Sunday, December 27, 2009

Top 100 Facebook Status Updates of 2009

The Illustrious D...

is secretly glad that you're fat

misses you at times but then when he looks at your Facebook status it magically goes away

is still in his pimpin' robe. Grad school application: done!

is buttoning his Benjamins tonight

is looking for someone who knows Greek. No, the language.

has very loose pants. And morals.

just watched Ryan Seacrest try to high-five a blind guy

- worth leaving your husband for

is dancing as he has been informed that it's gonna be ok.

is tin roof. Rusted.

looks too oot oopples oond boonoonoos

feels that it is time for everyone to stop refering to the release of an album as 'dropping'. Also, get off his lawn

feels a bit off today. Would anyone care to turn him on?

is doing the No Work Tomorrow dance. It's not pretty.

is no croque, monsieur!

just inhaled that Caprese salad!...He means, steak. He inhaled that steak.

can't decide if the Carpenters are retro-cool or retro-crap

just sold his soul. It feels...not bad.

has receive for Valentine's Day thus far a Facebook gift of nothing and a chocolate trifle from his mom.

is ridiculously proud of himself for not eating the entire trifle

+ disturbed sleep + 5 shots of espresso = talking about a stranger's muffin

is too sexy for his Whitestrips®

is vibrating from fatigue, espresso.

is gonna go all auto-da-fe on his mailbox.

defies Mr. Men

is processing

wishes he WAS at Arby's cause there'd be better food and cooler people!

likes people liking him attending an event

tasted the rainbow. It was crap.

loves peach tea. Now that's the real rainbow, beehatch.

has made an amazing banana

bread at last. Martha got pwned

Destroyer of Bananas

is overwhelmed by cheese and time.

is the love phoenix

could never be your woman.

said there would be days like this, there would be days like this, David said. David said, David said!

is praying for sleep. Baruch atah Adonai, elohenu Melech ha'olam...sleep.

is ever just the same, ever a surprise.

has two voice types, high and low. He sings both. Most people can only sing one.

is continuing his trend of getting into musicals starring Idina Menzel six years after their debut. He likes a sure bet.

has the solution for matzah-induced constipation: four glasses of wine.

would like some happiness in pill form. kthx.

is going to ingest the entire Safeway bakery tomorrow night.

is everything you need; you better rock your body now.

is making a Zen garden in his hummus.

feels there ought to be more fatties at the gym. Where my hambeasts at?!

thanks his liver for putting up with last night's shenanigans. You kicked ass, L-Town.

is pondering the odd correlation between people who love God and cooking with marshmallows.

is in love with Emily Haines's [i] vowel.

doesn't remember that rush of

joy. The rose and the pearl? Wasn't born for 'em.

thinks that someone needs spellcheck. And yes, if you think he's talking about you, then it's you. Moran.

is the tiniest bit unlike he anticipated.

feels that LeVar Burton is under the impression that he is really quite cool.

is like a lead safe, but with a moustache and a learning disorder.

opens doors for old ladies. Well, the hot ones.

is cuddly, bitch! Deal with it.

wants to live on Jay Brannan's lips.

is moving to Toronto in the middle of Pride. Baptism by flamey, flamey fire.

hid under your porch because he loves you

is going to throw up on the next Hollister shirt he sees.

is your sweetest downfall.

is applying for emotional robothood.

is keeping his love locked down.

is taking himself on a date tonight.

is renaming it So You Think You Can Bawl Like A Little Girl.

is celebrating Shabbat by going to shul and eating Iranian food. UN, eat your heart out.

is your biggest fan, he'll follow you until you love him, paparazzim.

// Me prot├Ęge de lui que je desire.

can indeed attest to the difficulty of this physical geography for a prostitutional manager.

wishes he could consume frozen desserts with the same caloric abandon as the Golden Girls.

thanks you for the appearance in his romantic reconciliation dream last night. It's comforting to know that you can act like a human being in his subconscious, if not actual life.

is dabbling in hobby alcoholism.

O...M...G... Stop %*&ing voting for Evan cause you know what happens when you do, people? Babies lose the ability to laugh and I forget to form my status in the goddamn third person singular!!!!!!!

wishes everyone a very happy Tori Day.

needs a new muse.

is weakened by apathy. And the flu.

is the next best thing to Tim Gunn.

has developed an all too natural attachment to sweetened condensed milk.

is playing with power tools, his life.

is going to watch a redheaded Russian Jew bang on a piano for a couple hours.

likes something a little creamier...

has discovered the secret to Life: (sequentially) nap, pee, eat a cookie.

is always punching guys...girls... He'll punch a baby, he doesn't care...

likes it. Does this intrinsically imply that he should have put a ring on it?

is trying to close a Pandora's Box with a broken lock.

