High School Mom & Dad
1977

High School Girlfriend
1997

High School Sister

I read, remembered, and smiled so much tonight. It’s funny (and cool) what you find late @ night, hidden in the pages of old books you thought got thrown out long ago. Also funny (and weird) how much my highschool sweetheart looked so much like my dad’s highschool sweetheart, and also kinda interesting how much my little sister looked like me when she was in highschool.

It’s been a productive day up in here up in here!

Between last minute laundry, cleaning out my cupboards for the exterminator (long story), reprogramming my DVR system, customizing a hefty iTunes playlist powerful enough to last me through any lulls in London, reorganizing all of my closets and cabinets, binding up stacks of outdated magazines, and making a quick Target run, I’ve also spent most of the morning trying to track down a retailer in Manhattan that has the iPod Shuffle in stock, to no avail. I try to take comfort in knowing that these marvelous little shits are so damn pointless to have — they only hold like, 200 songs! Who the hell has a playlist that short? Shit, I don’t even want to know a person with such limited musical intake. Still, it’s only $99 and hot and miniature and I must own it. The fact that I can’t find one only makes me want one more, it’s total stalker logic. “I’m getting resistance — that means I’m supposed to make it mine!” I be knowing way too much about stalkers these days, ya’ll…

Speaking of hot and miniature, I took Mo to the pet groomers today and got him all cleaned and cutsied up cuz we’ve been invited to some Puppy Party @ the W in Union Square tonight, hosted by PAPER magazine. It’s an actual party for puppies. Only in New York, man. I was actually at a PAPER party the other night @ Select and I swear, the entire staff is literal New York Sophistication in motion. Too damn cool. Anyway, I had to fight the urge to buy this teacup yorkie from the groomers. She’s only 2 months old so damn cheap for a female of that pedigree! Everyone thinks it’s insane of me to get a 2nd dog cuz I’m hardly ever home, but I actually think that’s a perfect reason to get a 2nd one, so Mo will have a playmate. Of course, this means double the poop, double the barking, and double the chewed up little edges of everything in this apartment… Hmm, I’ll have to rethink this. While I’m doing that, maybe the MTA will come up with a way to fix the fucking A train service. I think it’s scary that one homeless man goes arson-crazy on the tracks one afternoon and now the entire underground city of New York is undone. All the farehikes, layoffs, and budget-crying the MTA does and they’re that unprepared? It’s crazy.

In other news, Amanda Lepore offically scares me now.

UPDATED:

SpriteboyWorld, visually summarized via Google Montage
(nope. still not bored with pictures of myself yet.)

An email from my mom today:

Son,
Please be prayed up and be careful at London. They don’t like us!! Their food is very bland and Aunt Josie said to make sure you ask for the american breakfast in the morning otherwise you will be served slices of ham, cheese and hard bread and tea. Drink a lot of water unless you want to pay $12 or more of american money for cokes. You also have to pay to use a public restroom. Please call me when you are about to get on the plane to leave to London and when you get there o.k? Enjoy yourself son! Remember: Jesus is going with you!

– your little mommy

Thanks, Mom.

I’m actually doing enough freaking out on my own w/o any familial pushing. I’m fighting this scary thought that I’m possibly going to hate it in London… or worse, just be unphased by it and totally want to come back to New York after 2 days, like when I go anywhere else. Oh dear God wouldn’t that suck? See, it’s all just happened to wonderfully and effortlessly — with the grand gesture of my current Somebody Special asking to take me on a getaway, and the actual booking of flights and securing of hotel rates and stealing the time off work w/o tapping into precious vacation allotment, and BAM I’m in London next week. What the hell? My life does not work this simply. That’s why I’m just convinced that the catch will be me being there just bored out of my mind. I’m probably making way too big a deal out of it anyway. It’d be so fucking impressive if I casually posted about this trip like it’s something I do all the time but I mean come on, really… who am I kidding? Take me out of my Manhattan element and, winners, you’ve got a screaming sissy on your hands.

I’m pouring myself over britblogs at the moment. I’ve been a fan of him for a long time (we actually have a playdate setup) and he always makes life over there sound so interesting. Thank God for Londonist.com and the Time Out hemisphere, too. A mini travel guide that he once sent me has become my new Bible, but one I only read in secret. I’m also studying the subwa—er, tube map so I can whisk around town like the cool kids do. Lost as I’ll be, I hope I can at least coast on my cityboy act and look like I know what’s going on.

