I'm having a few issues as of late. Namely, in order of importance, Theo (more like the other way around--I'm the one causing issues), my housing for the fall semester, work and how I don't know when I work next, and the fact that I'm literally nauseous from lack of sleep. (Why am I not remedying this by being asleep at 1:30AM, you ask? Shut the fuck up.)

It appears that others are having issues as well, namely Britney Spears. At least I'm not the only diva in distress. (I cannot believe I even contemplated thinking about perhaps typing that phrase. Forgiveness, please.)

I enjoyed "Annie Hall." I have a great respect for Woody Allen, in that "I am amazed that you're so incredibly incoherent and neurotic and incestuous, and that you play yourself in the same situations in every film you've ever made/been in" kind of way. Really.

A good weekend, overall.

Friday, Theo slept over. Our day began with a trip to Ikea, where I purchased some inexpensive candles (more about candles later) and theo gorged on some chicken. We saw "Goldmember" late-afternoon. I'll spare you the review; if you know me well, you can easily guess how I felt about it. I then made dinner, which roughly consisted of bruschetta and pasta. Pretty bland--it would have been more fun and fancy-free, but Theo wasn't very hungry. Dinner was followed by some trampolining, and admiration of the moon.

While Theo was reliving his childhood in my backyard, I cleaned the kitchen and set up the "jacuzzi room" (sounds much better than "my parent's bathroom," n'est-ce pas?) for a pseudo-cliche romantic evening. There were candles everywhere, and the "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon" soundtrack was playing in the background. We put a rose-and-lavender fizzy ball in and enjoyed the warmish water, massaging jet pulses, and each other's bodies. Naturally, sex followed.

Saturday, Th. and I ate at...Friday's...and shopped a bit at Deer Park. With mydiscount, I bought him this HINDEOUS (yes, I purposely spelled it like that, read ahead) collarless linen button-down shirt. I was embarassed to purchase such an unattractive frock. For myself, I nabbed a black t-shirt and WAY too small mancapris from Gap. Oh, one mustn't forget the L'Occitane soap. Pronounce it howsoever you choose.

I then dropped him off and spent the mid-evening "working" (read: analyze English language with fun British manager Louise).

Following my four hours of work-free work, I went to a party at Drunk Shannon's house. (Th. and I refer to her as such; I have several friends named shannon, and she spoke to him on the phone while...need I explain?) I realized that it's not fun being at a drinking party if you aren't pissed. So, I drove Jesse home (he's allergic to Shannno's three hundred cats), gave him his birthday gift, and made frozen strawberry souffles at 3:15AM.

Today, I woke up (late), cleaned the rose petals out of my parents' Jacuzzi, and headed for Rock Island to watch my sister be the stereotypical beauty queen at the Miss Teen of Illinois pageant.

Talk about Republican.

Evey girl named George W. Bush (in their twangy southern accents) as her hero, or the person they looked up to.

My sister won nothing (there were nearly 200 girls running for the title), cried a lot, and divulged to my family that "it's not worth doing anything if you don't win." (Wonder where she picked up that doctrine?) She's currently cleaning the laundry room, "to pay off the $500+ she wasted by being in the pageant." Neurotic, what?

I then drove home, panicking the entire drive that I was going to get pulled over and have my car searched. You see, I had something in my car I'm not allowed to discuss with the general reading audience, and when one gets pulled over anywhere outside of a 75-mile radius of Chicago, it seems their car is subject to an intense search.

But, I made it home.

Which leaves me where I am now--sitting at my computer in my Gap linen sleeping pants and my orange "Courageous Kids" tee I aquired by leading Vacation Bible school ages ago, eating the strawberry souffle, listening to songs from the Devdas soundtrack, and typing here. I was originally dreading having to type all this out, but once you light the coals of the Thought Train, it doesn't seem so painful.

Oh, and Nick--I too have an intense Tighty Whitey "thing."

I'm currently preparing for this weekend's festivities stealthily under my parents' noses. My sister is a contestant in the Miss Teen of Illinois pageant this weekend in Rock Island, and therefore, the lot of them will be away for the weekend. So, Theo's sleeping over tonight.

When the cats [are] away, the mice will play.

Yes, I apologize--it's another film review.

