Well it sure has been a busy week down @ The View.

What’s that sound? I think maybe it’s the sound of big fat dead weight hitting the floor and power shifting back into place. Poor Star Jones, maybe if she grovels hard enough she can get Payless to hire her back, that is once she gets her phone, water, and electric turned back on (cuz you just know Barbara had that shit cut off once they went to commercial).

It’s that little I-showed-them smirk Star flashed at the end of her bullshit little speech that bugs me, thinking she got the final fuck-you. I wish I coulda seen her face the next morning when she saw what Mama Walters had to say right back. Here I thought she had a deathmatch coming in Rosie O’Donnell, turned out all along she shoulda been watching the pint-sized little powerhouselady sitting at her right. Barbara took that heffer and had her ass expunged, and then CAME BACK THE NEXT DAY to let America know just who the Top Bitch really is. I love this shit. Don’t ever fuck with Barbara Walters, man. Shit, I saw her break a bottle off and hold up some tourists in an alley this afternoon, screaming, “Gimme your Metrocard or I’ll slash your necks and hurl your lifeless bodies over the studio audience on TV in the morning!” Bitch will kill you for a subway pass.

All this and we get Rosie in the fall? I can’t fucking wait.

My bitch Mike came with me to my doctor’s appointments today. The ugly ones I’ve been nervous about. The sonogram was nothing major — the technician said everything looked normal and fine — it’s the catscan that I was antsy about. I had to sit and drink 2 thermoses of this bairum dye that coats my insides and lets them xray better. Even though I’ve done it before it still was really scary. That junk is a disgusting consistancy (think chalky, melted ice cream) and as hard as you close your eyes and think Mojito Mojito Mojito it still tastes fucking fowl, even with the new berry flavor. Mike just sat in that waiting room with me, making Karen Walker jokes (”Smitty, why is there so much pain in the world?”), cracking me up and making me forget I was nervous. I love Mike for that. He was there with me in that same chair 2 years ago too, when I had to do it the first time, and is still to this day the only person who’s shoulder I let myself cry on and confess how terrified I was. The scan went smooth, I had a little trouble handling that 2nd dye they inject into your arm when you’re under the machine — it makes your blood heat up — but the whole thing lasted only a few minutes and then we were done.

Had lunch @ New Wave Cafe with Meg, who I probably love more than anyone I’ve met in forever. She has a blog too, it’s facinating and secretive but totally a MySpace blog and that shit will not be linked to up in here. But I adore her. We actually hung out all day yesterday too. We’d gone to see Click, which I somehow loved, and just had a really nice day together. We hadn;t planned to get together so it was really nice that it worked out that way, I’d just been walking through the Park and she was closeby — stuff like that is why I love New York. Only in this bustling metropolis can you be walking through a park, feeding ducks and baking in the sun when your cell goes off and 2 minutes later you’re sitting at a diner having french toast and tea with somebody you haven’t kicked it with in 200 years. Ironically, Meg’s moving to L.A. in 2 weeks. Traitor. She’s thrilled about it though and as much as I hate admitting it, I really do think it’s a good move for her. I, myself, could never live there. I’m convinced I’d become like Claire Danes from Shopgirl. Detached, lonely, understated, and settling for “faux-mance” with horny losers and dirty old men. It might all be worth it though, if I could have that Death Cab song playing everytime I walked down the street and looked wistfully over my shoulder behind me. Yeah, that won’t be Meg. She’s gonna become an anorexic headshot dispenser with capped teeth and bronze skin who gets wheatgrass enemas and wears VonDutch. She’ll lose that amazing personality of hers in a tidal wave of green tea, heroin, and gridlock traffic on the 105, and they’ll call me to fly down and claim her. I’ll drag her back to New York and immediately begin nursing her back to health with Upper West Side brunches and wry humor, only none of it will do any good b/c true New Yorkers refuse to give in to kindness from their fellow man. And Meg is nothing if not a true New Yorker. Still, I can’t wait for her breakdown. (Just kidding, Meg… you’re totally an iced coffee enema kind of girl, anyway).

The best came last today when I finally got to see my little man P, who’s been gone way too long on a last minute trip home. We went to see Superman Returns. I liked it a lot. Brandon Routh used to be a bellman @ HUDSON when I first started there actually, so it was cool to see (and lust after) him all muscular and amazing on a big screen. What a stud they turned him into, cuz he sure didn’t turn any heads back when I knew him. Those shots where Superman’s hoisting bigass shit into the air and stopping stuff from falling? WOW. I found myself really caught up into parts of it, even though most of the cast was devoid of any personality. Yeah, let’s talk about this.

