I actually left my place @ the dark hour of 2am this morning bound for Hell’s Kitchen on a little excursion that I had no business going to and I fucking LEFT MY CELLPHONE in the cab on the ride back uptown. DAMMIT. I actually paused before I got outta the cab and thought, “God it would suck if I left my keys in here on accident” and it wasn’t till I was walking up the front steps of my building that I realized it wasn’t with me. Ugh, I’m offically a loser now, no better than a lost tourist in midtown or a person who’s kept the same clunky cellphone model for the past decade. I have lived in this city for 6 years and never once left a wallet or credit card or backpack or cellphone anywhere. Whenever hotel guests come up to me @ work needing help cuz they just left their cell in a cab, I always sigh and just shake my head cuz I already know they’ll never get it back. I watch them on the courtesy phone @ my desk, making their frantic calls to the NYC Limo Lost Luggage Department, describing their lost items, praying in futile faith that they’ll get it back: almost never happens, and I refuse to be one of those fools… except that I’m already one of those fools for leaving it in a cab to begin with. But I refuse to make it worse by calling up everyone in the world trying to get it back. As far as I’m concerned it was a sign to get a new phone, and I opened up my eyes I saw the sign.

Called TMobile to have them suspend the account till I get a new phone, which actually started to get me excited b/c I was like, “Cool I can upgrade! Get something better and cooler like the Siemens SL55!” but it was slim pickings. Turns out I’m eligible for a new FREE phone with the company… but not until Novemeber 10th. So if I get one now I have to pay a discounted price, which sucks. I mean, discounted is great but shit, I’d love Free a whole lot better. We’ll see what they can offer and I’ll probably just pay the damn difference. I can’t be cellularly-challenged in this city, all disconnected from the world — might as well be living in an outerborough.

Has my tune changed or what?? Ugh, I can’t believe I’m one of these people now. Just what I get for being all above the subway late at night and opting for an evil cab. Cabs are the devil’s work. So are late night bootycalls.

Hi! Remember me? Probably not, if my web stats speak any truth at all. My fucking dog’s blog gets more hits than mine, and he updates even less than me. Fame whore. Whatever, Nick Carter from the Backstreet Boys is doing a made-for-cable-TV horror movie, so I know there are those far worse off than me.

What’s up, dudes? Is it Octoberish already? Fall season descended on us faster and better than Ashlee’s Simpon’s crashlanding from grace. That ignorant bitch, take that and rewind it back. I fucking love it. I’ve been away from this blog and this scene for awhile, as some die-hard circles of you fine fan-type folks have noticed. The only breaks you get in life are the ones you take and Eminem keeps telling me to just lose it, so you know how we do. Just needed to clear some air and restart some stuff cuz for awhile there… oh please, whatever. The real reason I bounced? my hair was just struggling lately and I needed to retreat. Shit, winners, I’m more concerned about my hair than I am about world peace. No fears, though, I grew it all out and am here at this keyboard to just let everybody know that all is fine and good up in here. Let the company jump as I blow revelie and whatnot. What, nobody’s here? Okay.

Some keen folks might have spotted my footloose & cancer-free ass vacationing around various New England provinces, southern squares, and metropolitan backways all incognito over the last couple months, up to all kinds of mischief… or just camped out on my futon buring incense and blasting Enya (I’m apt to do both). Also, I just might have been busy with a girl who want boys who like boys to be girls who do boys like they’re girls who do girls like they’re boys. Or not. I also might not have been engaged in a charming transatlantic romp with a certain gorgeous Londoner, a modern day Indiana Jones who may (or may not!) just have me transfixed and about to get a passport and book a flight. I probably haven’t been creepin’ around town with chair-throwing little brown girls either, or with Kevin P, that ridiculously cute fool from Manhunt who is pretty much the new Coral of reality TV. Those whiny male models kill me, man, they’re all staying @ Hudson right now. It’s like The Real World and Zoolander combined, 2 of the best bad things in this world. In truth, the past many weeks have been a whirlwind of new faces, places, things and flings… and a hella introspective period too. Yeah, lots has been going on and it’s fun being back to blab about what I want to. Of course, none of this is at all interesting to anyone but myself but I gotta fill this blog up with useless me-centered content, if I don’t then the whole infrastructure would collapse and crush us all. The kids who read between the lines know how it works.

In regularass news, I hear we’ve got some sort of big election happening next week. P Diddy and the rest of Hollywood keeps telling me they want me to vote and die. That campaign is getting out of control, I can’t even pee in a public toilet these days without a VOTE OR DIE sticker staring up at my dick from the bottom of the urinal. People are damn serious about this election, a 12yr old on the subway straightup said, “People better fucking vote or die, yo.” A CHILD. Bitch, shouldn’t you be passing notes in class right now? What the hell? Shut up already. Folks are ready to get rid of Mr. Bush, and at the risk of sounding like a Dixie Chick, I can’t say I stand far from the maddening crowd. What does the W stand for anyway? What the fuck are you doing in office, man?

So I put on my yellow LIVESTRONG bracelet the other day — the one I bought right after I found out, the one I’ve worn everyday throughout my entire ordeal, the one I’ve used as a reminder for a lot of other things in my life — and it snapped in half. My sanity snapped too, I think I threw myself onto the floor screaming, “WHYYYYYYYY?!” The rubber was worn ans stretched and the bracelet split directly down the center of the logo, and I was suprised at how attatched to it I’ve become. Somebody told me recently that when a necklace or bracelet or a ring breaks apart, it signifies the end of something important in your life. So that’s how I’m looking at it. I don’t wear the bracelet anymore, but I keep it in my pocket and when I look at it, I see the word live on one end and strong on the other. It fits me better now.

Meanwhile, I just got a George Foreman grill, all late to the game, and I don’t even know how to act. The fat just drips right off! Did anyone else know this? That shit is changing my life.

P.S. I’m just kidding, Puffy. Please don’t come at me with a gun.