CRIBS IS STILL ON MTV?

"I don't want to watch Cribs, I hate that fucking show"

-Boyfriend of the woman running the liquor store

That show is still on the air? Seriously? I would have thought in this period of austerity that MTV would no longer be producing this most gluttonous of entertainment. Now, don't get me wrong, if you work hard you have every right to do whatever it is you want with your money. But, I reserve the right to get pissed of when the shitty bass player from Good Charlotte lives in a mansion and has 3 Ferrari's and a Rolls Royce. I mean, really. And the fact the these rich and "famous" people are willing to invite a camera crew to their house to show off - it smacks of poor taste.

And just when you thought it couldn't or wouldn't get ANY worse, MTV outdoes itself. Ever seen Teen Cribs? I nearly put my foot through the TV when I first saw that show. "Oh, that's my 2009 Audi S4 rolling on 22 inch mudered out dubs. Oh what's that? I get my learner's permit in 18 months." Ugh. That's awesome that Mommy and Daddy can afford to buy a fucking stable of ponies, but don't throw it in my face "Kyra".

Speaking of the parents, I love the floating picture in picture box, in which they explain they needed to $15 million mansion "to keep the family" together. Do they realize they are probably tearing apart the lives of other families? Don't some of these go home and ask their parents, "why don't I have have my own indoor basketball court and a on-call trainer?" Shit, I would.

All that being said, there are moments of sheer AWESOMENESS. Case in point: the Redman episode.

Redman - MTV Cribs - MyVideo

THE DEFINITION OF RESTRAINT

This morning I drove my whip out to the dealership in the 'burbs to get an oil change and to have my moon roof fixed. While I was casually cruising along at triple digits (got my bitch up to 112!) I thought to myself..."who would I least like to run into at the dealership?"

The answer walked int the door 5 minutes after I got there...MY DUMB-FUCK-REPUBLICAN-THINKS-OBAMA-IS-A-MUSLIM-EX-BOSS! Holy shit, it was all I could NOT to walk over beat his ass. Mind you, I don't dislike this man because he fired me. He had his reasons and though I disagree with them, I respect his decision. Besides, that job was awful. AWFUL. No, I loathe him because he is a genuine, world class PRICK who deserves to have his own cock fed to him.

But I played it cool and casually hovered around the showroom floor while also burning holes with my eye into the back of his skull. At one point, and I shit you not, he put his hand over his face to "hide" from me. Yes, he is that much of a coward. For an hour I debated saying something to him, but realizing that this would not be productive, and in fact, quickly devolve into me bitching him out, I decided to walk around the used car lot and smoke cigarettes.

Crisis averted. But then the service manager comes to talk to me. The look on her face was sheepish, to say the least. She explained that I had less than 1mm left on my brake pads and that replacing them would set me back "around $700". Are you fucking kidding me? UGH!

So the fact that I was given the news I would have to shell out an un-godly sum of money, while the man that made me poor was sitting in the same room with me...I think I showed admirable restraint in that I didn't lose my cool, or self-fucking-destruct.

ANYONE KNOW A GOOD THERAPIST?

It's apparent I had much fun meeting/hanging out with my blogger friends when in NYC, but the real reason I was there was to hang with my Father, and his "friend/partner". I'll be honest, I'm on board, and so very happy for him, but at the same time it's kinda weird...

It reminds me of when my Mom was dating after she split with my Father, and she was actively dating, and I was introduced to her "dates". Of course, my Father's "friend/partner" (eventually I will get over the slight unease I feel about the situation, but that will take some time...fuck, am I being a hypocrite?) is not some random guy, but rather the man that he is now living with.

I thought my Father and I would hang out more than we did when I went to visit him, but our time spent together was confined to 3 dinners, 2 of which were shared with the "friend/partner". Don't get me wrong, I like this guy a lot, same as I like my Mom's current husband. But a few dinners does not equate to a real relationship between said parties.

