5 Things That I Love Right Now That Have Nothing To Do With Two Glasses Of Wine

1. Frozen Snickers Bars - omagod, have you ever tried one?! How about just a third of one?! They are aMAzing!!!!!!!

2. My New Snickers Belt - A girl that I know made me a belt - wait for it - made out of snickers bars. Well, the wrappers. And plastic. And a buckle. And a bunchaotherstuff BUT it is awesome! She also gave me three (3) of the snickers in a small plastic baggy which I then froze (see point number 1).

3. Parks & Recreation - And no, not just cause of the wine. Big part of it, though.

4. Fiona Apple - J.H.C. that bitch is amazing.

5. Finally convincing someone else that Chelsea Lately is amazing - Thank God for aw (her initials, not otomatopeia). She gets me and my me-isms.

Tomorrow when I'm a bit hung over at work I will compile a list of 5 Things That I Hate Right Now That Have Nothing To Do With The Fact That I'm A Dumbass That Drank Two Glasses Of Wine On A Weeknight. And it will actually be funny. Maybe.

Pimp my ass, Bill Cosby

There are two types of gay men in the world: insanely beautiful ones and insanely beautiful ones that are lazy. I, naturally, fall into the latter category.

It is my belief that pretty much everyone can be beautiful to some degree or another given the right diet/exercise/eyebrow maintenance routines. There are some exceptions but they are all straight. (Please do not log on to any online hook up sites or World of Warcraft tournaments in order to prove me wrong. That's just rude.)

I am well aware that physical perfection is not that hard to obtain. Just jokes, kids; it takes crazy kinds of dedimacation. Still, given that a solid 75% of Toronto's homoyoudon'ts seem to have some iota of sculpture to their form, it probably isn't that ridiculous to undertake. That said, I am ridiculous and refuse to lay a foot on a pedal or a hand on a barbell until such a time as I a) want to impress someone or b) get made fun of . The fact that I refuse to do it "just for me" like all those other assholes claim to is probably a pretty good indicator why Bill Cosby once offered to do a commercial spot for my ass. No, I choose instead to jump on whatever new eating habit is presented to me as gospel and just rock that for a while until Reese's introduces their next limited edition offering (I have tried everyone one for the past ten years; please do not be jealous of my legacy). Given that I'm going to be seeing judgmental Hungarian relatives in roughly 6 weeks time, I might want to get that. On the other hand, I hear that they're coming out with a Peanut Butter Cup/Turtles hybrid, so prolly not. Whatever, screw you, Hungary. Way to get beaten in, like, every war ever. Losers.

In other news*, ESLothario is back with his boyfriend of the last five years and I don't care. Is this personal progress people? We think so. I had a genuinely happy-for-him reaction when he told me and he just seemed so sweetness-and-light about the whole thing that even my caustic jealous ass couldn't turn that smile into a shit pile**. He also said that he wants to set me up with a friend of his. This made me excited for two reasons. First, the only infinitesimal success I've had with dating has come not through the 98% of my experiences derived from online dating sites but rather introductions through friends. The Mennotobans failed MISERABLY in this regard (way to all be in the closet *slow claps*) so bring on the Balkans. Secondly, I became very intrigued as ESLothario has fucking...HOT...friends. Like, for serious. He's pretty much the ugly one of the bunch. So naturally, I had high hopes...until he whipped out his iPhone. Now, I am, admittedly, kinda picky about mah menz, but I do my best not to judge until I get to know someone and certainly never from one picture. That said...really? You have an entire harem of Bel Ami models on your facebook and the one you've chosen for me is the Eastern Block's answer to Owen Wilson? MY DAD THINKS I'M HOT!

Good thing I don't have a live journal cause my emotional state or whatever for this post would be "annoying." Dayuuuum...

*Hey David, it's me, your blog. You write "In other news" like every couple of posts, dude. You write a blog; ALL OF THIS IS OTHER FUCKING NEWS.

**That was my flip take on "Turn that frown upside down." Will it flourish in our vernacular? Only time can tell. Early polls, however, say not well.

Dear Future Roommate,

This coming Fall, I will begin a year-long house sitting stint with one of mah besties from my hometown who is dragging her sorry soprano ass cross country to live with my sorry might-as-well-be-a-castrato-for-all-anyone-cares ass. This will be the very first time that I live with anyone other than my family. The fact that we will be living in a house other than an apartment will make a huge difference as far as the crampings of our respective styles (or lack thereof; Paisley Ghetto Hoodie, I'm-a lookin' at you), but nevertheless there are some things about me that she should probably learn about before hand and what better way to express these very personal idiosyncrasies than in a very public blog. Thus, I present part one of...

Dear Future Roommate,

In the time that we live together, you will, at some point, see my penis. Now, I recognize that this may not be the smoothest entrance into the list of points you should know, but I figure I'd just throw you into the deep end, clothes on, right off the bat.