Remember how brash and mannish Margot Kidder played Lois Lane? Why couldn’t we have gotten something like that from Kate Bosworth? Just SOME choice from her other than that worried mom look. And I loved Brandon Routh, I think he filled the suit in all the right ways, but damn — no playfulness, none, not even as Clark Kent. Even Parker Posey spent too much time sniffling and giving us delayed reactions to everything, and that’s not the Parker I know and love. The only person really having any fun was Kevin Spacey but it didn’t seem appropriate, it kept downplaying his plot and I never really worried that he might actually win or kill anyone. That’s another thing: I’m sick of nobody dying in these action movies anymore. Life is full of fatalities and dammit, I want carnage for my $11. I think the person I actually spent the most time rooting for was James Marsden as Lois’ fiance, who I think is the one character we were all supposed to not like. I actually felt for him and shit that fucker is fine, you know his ass drinks infant blood, sacrifices virgins to Beelzebub or something to stay so damn attractive. Does anyone else get the feeling that he probably lobbied hard as hell to play Superman — and 5 years ago he was probably the lead candidate — then WHAM, he came into his 30’s and started to look it? So some producer probably was like, “Um hey James why don’t we have you play the OTHER guy instead? It’ll be so much better than playing the lead! Also, here’s some anti-wrinke cream.” Fuck them, James. You keep playing that fiance role, I’ll root for you.

A good day. I am all done with my tests — ALL DONE — and it feels so good to know I’m healthy, I enjoyed a beautiful day with a beautiful friend who won’t be around much longer, my boyfriend’s back in town and I’m falling harder in love every day, and the world has a new Superman. But Smitty is still my super hero.

A Wish for Pride

Gay Pride Day in NYC. The city has been getting hit with tons of thunderstorms lately but I have a feeling even Mother Nature isn’t a big enough diva to rain down on the big gay parade (and all the buttsex) taking place today. Rock on, homos.

After a hellish day at work I was in no goddamn mood to play, so I went straight home this afternoon and skipped the gay stuff on 5th ave altogether. Well, the public gay stuff anyway. Got home, downloaded a gay travel documentary, watched Auntie Mame on DVD, and iTuned the Original Cast Recording of COMPANY. Just me, some strappin’ nekked Europeans, the fabulous Rosalind Russell, and Elaine Strich’s 700yr old ass screeching, “Here’s to the ladies who lunch, everybody riiiiiiiiiiiiiiise….“; us just kicking it all evening together and having a gay old time. Pride on 5th ave or Pride up in NoWa, whatever. Fanning the flames of my faggotry from time to time; it’s a good thing.

Took P with me to a friends birthday dinner @ Agave tonight, this really great Southwestern eatery in the West Village. I had skirt steak fajitas and a mojito, I felt very mexican. I also had a weird moment when the birthday girl said she was turning 25 — I caught myself about to say, “Awww that’s so young.” I hate getting older, man. Hate that the thought of turning 25 strikes any kind of nostalgic chord in me whatsoever. Ugh. Anyway, she liked her present a lot but was more excited about the cute little gift bag I put it in, which I thought was adorable (it looked like a little purse). P was really good with my friends (and dinner with my Inner Circle is no breezy task) and they all liked him a lot. I felt so proud having him next to me, being adorable and funny. We left the party on a high note and and caught the 9:40pm show of Nacho Libre, which was a hellava lot more charming than I expected. Is it a little bit sad that Jack Black comes off more mexican than me? Pienso que todos sabemos que la respuesta esta si.

I totally needed Babelfish to type that.

It’s been about 2 years since that whole cancer thing came and went; today I took a deep breath and went back in to get a full check-up on it again. I was really scared for some reason, not of finding out whether or not anything is back in my system, but more of just… I don’t know, just not wanting to DEAL with it all over again. The doctor’s appointments, the tricky medicines, the test results, the whole mindset you have to go to. Nothing’s wrong or anything, my health is great and I’ve had no reason to freak out about my status — I’ve just had had this feeling lately, an unsettled one, maybe from turning 27. As well as life has been going lately (my friend Meg jokes that I’ve got the Magic Three: great job, great apartment, great relationship) there’s a chunk of me that’s been feeling mightly listless. I don’t know what to do with myself a lot of the time. I’m certainly not trying to dig for drama to spice up my life, I just need a clean slate to get myself going someplace new. A clean bill of health is a good place to start from.