Now because I could never board a big red double decker Buckingham Palace-bound tour bus and look at myself in the mirror again (b/c that? would make me an asshole for the rest of my life — I can’t TELL you the judgment I continually cast upon the tourists that stroll up to me @ work wanting to book Harlem Gospel Tours and find out where Central Perk is), I’m beseeching all of you swinging London lads and ladies that read this here blog-o-mine to please save me from becoming a 25yr old American tourist who asks the hotel Concierge annoying questions like, “Where can I get money exchanged?” and “Where’s the cool young trendy parts of town at?”. Keep the emails coming! All of your input is GREAT! I’ve got no real frame of reference and I’m a big fan of obscure information, so hit me with your best shots. I’m so full of questions. In an effort to endear myself to the front desk staff @ St. Martin’s Lane, I’m bringing NYC tourist trinkets with me — little NYC toy taxicabs and skyscraper keychains, that kind of crap. When all else fails, buy them pretty things and make them like you.

I am the biggest nerd. This I readily admit. Also, I’ll be taking pictures of everything. Ok and yes, I will be bringing Jesus with me too.

Ok so it’s official, I’m making my way over the great divide and coming to London. I got a charming offer I couldn’t refuse and figured I’d be an idiot not to go, especially when I’m aiming to kickstart this new year off with new experiences. Why fucking London, in the middle of the winter, you ask? Cuz even tho Brazil and the Carribean was offered, I’m a fucking cityboy through and through. I’d get bored on a tropical paradise and desert that shit to find an internet cafe and an outlet where I could be charging my ipod. Anyway, since I’ve never really been bitten by the travel bug, this will be my first time abroad and I can’t fucking wait. I’m staying there, which I assume is the Hudson of London, though I could just be buying into the hype. Any of you Londoners who happen to read this blog, hit me up with some suggestions on the things you think I should be seeing and doing, and especially things I should not waste my time with. I’ll be there in 2 weeks and I may (or may not) meetup with one friendly face in particular, but am down for dinner with most anybody willing to pay my way my homeboy’s way and sometimes my cousin’s way. Just refrain from trying to get me to try Marmite. I know all about that god awful mess and I will not be fooled.

I spent a full hour today engrossed in a rerun episode of MTV’s Made. Damn this fucking show, it never fails to wring a few sniffs and misty eyes out of me. This time it was about an overweight, unpopular girl from the wrong side of the tracks (aren’t they all?) who wants to run against the pretty rich girl athletes for Homecoming Queen. Of course she wins — they always win cuz this is MTV and they like filling Young America’s dreams with promises that only fulfill themselves if there’s a full budget and cameraman and production crew attatched (just ask her)— no suprise there, but it was the EMOTIONAL JOURNEY that I just got sucked into. When she couldn’t go to the school game to promote her campaign cuz she’s poor, black, and ugly and had to go work her afterschool shift @ Taco Bell? my eyes just started welling up with tears. When she threw down in the school hallway between classes and called out one of the evil skinny little cheerleaders for talking shit about her, I fell in love. Then when she bustled out onto the gym stage, grabbed the mother fucking microphone, and declared that she was tired of seeing the same kinds of girls win Homecoming every year and that it was time for a change to happen at that school, AND THE ENTIRE STUDENT BODY leapt to their feet and started applauding her big loud ass? I just lost my shit. I literally sat on my futon sobbing. It only got worse when she actually won and they started playing that “Tonight And the Rest of My Life” song by Nina Gordon, cuz I think I actually started trying to hug my TV. I used to be an ugly fat girl in high school too so I just totally overidentified. What the hell? This show just reduces me, dudes.

One new kid on the scene — the blogging scene (altho he claims he’s been in New York forever, and I just have serious doubts) — I’ve had the very deep pleasure of getting to rather well is that guy, who is surprisingly not obsessed with homosexuality, martial arts, or robotics. I hung out with him a very little bit this past week while our girlfriends were out of town, he lives in a fucking CASTLE in low low Manhattan with a slew of other rowdy boys and all they do is play videogames, watch Arrested Development (I was nearly killed for not being an avid fan), and clean their bedrooms all day. Seriously, they love to clean. They’re like those little Doozer guys from Fraggle Rock who just love building so much, they don’t mind it when Fraggles eat and destroy their constructions cuz it just means they get to build some more. It’s great. Check out that blog of his, he’s kinda funny.

For any New Yorkers up for joining me on the Total Sellout Train, you should look into The Solar Salon. That place is amazing and the tanning machines are state-of-the art, they even have those XM Radio’s installed. Getting my ass golden-glazed while screaming along to Kelly Clarkson is a surreal experience. The folks there are so nice and helpful. I also ran into a cute explaything of mine while I was there, and found out he’s been doing some auditioning. Wow, all this time I just figured he was a model… now he’s an actor too! It’s nice when ambitious people take up new positions in life, huh? Glad I can I saw “I knew him when”.

My apartment is a wreck right now, still haven’t put away the clean laundry I did a week ago. I’m working late tonight and have to head back first thing tomorrow for a morning shift, so I know I won’t go home and clean. Just gonna crash. My dog hates when I do this. My plans for devleoping a routine for us this year is too slow on the rise, dammit.