DO NOT BE AFRAID OF IT! No one is. This is not something that I wish to happen, having outgrown that stage of my life along with my fascination for Fruity-Os and Starlight Surprise Barbie. I feel I should warn you nevertheless, because despite my frequent shame regarding him, the Peen has a way of appearing out of the blue for no. Reason. Whatsoever. I wish I could tell you (and future lovers) that he is simply too great and magnificent to be sheathed, but tragically, I am Jewish and this is not the case. Unfortunately, God's chosen people were only given superiority above all other nations in the low-hangers that accompany the main attraction. This may explain why we are such a self-martyring people. Also, the Holocaust.

Additionally, we are genetically disposed to carry the Grower-Not-A-Show-er gene. This means that while we, in fact, can hold our own come show time, we are rather unassuming in the off-season. Also, please note that the house is generally kept rather cold and that I immerse myself in water with some frequency. As such, appropriate responses should you walk in on any nekkiditude would NOT include "Awww!" or "It looks like a corsage!"

Also, please note that even if I happen to show you mine, I under no circumstances want to see yours. Unless that circumstance involves copious amounts of uppers, Cialis and a bisexual Latino. I love lady bodies, especially the lumps. They're like little pillows of delight that squish me when I am hugged by the womenz. Also, I am fascinated at how the attach underneath. Is there a clear crease or more of a gradual sag? Is the underside white like underneath a watch band? Do you need to lift them up when washing to get at stubborn under-boob lint? These are questions I have, but notice how none of them have to do with vaginas. Not interested. Thought sometimes with alcohol. So given our predicted mutual drinking problem, it will probably come up at some point. Well, this paragraph was a bust...

Anyway, I'm sorry that you need to know all this, but not actually, cause why the hell would I write about it if I didn't want the whole world to know. Clearly, I am an attention seeking blog whore. Still, I will try to guard you from my shame and if nothing else I promise to keep up the manscaping. The fact that I expect the same courtesy grooming from you should be a given.


Love,

D

Encounters with black people

Earlier today, I overheard a conversation in the next cubicle over wherein a large-derriered admin assistant was talking about making something but then quickly corrected herself and said, "Not that I created it. The only one that can create is God."

Bitch, it's an Excel spreadsheet. Calm the eff down.

Then just now I was walking to the bathroom to get my spider solitaire on when another woman stopped me to make small talk, remarking that she hadn't seen my "sturdy gate" in a while. I informed her that I had been visiting my hometown and she started going on about how people there must hate Toronto for having warmer weather.

"Though they all hate Toronto for more than just the weather, cause we got everything here," she said.

"Werd," I said.

"And they don't gotta be hatin' on us 'bout the weather. Talk to the Controller," she said pointing towards the heavens.

I mumbled something about complaining to "Upper Management" that she laughed at before walking away. Shit son, do black people ever love Jesus!

Hey, everybody remember my coworker who openly cried about our boss on my second day in the department, referred to her food-baby as n*ggeritis and asked me about where I like to put my penis? Who doesn't. Well, she's at it again. This time her absolute disregard to workplace decorum struck not in the form of a depleted supply of Arm & Hammer For Her but rather in an e-mail forward subjected "How to Teach Kids About Sexuality." Let me present select examples from this educational illumination that uses office supplies to represent different sexual relationships.

It started out simply enough:







































Now pay attention, here's where things start to go south:














Hey, I know you're all jazzed cause Obama's prez. We all are. And yes, I will admit that I enjoyed the movie 'O' far more than most. But if a Blackie and a Redskin decide to go at it, that is no one's business but their own! And wait, does this mean that the blue pens were white guys? Oh, I see. Blue like smurfs. Cause we have smaller penii compared to your giant African pantsnakes. Just cause it is universally true does not make it okay to forward to me!














This would be funny if the person to whom you forwarded the word 'ejaculation' didn't have to look you in the face and smell you in the pit for 1/3 of his waking hours.















Okay, I'll admit that this one is pretty funny. It's more she-male than tranny, but bygones...















Again, I will reward you with moderate applause. The fact that you even went to the effort of commandeering a Viagra-blue sharpner really shows the detail work we were looking for. (This also reminds me of a line I once gave a fellow classmate at music school: "Hey, I boned your mom last night. At first, I thought I might have trouble staying sharp cause she was so flat, but luckily I was a natural." It's not good.)














Okay, now this shit is hilaaaaaaari-o. 'Specially seeing as God hates contraception.















Um, what?! Are you even legally allowed to say that in public?! SO MUCH NO! Though that red pen slut is totally asking for it...

I cannot even comment on this as I am slowly rocking myself in a corner. In what body odourless world is this woman living in?! Just cause we're all in a seriously messed up time period of excusing pedophiles, does not make it remotely okay to forward this shit to me!

Buuuuut, it's pretty fucking funny that you did. Rock on, Black Magic.

HOLY HELL! Is anyone else getting crazy ad jumps when trying to access this page? Not cool, spam ninjas! NOT COOL!

(I just pressed the stop button a buncha times and it seemed to help.)