It’s amazing the things your mind will hang onto and let go of. Like, I found my eyes automatically welling up the moment I stepped out of the elevator and onto the 8th floor of my doctor’s office building today, just remembering how scared I’d been on that floor before. Yet I couldn’t remember what my doctor looked like exactly, or whether or not I was pronouncing her name right. Isn’t that weird? You’d think the names and faces, examining room numbers and technical terminology that were all such a part of my experience would be burned into my brain, things I’d never forget… but it’s amazing how easily they all slip from your mind. How happy you are to neber think about that shit again. My main lady, Dr. F, on the other hand totally remembered me right away, which was nice. She said that she’d been wondering how I was doing and it was good to see me looking so healthy (i.e. fat), asked about my parents in Houston, did they get affected by the hurricanes? did I still work @ the Hudson Hotel? was I still single? She did a total physical exam and scheduled me for a full check-up: chest x-rays, cat scan, sonogram (all of these verify that cancer hasn’t spread anyplace) and even that dreaded HIV/STD run too. She hugged me when I left and it made me feel glad that I’d come in to take care of this shit. I suddenly stopped being resistant to being there and realized that in a way, it was the safest and best place for me to be cuz if my luck is shit and they find cancer again THESE are the folks who will make me better.

I did all the bloodwork today and actually did the chest Xray on my way out. Easy snap. The big cancer tests are on June 28th but today we got the ball rolling. It’s weird to be here again, this place where I’m fitting cat scans into my lunchbreaks and waiting on blood results. Weirdness crept over me as I sat on the subway platform this afternoon, waiting on my train and putting my Oncologist, Radiologist, and Emergency Nurse back into my cellphone. Yeah, it’s really weird to be here again. But I’ll deal cuz if I’ve got something bad in the works I’d much rather face it head-on, as scary as it might be. And if I’ve got no strings holding me down then I damn well can’t wait to know.

Hey I won an ipod @ work this morning. Top scores for something or other. And a VIP hotel guest sent me a kickass Thank You for hooking them up last week — a giftbag from Clinique, the entire men’s cosmetics and skincare line. And if you look at it technically, I did drop my pants and get felt up today. So it was kinda like Christmas, everybody got a little something.

For any other Texans wandering Manhattan? Cowgirl Hall of Fame is the best and pretty much only place to get a good chicken fried steak in NYC. I met up with my little man P and his buddy John for lunch there afterwork today, was really pretty out. Metup with Mike, Jess, and Carrie for Tasty Delight on 15th and 6th later (and I wonder why I’m gettin’ thick). We caught this horrible throwdown in the middle of the street between a homeless trannie and 3 Jersey girls. Sounds amusing right? Far from it.

It was totally disturbing that these 3 little whores— probably drunk and just back from the Puerto Rican Day Parade, trying to be outrageous and crazy — were just goofing off at his expense, calling him a freakshow and faggot, taunting him and being evil for no reason. It was so The Craft. This little old man had just been sitting there by his own little crazy self, wearing his cute little pink pumps and old lady church hat, having a nice little chat with the voices in his head (as crazy people tend to do) when these girls walked past him and started to fuck with him for a laugh. He didn’t take it lying down — that bitch stood to his feet, pulled out his umbrella, and took no prisoners — he followed those girls into the street, just swinging his broken umbrella like Mary Poppins on crack, screaming “I’m a GIRL, dammit!”. You could see this only fueled them, cuz they started digging through the corner garbage can and hurling things at him.

This is when New Yorkers took over. Everyone on that block — gays walking their dogs, women pushing their strollers, tourists hauling their Macy’s bags — descended on those girls like the Claymates on Kathy Griffin. My friends included, Jess started yanking off her earings and greasing up her face for a smackdown and Mike actually got in their faces and threatened to call the cops. The sad part is that the girls didn’t feel a bit embarassed for what they were doing, the ringleader kept screaming we could call suck her bloody cunt (I shuddered just typing that) and they left just as loud as they came. But I love that I live in a city where the residents would run the to defense of a cracked out homeless trannie than a bunch of Jersey loudmouths.

Worked this morning and left early, it was too dead (and too gorgeous outside) to stick around. I shopped the hell out of Soho this afternoon. Andy CheePee’s, Versani, H&M, and Co-Pilot were very good to me. Found this old belt that had been punched with all these rivets and metal washers, kinda weird, for $20. I also got some new kicks ON CLEARANCE, some bigass chunky frog-stompers that I’ve been eyeing for awhile. The soles are all heavy and rubbery like tires and I just love them; the fact that they make me about 2″ taller has NOTHING to do with it. Ahem. I could kill a person with these fuckers. Too boot-ylicious for you.

