat @ Burger King. Anyway, Brig and I ended up settling for some spicy Southern grub @ Silver Spurs instead. God, it was good food. I had a Cajun roast beef sandwich with spicy fries, it was so fucking intoxicating. Brig left and I walked uptown for awhile after dinner… all the way up through Tribeca and Gramercy to midtown, taking the night in, overidentifying with emo-lyrics. Things on my mind. It amazes me how different things are now than the way they were for me this time last year.

The entire new Ben Kweller album is a damn anthem. His ballads are just sublime. Almost as sublime as LL Cool J introducing Carol Channing on the Tony’s last night, and then her tearing the roof off the mother with her rap solo version of “Hello Dolly”! When Hugh Jackman said, “Carol Channing just got arrested for a driveby shooting” I about lost my shit. I checked Miss Channing into Hudson once and I’m pretty sure she likes our hotel because of all the dim lighting, that woman’s skin looked like a display from Madame Tussaud’s in Times Sq. God bless her hip-hop loving ass, she must be older than God.

Have I told ya’ll about my pen pal thing? A few weeks ago, I was chatting with my dawg and babymomma Princess Melissa (how the hell did she and I become actual IM-chatting, cell-phone-calling friends? I have no idea but we’re in ill cahoots) and we got to fancying the premise of writing letters to people in prison — Melissa explains it all here, and her description is priceless. For the record, I blame her. Also for the record, she was here long before Dan Renzi, God bless him.

You see, in addition to some rude stuff I’ve gotten, there have been a lot of insanely nice emails from random people across the world who read my blog and seem to like what they find. This is all from regularass people who just sit in their daytime offices, or kick back in a Starbucks on their laptop, or at home late at night at their computers, and they take the time to just shoot me their thoughts after readind the things I say. The idea of doing the same thing with somebody who might otherwise have zero access to anyone that really wants to know more about them? is just an exciting and wonderful idea. A lot of them just want someone to talk to, and dammit, I can do that. Besides, you never know what kind of a difference that might make for them, or for you. All this and also it’s just kinda cool to get letters from somebody who got locked up for robbing banks and shit.

It took me some time to get things together but I finally got the P.O. Box going (the LAST thing I need is ro give out my home address and have some bazooka-toting freak busting outta The Clink and camping out across the street from my apartment) and sent my first letter to my pen pal. She wasn’t my first choice, but I think that might make our friendship even more interesting. I’d like to introduce her to all of you. Ladies and gentleman, please put your hands together (and hide the knives!) for the sweetest little murderer in Texas…

Miss Adele Hartwig

Adele is 57yr old former teacher, nurse, artist, rancher, cheerleader, and Protestant gymnast who also happens to have killed a husband or two. And no, I’m not joking. This woman actually exists. She’s a Virgo. In her ad @ WriteAPrisoner.com, she descibes herself as “an orchid in boots and jeans” who “still respects and admires the male species”. Is she not fucking fabulous? You just can’t keep a good woman down. I fell in love with Adele the moment I saw her makeshift country-western album mug shot there, and I especially love the crackled gold-leaf veins running through photo. She’ll be getting out of prison in about 30 years and I have no doubt that on that day she’ll be two-stepping and line-dancing her way out of those prison gates, walker in tow. And I’ll be there with open arms and a smile on my face, and a bigass can of mace in my back pocket just in case.

Shit man, I’m not stupid.