UPDATE: Turns out that the super cool hit counter that I installed a couple weeks ago to feel all self-important was an embedded spam jumper... program... something. It is gone now along with the part of my ego that was devoted to noticing that the new super cool hit counter I installed a couple weeks ago feel all self-important still hadn't moved past zero.

Additionally, a girl laughed at me last night as I was hauling my suitcase and a small bag of groceries home at 11:30pm and one of the apples fell onto the road and rolled to the other side. When I picked it up she yelled, "Ewwwwwww, he's still gonna eat itttt!!!!"

Hey. Dumb, drunk if-Rachel-Evan-Wood-mated-with-a-bovine lookalike. Protip: It's called soap and water. Many of us use it to wash produce. Also, our genitals. I suggest you begin using it for at least one of the items mentioned. Well, at least she didn't ask me if I'd done a tour in Afghanistan.

Inappropriate Dad: So what's going on with your hair?

Illustrious D: What?

ID: Your hair. What are you doing with it?

ID-

Wait. This isn't going to work. SON OF A BITCH. MY FIRST DAY BACK TO BLOGGING AND THIS IS THE SHIT I HAVE TO PUT UP WITH?


Blue ocean, gentle rain, cries of small children...Ok, I'm back.


Aging Hungarian: So what's going on with your hair?

Illustrious D: What?

AH: Your hair. What are you doing with it?

ID: Nothing...

AH: But how did you get more of it?

ID: Dad, what the hell are you talking about?

AH: What? It looks fuller somehow. That's all I'm saying.

ID: I have an awesome stylist and I've found the product combo that works for me.

AH: So you didn't get any, uh...?

ID: No, dad. I didn't have any folicular surgeries, if that's what you're getting at.

AH: Well, good. So why don't you have someone in your life?

ID [to self]: Fuck me...

AH: Is it that you just aren't interested in dating? Or have you just not found the right person yet? I mean, why don't guys want to date you?

ID: Trust me, when I find out myself, you'll be the first to know.

AH: I mean, seriously, what's the matter with these guys? You're way better looking than most of them. You must be able to have your pick of the lot. What's wrong them?

ID: You've clearly never been to Church St.

AH: I don't need to go to Church St. I can tell you that you're better than average looking and it's time for them to wake up and take notice.

ID: I don't know what to tell you, Dad.

AH: Well, work on that. Also, we're putting Finnigan down.


My family has decided to put down my asshole of a dog, Finnigan. While undeniably moppy and cute now that we've stopped going to the effort of grooming him, this dog is the biggest dick you'll ever meet. He'll be all cuddly and fine one minute and then just go off on someone the next, snarling before rushing them and then usually going for their feet. What a motherfucking winner. Clearly, nobility in battle is a trait not found anywhere in my family's dynasty. Evidently, the brochures we read on Wheaten Terriers before getting Finnigan did not include "Giant Douche" on their list of breed characteristics. According to the behaviour specialist at the Humane Society, his aggression will only get worse if moved to a new environment so giving him away is not really an option, nor, despite my adamant suggestions, is providing a wide range of steel-toed stompers to our numerous house guests. So it's nighty night for Kujo.

I'm not really that sad about it. In addition to mental health akin to Naomi Cambell's, Finnigan's just kind of a pain in the ass. He's home all day in his kennel, no one really wants to walk him and he eats dehydrated powdered meat and rice balls. His life fucking sucks. I took him out on Saturday for what I suspect was the last time and he was just so happy frolicking in the snow for the 180 seconds before I took him back in. Living your life, a dog's life though it may be, for approximately ten minutes out of your day is a pretty shitty way of living. Our family has many accomplishments but we just outright failed at Dog. Even my aunt has stated her belief that our dog is depressed at his own lifestyle. I just think we need to cut bait on this one. Conversely, my younger brother is having a rather strong emotional reaction (read: moping around like a little bitch), which I'm secretly hoping will usher him into his Sylvia Plath phase.

In other news, my other brother narrowly avoided death in Chile and I'm a big whore when I go home for visits.

HAPPY BELATED PURIM, MAFUKAS!

I TMI'ed your mother last night

Hey, remember that time that I went back home for a work-vaca and forgot I had a blog? Yeah, me too. Lolz. But not really at all.

Are you ever about to pee in a strange washroom (e.g. in your childhood home) and you notice a really loud clock that sounds like it's yelling at you and then you can't start the pee stream going? Just me? Alright then.

I'm stalling. I just really don't have anything to blog about. This entire trip, recording this album, has essentially just been one big headache. A worthwhile headache, perhaps, but no less painful. Yesterday it took me 2 hours to record 45 seconds with five people giving me feedback but no instruction. How is that even possible? Answer: With Jews, anything is possible. I mean, we crucified the son of God for fuck's sake.

Sorry. Too soon?

This really was an unfortunate attempt. I'm going to stop now. Oh, but before I go, just a little FYI that Manwhore Winnipeg David is back, so if anyone knows any morally questionable 18 year olds or sheep, you know where the comments section is (Rabbi Berkowitz, I'm looking at you).