I also bought really cute green underwear. No pictures of that for you. Yet. Somewhere between work, shopping, cool breezes, and zoning out on the subway today I realized that I really miss my family.

Got home and took Mo out for a long walk in Fort Tryon Park. He peed on everything. Adorable. I’m supposed to head back out later tonight and meetup with some friends @ a house party way downtown. I really wanna see them but I’m probably gonna flake, the cab ride back home will be too pricey and I’d rather spend the cash on more lazy afternoons in Soho.

Confession time: I think I’m getting a little thick. Little BIG Chris is about to be an understatement — dare I say… gay fat? The kind of barely-fat where you smile and see more cheeks instead of cheekbones. Where you need to always be in an cute outfit b/c you’re not fit enough to just wear a tank top anymore and snug tee shirts are more of a risk than taunt. Notice how there’s not so many pictures of me up on here anymore? Yeah, that’s for a reason. And I’ll even admit this: I decided against a huge birthday party this year for a lot of reasons, but one of them was actually b/c I’m not feeling that Hot and I don’t need 100 pictures of the night with me looking like Jay Manuel on America’s Next Top Model, who is totally gay fat… and also just really gay, ya’ll.

No, friends, I just ain’t feeling at my most beautiful lately. For most guys, a 30inch waist is a goal — for a little man of 5′4″ who has always worn 28 and been a fit 127lbs, it’s a horrific moment in time to be 141lbs. As comforting as it would be to say that it’s probably all just me being hard on myself and imagining things, it’s totally not. I get comments about it all the time. “Are you working out, you look bigger.” “Look how healthy being in love makes you!” “You look so beefy, it’s great!” These things are unintentional code for “You’re fatter than I remember.”

3 weeks into being 27 and I’m already getting visual reminders that I can no longer defy gravity and time. Small signs. Like the fact that when I don’t get enough sleep, the bags under my eyes don’t just dissappear into my youthful skin anymore — those fuckers stay parked. My metabolism clearly isn’t as fast as it was. I can’t go through a box of ceral in one afternoon if I want to anymore. I can’t mindlessly have Chipotle 3 days in a row like before cuz now when I eat recklessly, the consquences actually GO somewhere on my body. It’s weird. Thus, I’m making good friends with the treadmill @ my new gym, a hateful bitch I’ve never bothered myself getting to know before now. I have to play nice, that treadmill is my ride outta Gay Fatville.

So it’s obvious my journal is not the daily juice it used to be, but I do miss writing. I have a whole backlog of half-posts that I haven’t put just b/c they don’t seem interesting and I don’t always have time to sit and post up a storm… still, so much time is flying by and I don’t want to everything to blur together. I might start putting them up. Entries might be shorter. Be warned.

I think I made an important impression on my new General Manager @ work today. He’s been here about 2 weeks and kept a relatively low profile, watching and observing (some might say scheming a future downsize), but a quirky email response I sent back to a guest inquiry made him take notice of my “creative way of approaching the job”. I know cuz he mentioned it to someone. Then somebody else sent a seperate email to him (cc’d me) PRASING my ass for how helpful I was to them and I’m pretty sure he’s starting to recongize my powers. Impressions are powerful cuz some ppl stick to the way the first percieve you and don’t ever look at you differently. I haven’t really known what to think of this new GM so far, he’s one of those shifty ppl who use the “bcc” field on emails and refer to his spouse as a “significan’t other”. My gaurd around him is not going down for awhile, time will tell and we’ll see how this goes.

Meanwhile, I got an O (for Outstanding) on my 1yr review recently and in the land of W that’s like getting a perfect 10. Apparently my boss has never given a perfect review before. I know it’s silly but shit man, it got me a seriousass raise. Although lazy colleagues test my patience, things seem to be hitting a smooth stride in the workplace. My 2 week vacation time (10 work days) kicks in at the end of the month and I’m thinking about using 5 days one week at a time — working just 4 days a week (with 3 days off) for 5 weeks — and at the end of the 5 weeks, use my remaining 5 days together and take a week vacation someplace. My job’s about to get busy as fuck with summer tourism coming and I just might be able to stay sane if I can get a 3day weekend for a good chunk of the summer. Just an idea, we’ll see what they go for. I’m NOT above using my “perfect review” and Rookie of the Year award as leverage.

It was sunny and warm for a few hours this afternoon. I got a venti Passion Lemonade @ Starbucks and walked around Union Square NOT wearing a jacket or carrying an umbrella for the first time in a week. An ex-roommate of mine was in town and met up with me for a little bit, was really good to hug her. I came home and it rained hard. Nice day.