- "Without sex, dating is just letting people annoy you."

encounters the most baffling of angels at times.

is checking into the Choirgirl Hotel one more time.

has renewed faith in cabbies.

thinks that John Krasinski looks like he'd be a great hugger.

Can someone make this happen? Thanks.

won't stop believeing, holding on to that fee-ee-ee-ling.

is the proud new owner of purple argyle underwear.

won't let them begin the Beguine.

is like the angle opposite the hypotenuse. He's always right.

will go to the animal shelter and get you a kitty cat. He will let you fall in love with that kitty cat. And then on some dark cold night, he will steal away into your home and punch you in the face.

will call you Gaga if he damn well pleases!

is pondering what kind of disease a cured ham could have had.

is gonna punch the next homosexual male that uses Lady GaGa lyrics in their Facebook status. Straight in their Poker Face.

just got his first non-friend blog comment and is pathetically elated with how quickly his plans for gay blog world domination is coming.

has good lips

Tuesday, December 22, 2009

While categorizing my last entry, I suddenly realized that I have had no occasion to create a label for a post in which there is a boy and he does not fuck me over. Huh.
I look like such a hot mess today that I'm considering firing myself. The work ensemble is a long-sleeve brown polo over a vintage white-, green-, blue- and brown-striped regular polo with dark blue and brown plaid trousers. This is not business casual. I look like an ensemble player from Rent. This is largely due to the fact that I just got back to my apartment last night after house sitting for the last 10 days and am too sick to attempt laundry. That shit is tricky, yo.

My coworker gave me Christmas card today, only to e-mail her apologees two hours later, stating that she written the card "like, a month ago" before she knew I was Jewish. I assured her that I was touched by the thought nevertheless. It's kinda cute that she felt so bad about it. Meh, she's German; we'll call it even.

Thanks to everyone both online and in RL for your best wishes regarding me finally getting some last Wednesday, putting an end to an era I've now affectionally termed The Dust Ball. The lad is young, smallish and Portuguese, and looks not unlike a cross between Eli Roth, Mario Cantone, Fred Savage and Fez. Rather enjoyable, a sentiment he seems to share about me as he came over again on Friday night…and stayed until Monday afternoon. The best part is that we didn't really do anything except watch movies, eat food, hot tub, cuddle and fondle each other. Oh and he made me play Poker Face on the piano in accompaniment to his ringtone followed by his demand that I teach him how to play Do, a Deer. He even stayed over on Sunday when I was already pretty gross with this cold. Is that a sweetheart? I think so. Note to self, though: If you're gonna eat Italian and Indian food all weekend, invest in a toothbrush for the boy, cause by day 2 I was already switching up my breathing patterns to inhale only through my mouth while making out. Corollary: Listerine alone is not enough.

Back to Winnipeg on Thursday, where I plan to do nothing but watch movies, eat food, hot tub, cuddle and fondle myself.

Thursday, December 17, 2009

It is 9:30 and I am so exhausted that while walking to the bathroom at work I momentarily debated whether it would be possible to get there with my eyes closed. Then I attempted this. It is not.

What is the reason for my Macy Gray-esque demeanor today? It's not the two days of experimenting with pharmaceuticals, though that can't have have helped. No, the answer is that last night my Jerry Lewis Telethon-level chastity drive ended and as a result I may have gotten 2 hours of sleep. So for all you lucky Winnipeg lot, be lucky that the David you will be receiving next week is not the cranky horned-up bitch that's been wandering the Greater Toronto Area for the past four months. And that, my friends, is my Christmas gift to you.

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Sometimes I start feeling self-superior that I'm not a gay stereotype, out whoring myself, worshipping gym culture, pleading to leave Britney alone. Then I get Rihanna's Take A Bow stuck in my head for 4 days straight and I am knocked down several pegs.

My day at work yesterday was absolutely chock full of amusing anecdotes and ironic yet self-defeating observations that have become the bread and butter for this blog. However, I cannot remember any of them and do you want to know why?