For my first Bollywood experience, I chose a fairly entertaining film. Devdas, the story of a son's return home, and his eventual self-destruction over his childhood lover, Paro, delighted me. It was very incoherent at times, and the English subtitles were often unintelligible. I'll remember to never see a 3+ hour Indian film at 10:00PM ever again--you see, every Bollywood film must be at lrast three hours long, or else the audience feels "gypped." (My apologies; I couldn't think of a more PC word.) Theo and I were both amused by the striking resemblence between the female heroine, Paro, and Will & Grace's Debra Messing. Even now, as I recall last evening's events (which also involved dog feces brought into my car via someone's Birkenstock) I am convinced Debra suddenly picked up Hindi, learned to dance, and participated in this whimsical film.

Last night, I rented L.I.E. after trekking cross-county to DuPage, only to find that Oak Brook's shops were mostly ferme. The video boy, on whom I'd always had an idyllic plautonic interest in, described this film as "very interesting." A winner of a few awards, L.I.E. was just plain sick, in a must-slow-down-car-to-get-good-look-at-bad-accident way. What an appropriate segue--L.I.E. stands for Long Island Expressway, and the film revolved around the twisted, homoerotic activities of a 15-year-old "rebel." While none of you will believe this, I actually didn't realize the movie was queer-related in any way whenI rented it. What a surprise--teenage prostitution, daddies, and boners in police station waiting rooms ensued. I didn't really get into the film, though--it was well done, but I like a film that's graphic and raw for a reason--this film was all actions with no purposes.

I need to contact the following people:
1. Kim
2. Chris
3. Jillian
4. Lauren
5. Betsy
6. Catherine
7. Erin

Thanks for letting me waste some kbs with my mental-turned-digital to-do list.

Oh yes--I don't feel like I have anything to apologize about in either of these situations.

My two dearest friends are irate with me as of this post.

I must be reading from the wrong booklist or something. You see, I always thought that when two humans are "friends," as we have come to know the term, they offer each other advice. Especially friends who earn the sacred "best friend" title. So, perhaps as a solution to my rediculous obsession with helping others, namely these "friends" of whom I speak, I shan't ever strive to make someone else happy again by offering them innocent advice.

As far as Erin goes, she's angry with me because (from what I gathered) while she was supposed to accompany Theo and me to "About Face," she had to work until 6:00PM, which meant our time frame would have been shredded and we would have been later to the queer spectacle than we already were. So, I'm not sure I understand the latter justification for being angry with me. Nor the former.

"About Face" was alright. I bought a T-shirt.

I just read an archive in Charlie's journal, concerning the "Pee-shy" theory. I, too, suffer from that malady. Most recently, during the intermission of "Bombay Dreams" in London, I figured it was about time for me to shed some dead cells, and so I head into this crowded men's room on the mezzanine. With all the commotion, the waiting theatre-goers, and this poorly-placed door that swung open to allow no movement in the bathroom, I just stood there, squeezed a bit, sighed, gave up, and washed my hands. It's an embarassing complex, especially if one's fellow fellows notices that no urine actually penetrated the porcelain basin. Perhaps I will follow Charlie's advice in the future and just use stalls.

What a putrid-flesh day.

I woke up with a mild hangover, thanks to a wine cooler I finished off before I went to bed last night. I've been having a lot of dreams with a reoccuring theme--I'm on a rollercoaster, or some other dangerous-if-not-strapped-in attraction, and I'm not secure to the apparatus. I'm just holding on with every square-centimeter of my twinkish frame, hoping I'm not going to die. Last night, this dream was preceded byt a dream involving my French teacher, Madame Siewert, a class of people I don't remember, and some project involving finding some object in this large library-of-sorts building. I became frustrated and just went outside of this building, to smoke a cigarette. Then, I went to the carnival (a theme-park/carnival that has played a role in many of my dreams).

Do any of you have certain places that you've never seen before become prominent fixtures in your dreams? I have a town, actually. Most prominently, there's a neo-futuristic movie theater with very tall rooms and a ceiling structure my mind lifted from Doom II. I also have an expansive grocery store, with an impressive produce department, a shopping mall I've NEVER seen before, with many fun entrances, and an apartment building. Finally, I have a dark, hilly, black-tree-filled forest that pops up at least once a week. Usually, it's not a nice forest. There's some sort of shack in the forest I've enver been into.

Why am I blathering on about this...