Fuck, I bonded with my Stepfather over a bottle of tequila on the 4th of July in 2003, and I have yet to have that "alone time" with this guy that my Father is living with. And it's not that I don't think he is a quality person, and he need not get hammered with me to prove as much. But we have yet to achieve that comfort level that I would like to have...

To you people out there that have parents that are happily married, God Bless You. I will refrain from saying you have it easy (even those marriages that are intact are anything but simple), but this shit is fucking tough and kinda confusing.

I wanted to clear the air with my Father, but when I was about to broach the subject, I felt it wasn't my place, or that I would make him feel uncomfortable. I really don't know beyond the shadow of a doubt what their status is. And it was sorta weird when he asked me during dinner how I spent Friday night in NYC.

Although I told him I spent the night with friends in Chelsea, staying out until 5AM or so, which didn't cause him to bat an eye...but even that minor admission was a lot for me to say, and I can only imagine how he felt about me running from one gay bar to the next.

Bottom line, my father told me how his life has greatly improved since moving out there. His anxiety issues seem to have been resolved, and he claims to be sleeping very well. Both are good signs. Upon seeing him last Friday Night for dinner at Spark's, he looked good, as if he has indeed got much needed rest and maybe even lost some excess weight.

And the interaction between him and "friend/partner" was typical "cutesy"; they playfully argued about which street MOMA resides on, going so far as to bet money on whether it's on 53rd or 70th street (my Father won that battle) while I sat and sipped Kettle One and ate a steak the size of my head.

I am happy that he (and they) are happy living together...it just kinda shakes my brain like a paint can that he got there before I have, but maybe it's only fair. He waited much longer than I did. Now I am in the odd predicament of wanting the relationship that my Father has...if Freud was alive he would have a field day with this situation.

And here I am left alone to figure it out on my own.

Did I mention my Mother is sleeping in my bed as I type this?

DEATH BY A THOUSAND CUTS

Christmas. That magical time of year when people lavishly decorate their homes, compulsively shop for loved ones and are slowly driven mad by an incessant loop of Christmas music. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy the holidays and all shit.

However, there are certain things about them that I do not enjoy. One unfortunate tradition (does two years running a tradition make?) is practiced by one of my co-workers, which is when Christmas rolls around, she employs these horrific devices:

See those little bells on there? Every time she writes a word, walks around the office, or angrily gesticulates when provoked, those little bells rattle around and make the most obnoxious sound I have perhaps ever heard, save Karl Rove's voice.

The sound itself isn't that offensive, but hour after hour of repetitive jingling is slowly driving me to the brink of insanity, or at the least extreme annoyance. I think the Chinese call this Ling chi (thanks Wikipedia).

Allow me to provide some background...Ms. Spiegel (who I have named because she is a 4-D human catalog of that brand, circa 1991...PS lady, have you not read the memo that shouldier pads are no longer in style?) gets Super-Duper Excited About Holidays!

If there was a way to verify my notion that she recently replaced the towels in her bathroom at home with those more befitting a Christmas mood, I would bet on it. I also have a sneaking suspicion that she wears Christmas socks on days other than Jesus' birthday.

Just today, the incessant jingling of bells so got to me, that I was inclined to seek guidance from Billy to troubleshoot this problem (he of greater Office Space wisdom than I). He suggested I wait until lunchtime to strike and throw the pens in the garbage (presumably not using her trashcan).

Honestly, I was tempted. I even walked over to her desk and leveled a cold, icy stare at my nemesis' writing utensils,. Alas, others were near and I could not complete this covert action, which I secretly deemed "Operation: Stop Making My Fucking Ears Bleed".

Although compelled to complete my task, Reason got the best of me (damn you Reason!) and I concluded that, had I disposed of said pens, I would have then had to endure her bitching and moaning for the balance of the afternoon.

Although she may seem like a quaint, Midwestern mother of 2 with bad hair, at work she ruthlessly dismisses clients after slamming down the phone, shouting either "MOTHERFUCKER" or "COCKSUCKER!" in the process. Not sure I want to be on the business end of that shit...

So I remained at my desk and allowed my teeth to grind, my eyes to wince and my fists to tighten while the tiny bells danced on her pen mocked me.

