This evening I was gearing up for my date — I scored reservations @ Suba, dinner in the lower grotto surrounded by that illuminated water all around you, and spent all week managing to NOT be too excited about it. Water enclosed dining! No, I saved all the excitement for today! — and running around trying to get things together. I’d gone tanning the other day and was looking mighty fine, all aglow against a crisp white slim-fit button down and some pinstripe pants (anything to present the illusion of fitness and height). By the way, I’d like to point out that I have never ever gone tanning before the other day and had always hosted some serious hateration in this dancerie for New Yorker’s who go tanning (…it’s like keeping a car in the city — WHY?! GO TO L.A.!) but it was free and only took 20 minutes, so I indulged myself. Bring on the irreversable skin damage. Anyway, I’m getting ready and decide to take a quick second shower before I head out, does anybody else ever do that? and got the shower running. Full blast, perfect temperature. I popped over to my computer to finish synching up my iPod mini and wound up getting all caught up reading blogs (further proof that the web is vampire sent to DRAIN). Also, Ronald Regan had just died and I was reading up on that, too. By the time I got back to the bathroom I realized it wasn’t the shower I’d left running, it was the BATHTUB FAUCET. Full blast. Water was GUSHING over the edge of the tub and pouring across my bathroom floor, and it had been doing this for I don’t know how long. “OH MY GOD!” I screamed, splashing into the bathroom and leaping for the broken faucet handles. Of course, in my frantic state I twisted furiously at the wrong knobs and turned the shower on instead. So I’m standing there in the tub, up to my knees in water, and my freshly ironed dinner outfit is soaked to hell. Right away, the first thing I thought of was my downstairs neighboors and the fit they were gonna throw down over this. I can’t even explain to you how insane it was: my bathroom mat was floating! Finally I got it all shut off, sloshed out of the tub and just beheld the waterworld I’d created. I wanted to cry. Wall to wall, I was standing in like, 3 inches of water and it was SO damn close to spreading into the rest of my ALL WOODEN FLOOR apartment.

What the hell does a normal person do in a situation like this? They go get a big towel and begin sopping up the reservoir, right? They soak, ring out, and repeat. NOT MY ASS. I panicked. Ran into my living room, hurled the coffee table across the room, snatched up my 2 Urban Outifitter 5×7’s off the floor and flung them onto the bathroom floor. SPLAT! water all over the place. But I didn’t stop there. No, then I ran to my hamper and scooped up all of my dirty underwear, towels, and clothes and added THOSE to the damn pile. I have NO IDEA what I was thinking, dudes, the goal was just to keep doing things until I figured I’d done everything. Eventually, about an hour and 20lbs of wet clothes later, my bathroom was back to normal. My downstairs neighbor and my building super both came a-knocking later that evening to ask about what was going on. I lied through my teeth. “What? A plumbing leak, really? No, I haven’t had any trouble at all today.” Ugh, it’s awful. Do you think I’ll know many other people in Hell?

I had to reschedule my dinner reservations, which sucks so much… but I guess in the end I was surrounded by water anyway. And my bathroom floor is really shiny now.

Everytime I start to feel like an adult, something erratic happens and I am reminded of just what a big spaz I can be. Remember that guy Jack from “Three’s Company” and how he was always getting into outlandish scenarious far beyond what normal people encounter? That’s what it felt like today, and I was the bumbling (excuseably-gay) fool trying to stop the madness.. Total sitcom hijinx, so ridiculous that it deserves entry on my RANTS page. Read here for more.

A hotel guest who’d been getting on my nerves all week with her high maintenance and fussy requests totally suprised me the other day. I’ve been finding it annoying when hotel guests employ me for Personal Assistant-type shit. Faxing documents, making reservations, those are things I don’t mind doing, but I’m there to provide an extra service; to go above and beyond for the hotel guest and perform amazing feats like getting last-minute center-section seats to a sold out show like Wicked, or having champagne setup for a helicopter tour that a guy plans to pop a suprise proposal on… not to do mindless shit that they could do themselves. Please don’t ask me to call SuperShuttle and book your $17 shuttle to JFK, sir, here’s the toll free number, you can call from your room. Just tacky. This woman had been hounding me all week about getting really good-but-cheap tickets (an oxymoron) to the David Bowie concert @ Jones Beach on Friday night. She had me looking all over Ticketmaster and Telecharge and Admission and a dozen other amateur, no-comission-paying outlets for her and her friends. That woulda been fine enough if she also hadn’t been uncertain on whether or not she really wanted to go see the show, she kept wanting me to convince her that David Bowie was still really popular and exciting. I’m not much of a Bowie fan (altho he was the First Lady of Metrosexuality) but I knew he had The Polyphonic Spree opening for him, and I LOVE those guys. They’re a fucking cult, I know it, but they’re great. Anyway, she finally booked all the tickets and actually GOT ONE FOR ME TOO. She said I sounded so enthusiastic about the opening band that she thought I should be there to see them. I ended up passing on the ticket cuz I had plans already, and she had a backup friend to give the ticket to anyway. But it was so sweet of her, made me feel bad for wanting her dead before.