Then, my mother doscovered that I have a LOT more alcohol from Europe than I let on. She described my room as a "bar." That's probably because I brought out my Aftershock and Pucker, and just set them in a pile with my other alcohol after cleaning my closet out for some rummage sale at a church we DON'T EVEN ATTEND. She was pissed, and gave me a lecture about drinking and driving. (Yawn...I'm not that ill-witted...)

Gap called me in, even though they cut my hours. Apparently, Neftali, our newest male employee, called in for the 47 thousandth time. *grimace* After work, which I clocked out of twenty minutes late because they underscheduled tonight and I had to dress and set up mannequins, I looked at my paycheck, mainly to see how much of a raise I aquired. (Oh, before I get to the shitty part, I have to talk about Alex, this boy who works in the cosmetics department of Marshall Field's and comes in to the Gap on a semi-daily basis. He has collagen-implanted lips. That tells you all you need to know about Alex. He, for the first time ever, flirted his bottom ass off with me, asking me to help him "find something to wear tonight." We chatted about Express for men, Gap
s oversized clothing, Prada, and other assorted things. He ended this conversation with, "Well, is this all you can offer me?" Obviously, he meant more than clothes. I told him to come back in a week, when we'll have all-new products, shunning his double-entendre.)

Alright, back to my "raise." Basically, it was more like a hiccup in my pay--I'm making exactly twenty cents more than I used to. Yes, me, adorable me, who garnered the Best Salesman award for the fall 2001 season (hey, it's a big deal in retail) and whom all the managers dote over and love dearly. I consistently get the most (and best) hours each week. What gives? The Gap cannot be doing THAT poorly, if they can afford to start peopel off (last year) at $7.00 (not me, obviously).

There were too many parentheses in that paragraph.

I'm almost done.

I came home, after renting Dancer in the Dark and purchasing some corn chips and soy milk, to find that my mother was being suspicious...yadda yadda yadda...she knows about everything. (not being gay; she's known about my queerness for a year) She was in a very whatever-mood. So, that was my day, in 666 words.

Just a typical Thursday--shopping on Oak Street, nap with my boyfriend, trip to the ever-decaying Royal.

I decided last night, while not enjoying the aforementioned queer club, that it reminds me of a high school dance. There's a moderately poor DJ mixing it up in the corner, the light effects are weak (and that's being polite), everyone has his or her own group of friends, and no one dances until EVERYONE dances. And the room that this club is in--yes, it's just a room--reminds me of a miniscular banquet hall one would have a prom in. Very non-clubby, if you ask me. But, Theo and I will inevetably return frequently.

The highlight of last evening was seeing a horde of aquaintances and one stranger who I feel like I partially know. We ran into Nic, Jesse's Nic, who was wearing a very cute shirt. We saw Alicia, whose hair Theo decribed as "retro chic." (It's a compliment.) THeo saw several people he knew from various things. BUt, he pinnacle of the evening was seeing Dale (my first time) in the flesh. Dale is this Orland Park-dwelling queer boy who has a fat fetish, even though he's unhumanly attractive (not so much in person). He walked in with his Krispy Kreme boyfriend and some other compatriots, as Theo and I burst out laughing. It was funny. I am now no longer even REMOTELY interested in getting to know this Dale character. (Deletes link to Dale's journal)

Finally, she works! I apologize...no, no. I don't apologize. I invite Blogger.com to apologize to all of you who have been anxiously awaiting my update. I invite you all to read the many posts I've added, while Blogger has been a feisty little cad.

I finally came out to Conservative Shannon today. I had to--she wanted to hear about my Europe trip, and I'm done hiding behind a machismo-laden 200 thread count sheet of lies. So, just as I expected, she was supportive, but didn't really want to hear about it. Which is fine.

We dined at Stir Crazy, and I think I did some serious damage to my throat and tongue, because I ate a chili pepper, and had no water to extinguish the fires of hell doing the hokey-pokey in my throat. A trip to Woodfield and Ikea followed, and the day ended with us dining on Ben and Jerry's and a stroll through Tower.

I found some great, inxpensive Hindi music at Tower, but couldn't decide what I wanted.

Why won't Blogger just cooperate with me.

I don't even know why I bother trying to get Blogger to work. Why am I even posting.