Because I was high as a kite on 3 extra strength non-drowsy decongestants containing a grand total of 180 mg. of Pseudoephedrine.

I have always been skeptical of the "extra strength" claim as they never seemed to provide much more relief than their regular strength brethren. It would seem, however, given the fact that my pupils were larger than my testicles (And that is saying something; I'm Jewish), that I was delightfully/horribly wrong.

As I could barely hold a functional conversation, I sequestered myself to a locked records management room for the better part of the morning, emerging only to go to the bathroom via an immaculately thought out route designed to avoid the maximum number of people with whom I would be socially obliged to make eye contact. This journey happened roughly 8 times before noon.

It was at this point that I decided to share my slightly-euphoric experience via text message:

Illustrious D: 3 extra-strength non-drowsy decongestants at work = not the best idea

Rando Friend: No one is that congested. u r probably totally high.

ID: There is no probably. My eyeballs are practically humming the Glee soundtrack.

RF: I am disappointed that my own eyes aren't as musically proficient as yours.

Truthfully, he wasn't wrong; no one is that congested. I just thought it might be kinda fun and, in fact, I could see it being a ton of fun, say at a club or in a hot tub. At your place of employment, however, it is my understanding that staring at your circa-1995 screen saver for 17 minutes straight is frowned upon.

Lesson learned. Today I only took two.

Monday, December 14, 2009

Great weekend with the out-of town-friend. I feel that any bi leanings he may have had in the past have definitely fallen to the wayside, though not for a lack of open-mindedness. This is the guy who, in high school, confessed that he felt he was bi because the idea of kissing another boy didn't totally gross him out. I'd councelled him that there were some additional body parts he would need to consider before rendering a verdict, but had appreciated his candour nevertheless. He stayed in his bed, me in mine and ne'er did a mattress we share except for when watching Glee reruns on my laptop. The running joke for the weekend was the fact that I sleep next to a body pillow roughly the size of an eight year old. A very bloated eight year old. We named him Paco.

Highlights from the weekend included seeing (for free!) the premiere of Philip Glass's (that's right: 's) new violin concerto, an hommage to The Four Seasons (Vivaldi, not Motown) and was played by the most God-gifted violinist I have ever heard. (I really need to learn how to better formulate sentences or cut back on my use of parantheses.) We also went to this queer hipster party night (growing trend? Hopefully.) that predominantly featured old school hip hop. Thanks to 3 double vodka sodas, I have never been blacker in my life. I'm not sure if it was the fact that this was the most Caucasian place I've ever been in the multicultural bastion that is Toronto and being the lone Jew boy made me the most ghetto person there or simply the fact that I've really been enjoying Russell on So You Think You Can Dance. Regardless, I got crunk and may have attempted crumping, 'specially during the random mid-set playing of All That She Wants.

I haven't seen ESLothario in nearly two weeks. I do not know how I feel about this. While it likely aids my mental sanity, this distance, due largely to conflicting schedules and winter illnesses, is definitely causing a drift. My initial plan two months ago was to become ubiquitous in his life, which worked for a bit but was ultimately painful during those unintentional reminders that I am not at the forefront of his thoughts, causing me to pull away. Apart from one friend who offered to fetch him, grab his tongue and stick it down my throat, the general opinion from others is that he sounds like a bit of a tool and yet I still can't let it go, likely because I feel I still don't get him. If I understand someone, their way of thinking/living, and I feel shot down, then I'm perfectly capable of getting my irrationial resentment on and moving forward. However, he's so hot and cold, in my head at least; I'd almost prefer just to get shot down than attempt this any longer.

I'm housesitting my aunt and uncle for the next ten days. Evidently, my packing list did not include "Any Other Pants Than The Jeans You Have On" and so today I went to work wearing my uncle's size 38 pleated wool trousers. The only enchanted place that could be visited via his wardrobe is the Land of Salvation Army. They are so large that the crotch is almost at my knees, which would be tragic if not for the recent fashion reemergence of harem pants. Evidently, I can touch this.

Anyway, these relatives live quite a ways from downtown, not the suburbs but still enough to add some new isolation onto the heap. The up side? They have a hot tub, mafakas! It is perfectly built for two and by "two" I mean "two people who are fucking" as it would be very difficult to sit in without multiple extremities touching/converging. If this hot tub fails to get me some before my time there is over, I am becoming a lesbian.

Happy Hanukkah.