Did anybody see Mini-Me throwdown with Chyna Doll on The Surreal Life? I really didn’t know who was gonna win. She’s a big fine woman won’t you back that thing up, but he had that little power scooter with him and I know first hand the pent-up anger a little guy can host when provoked. Watch them become best friends like Flavor Flav & Bridgette Neilsen (whom I still believe is really Sharon Stone all cracked out and nobody has bothered to notice yet). Marcus Schenckenberg is his underwear kept me engrossed in the show too, altho I refuse to recognize him as the pioneere male supermodel (hi, anyone else remember Mark Vanderloo, the inspiration for Derek Zoolander?). Also, Peter Brady has a sixpack. He’s a washed up has-been TV sitcom star but has obviously been invoking the spirit of Eric Neiss cuz look at that body. He went through some ch-ch-changes. This is insane. Somebody shoot me. I swear, bad TV is gonna ruin my life.

P.S. Laura, buddy, holler if you need me.

Halfway across w32nd Street, I halted in my tracks. I reeled backward, like a fish caught on a lure, to the window @ the wig shop. The women wanted me. Their bed-messed hair all alluring and suggestive, their fuck-me eyes peering, their lips glistening and plump… and I was transfixed.

“We’ve been waiting for you, gorgeous.” Their voices fused together when they spoke and it surged through my body like a volt of electricity.
“You have? For me?” I blushed.
“Mmm-hmmmm.”
“Hey, ” I said, stepping closer to the glass. “Aren’t you the heads of the girls from the Addicted to Love video?”
“Yes, Sprite,” the replied in orgasmic unison. “And you’re the sexiest bitch we’ve seen all day.”
“Thank you, ladies. You just made my day.”
“No problem, little big man. Is is true what they say about 5′4″ men from Texas?”
“Umm….”
The ladies simultaneously winked one eye at me. “Would you like to know the secrets of the universe, Sprite?”
“Oh, I wish I could stay and talk longer,” I smiled. “but I’ve got to hustle. Busy day ahead of me.”
“Come see us again soon,” they husked, all breathy and softly. “Maybe we’ll be attatched to our bodies by then, and you can give us some some some of that cinnabun.”

Cheeky naughties. I had a skip in my step for the rest of my afternoon.

And for the record? yes, it’s so true.

And at the end of the night, after stumbling out of Cafe Gray with my new friend and my uber-giftbag in tow (courtesy of the fine folks @ Sak’s, Jamba Juice, Aveda, and Ralph Lauren), I pulled my mojito-fueled date behind a steel beam @ Columbus Circle Station and went in for the kill. Apparently, to my benefit, he’d been in ugly “innocent bystander” situations like this one before and knew how to respond to lowdown dirty tactics such as mine tonight: obligingly. Sweet dreams are made of these, who the fuck am I to disagree? It was all about two strapping lads inappropriately sucking face on a lovely night. Hee, I said sucking face. Bring it on, man.

Wow, did I just start off my first entry of the new year with hints at some brazen antics (which, by the way, ain’t nothing compared to my sordid New Years Eve activities), like this is some red shoe diary? Is that how I’m starting off this year? No, that’s how I’m ending last year, bitch. My grand kissoff to 2004 happened last week when the clock struck midnight and we all dropkicked its punkass out of our lives once and for all. Ain’t missing it.

By the way, I’ve been reading this hysterical book called I, Lucifer. God offers the Devil a deal where He’ll let him return to Heaven if he can live a good life as human for one month, and it’s all about Lucifer’s account of what went down. I had no idea the Father of Lies was so witty, this book is cracking me up. Meanwhile, Satan has a bookdeal and I’m still working on hourly pay. What the hell?

I actually spent all of my morning and afternoon soaking up the city with Somebody Exciting, a new contender whom I’m having way too much fun with. I’ve been lucky enough to be spending all kinds of time with all kinds of amazing fools lately. I’ve been laughing, lunching, connecting, carousing, hustling up some happiness and it’s like I’m jumpstarting inner circuits that I thought fried out on me some time ago. And while bloggers usually end up eating their words soon after posting these kinds of entries (… is that an anvil falling?), I feel I owe it to myself and to the peeps who read this here site to own up to this change in the wind. It’s amazing when you can actually feel yourself coming back to life after feeling… well, dulled for a little while. Good things are ahead. In addition to the rediscovery of my mojo, things on the workfront are on an upswing, I’ve got some transatlantic schemes in the works, and I am also fucking psyched to report that my recent HIV/STD/Cancer bloodwork just came back 100% clean and spotless. There are no strings on me.

This post is fucking pretentious and I totally sound like an asshole. When did I channell Alfie? Whatever, it’s a blog. 2005 is kinda lookin’ kickass. Holler if you hear me, dudes.