Is anybody else a little bit worried about Anna Nicole Smith? I mean, I know she looks great now that she’s lost all that weight but it’s not like she’s on some new health kick or anything. A guy I work with is on Trim Spa, it’s a dietary suppressant and it totally drains you of any energy, which is why all the weight comes off. Should we really be this happy for Anna, isn’t she just trading in the Paxil and Prozac for Trim Spa? You know Anna’s just popping them little pills like Pez.

So, I recently came very close to giving in to an act of desperation. Nothing dangerous, per say, but just definately the kind of thing that would set me back into a place that I’ve heartily been working to get away from. I’ve always felt that people should always do what’s really in their hearts to do, regardless of whether or not it seems like “a good idea”. You can’t really live your life so securely, and I like to think that even when something looks daunting you should just go for it anyway. But not this time. This time it’s better that I just let things simmer, I’m glad nothing came of it. Self-respect is much more important than anything else, really, even if it kinda drives you crazy.

Despite that whole ordeal, recent subway shootings, and the death of former presidents, I’m setting out to TRY and just enjoy my weekend. There’s all kinds of semi-upbeat stuff to get caught up with, like The Big Gay Thing in Queens, or That Big Gay Thing in Manhattan, but I’m actually thinking about going to that wild shindig instead. Fight the power. As if they MTA hasn’t fucked with us enough, what with that whole fare-hike last year, now they wanna ban pictures on the subway too? I’d love to meet the MTA out on the playground afterschool, man. Those bastards need to get smacked around some. I think Adele could help with that.

I watched Muriel’s Wedding on Showtime today. That part where the two slutty bitches start catfighting while Muriel and Rhonda are onstage dancing and lip-synching to “Waterloo”, and the crowd is going nuts for them? makes me grin from ear to ear. Such a great movie. I remember hating it when I first saw it b/c I didn’t really understand the way indie’s work, so I was furious that there wasn’t a conventionally happy ending. “What? Muriel’s still fat and poor! Why is it ending? What the FUCK?!” See, I was a little bit shallow back in the day. Heh. SO GLAD I grew out of that.

Meet Cy, the hottest little thing rocking my world lately. Tiny, sexy, cheeky, and sweet as hell — they don’t engineer girls like this very often, folks. Brick house, mighty mighty. Cumming soon to a bedroom near you… or me. Hmm. Does the plot thicken? One’s game suddenly gets so much more interesting when options are introduced.

See that bag on her arm? it’s full of Victoria’s Secret shit. But I don’t think I’m ready for the jelly. Don’t ask questions, it’ll spoil the presentation.

“Hi, you don’t have any iPod mini’s in stock, do you?”
“Yeah, just 2 left. The blue one.”
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I can’t believe I’ve finally got one. I know, I know — why go and downgrade from my current iPod that holds 2,500 songs to a smaller one that only holds 1000 songs? Style over substance, dude. No, the truth is I just don’t have enough music to need all that space. Out of 10GB, I’ve only used up 5GB, and out of all of that I only really listen to about 300 songs. Now this means I’ve got TWO iPods, but I’m actually trying to sell my previous 10GB to a coworker for an exact $250 to curb any upcoming buyer’s remorse that may strike me. So far I’m not regretting it. It actually came with this limited promotion from Apple that secures an immediate replacement for it if the battery dies anytime in the next 2 years, and if it’s outdated by the time that happens (and it probably will happen), they’ll upgrade my replacement to whatever the latest model is. I also bought a tiny little latex jacket to slip over the case to protect it, like a condom. Are these even cool anymore? I have no clue, I just love it. It’ll be outdated in like, a week or something (they probably already are) but I don’t even care. I’ve got my very own blue ipod mini now and dammit, life is looking up.

I did a whole Audio post right after I walked out of the strore but I’m not gonna post it cuz it’s just embarassing how excited I am. Shut up, haters. Just lay out your congratulations, mkay? You know how we do.