At one point I briefly imagined a scenario in which I marched over to Ms. Spiegel's desk, grabbed both pens (one green, one red - naturally) and drove them into my ear drums. Again, Reason showed up and instead I gained a modicum of relief by exiting my workspace and smoking a Camel.

There must be a better way to make a buck than this...

ME MYSELF AND I

Just got back from a friend's wedding tonight, and I have concluded that it is simply depressing to attend such an event as a single, gay man.

Of course, I was grateful to watch an old friend marry her man. She looked amazing (it's really something how women have this "super hero" ability to morph into super beautiful beings; brides look positively radiant on their big day) and the ceremony was very touching, even to this hardened soul.

To see a Father "give away" (bad phrase) his daughter to her husband is something that never fails to move me. Even if the speech is cheesy, its still (read: sentimental to the extreme) a moment that holds its own particular gravity.

From my perspective, the Father's speech was plodding and slightly awkward, but to the parties directly involved, it was full of naked emotion and love.

Per standard protocol, a slightly mediocre dinner followed, along with the usual lame conversation with the people you are forced to sit with (i.e. "so how do you know the bride/groom, etc?). Fuck, I sound like a grouch!

But when it came time for the "dancing" (if you could call the spasms exhibited by white middle aged people on display) I was left by myself at a large table to contemplate by future.

One of my best friends, one who got hitched back in May, was a Bridesmaid, and I was seated next to her husband.

This guy is awesome. He is a Marine who served recently in Iraq, but well adjusted (as much as could be, I suppose) and we chatted and drank the night away.

But once it was time for him to "claim" his wife and cut up a rug, which was totally within his right to do, it left me sitting in front of a lonely bottle of beer.

All dressed up in a black Calvin Kline suit with nowhere to go.

I could have asked one of the random women to dance, but the 3 that I identified as not having a male partner present, were all taken, and really....I'm not much of a dance type of guy.

Perhaps if I didn't have to drive such a distance home, I would have consumed additional alcohol to overcome any social anxiety, but as the night went on, I resolved myself to stay sober (relatively speaking).

And I felt increasingly disassociated from the straight, partying mass of those already married, or those intending to do so (SOON!).

Overall, it was a lovely occasion to passively experience, but it also made me feel lonely.

I want to go to a wedding just once with a boyfriend (hopefully also clad in Calvin Kline, maybe Armani, haha) as a couple.

I thought by this point in my life I would be coupled and have someone to attend such events with.

But as I am not, they tend to weigh on me negatively.

And this sucks because these occasions should be about the proud and happy Bride and Groom, but I leave feeling vaguely dejected, and more than out of place.

OH WHAT A DAY...AND A NIGHT

This might sound like an exaggeration, but I can honestly say that yesterday was easily the worst day I have had at my current job in the 18 months that I have been there. I'm fairly certainly I had at least one genuine anxiety attack, and possibly 3.There is no sense in rehashing the details of said shit day.

That being said, I was very much looking forward to going out with a pair of fellow Chicago bloggers, whom some of you might know as My Secret Life and Troystopher. Since I had to work late, the boys started without me, and since Mr. Troystopher had to meet a friend I only got to hang with him for a bit, but it was great to meet and briefly converse with him.

This left Mr. My Secret Life and myself to ogle the boys at Hydrate, which features $1 drinks on Monday nights, of which I consumed a plethora. Of course, there are healthier ways of exercising work related demons, but fuck if getting drunk and looking at hot guys doesn't do the trick.

Although I was having a good time I really didn't feel like talking to any random guys and was totally content just to look, especially one particular Latino guy that was drop dead sexy. The thing I noticed about this club is than on Monday nights, it attracts a wide variety of guys, which is always a plus.

Despite being at this club for several hours I managed to only spend about $20, so I felt justified in taking a cab home rather than the L, which I rarely do (taking a cab that is). But damn if I wasn't glad since I was drunk and it took 10 minutes to get home, instead of 45 minutes (with walking) had I taken the train.

Hope everyone is off to a good week...