Briefly, last night, after not getting phoned by Theo (off smoking...) and becoming irate with my family, I drove around and met up with Erin and my new friend Cyndi at Steak & Shake. We then loitered for a bit in an Elgin-area park, and I loitered for a bit with Erin at her house. Shortly thereafter, I purchased 1/2 dozen Krispy Kremes for beautiful Cyndi and wonderful Erin and left them on their respective doorsteps. See, I CAN be a quasi-nice person sometimes.

Not today.

I had my physical with a "new doctor" this morning at 9:00AM. After doing the routine hernia check (I still don't understand the coughing), my doctor nonchalantly (ha) mentioned that he was not only a general practitioner, but a specialist in random diseases as well. It turns out that my mother chose him specially because of this characteristic. He then nervously, "subtlely" told me that my mother had explained to him everything (without actually saying the "g" word) and that if I have any questions related to "that," he "treat(s) a lot of gay men," so if I wanted to ask him something, I may.

Is it just me and my overly defensive personality, or has my mother just invaded my privacy and stirred my life up with a pitchfork? How fucking awkward is that? Am I being unreasonable about all of this, or can anyone understand why this offends me?

And then, I'm angry because I didn't see/speak to Jesse yesterday, to wish him a happy 20th birthday. I give up. But none of you will know that because, guess what--Blogger fucking sucks.

Why can I not post...

This is getting rediculous.

I was finally able to meet Nick, Theo's former love interest, last night. Strangely enough, we were walking out of Blind Faith, and a slew of Evanston Pride kids were sitting on the surrounding benches, waiting for Nick to arrive. So, Theo and I put his lemon seitan in the car, stalled for a few minutes (to avoid any awkward Nick-anticipation conversation with his cohorts), and returned to Blind Faith, as Nick bounded out of the restaurant to greet Theo.

The meeting, from an observer's view, seemed about as awkward and unsure as a twelve-year-old Catholic girl sucking cock for coke. But, what can one expect?

I'm not going to do a commentary on this. Whatever. It was bound to happen, and it did. Yadda ya.

We then watched Changing Rooms on BBC and rented Sliding Doors. Th. fell asleep in the middle. Excitement, eh?

Alright, so I've temporarily abandoned this Blog. But, never fear, I've taken it back into my loving arms, and am now ready to fill it with my daily malarkey.

Orientation was interesting. I'll essentially be going to school with 5% Chicago-born journalism majors and 95% Missouri-(in)bred farmhands. The campus is fairly nice--it has its good and its bad traits. It seems as though I have a lot of ground to cover in my first four semesters if I want to earn my way into the J-school. If I still dislike the school by the end of first semester, I'm transferring. Any suggestions?

I've had to work an obnoxiously large amount this weekend--and we've been terribly un-busy. On Saturday, we didn't even gross half of our predicted earnings for that day. I'm working practically every night this week.

I'm starting to be forced to see people again...why can I not just be invisible, or have everyone think I'm still in Europe or dead or something? No, I have to choose the Gap as my workplace, where EVERYONE and their monkey shops.

Today, I'm going out for coffee with Christine (obligatory) and then ideally having dinner/North Shore activity with Theodore. I wonder what's going on at Ravinia tonight...

I use "-ly" words much too frequently. (Ugh...)

Off to orientation with dear 'ol dad...we haven't even packed, and yet he and I are already fighting. This is an experience I'm really dreading.

I'm glad I can easily be classified as one who is "not understood." If everyone were able to understand everyone, how would life exist as the endless enigma it is? I like being...I can't believe I'm typing this..."mizundastood."

I spent the bulk of my first Monday back with one of my favourite people in the known universe--Erin. I couldn't be happier that we're spending the next four years together. That number may and can be changed, depending on my liking of Mizzou.

Which, as perfect of a segue as that may be, I will soon cultivate. I leave tomorrow for orientation at UM-C. With my father. With whom conversation is generally and regretfully stilted. I hope everything goes well.

I'll never understand Theo's preoccupation with talking to other queer teens in the northwest suburbs. It's very curious.

Speaking of "Ted," he and I saw "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" last night in Evanston. It was unspeakably amusing...I reccommend anyone with a sense of humor to see it.

He's back...after a juxtaposition of every nightmare involving commercial airlines lasting a mind-numbing twenty-four hours.

I woke up at seven AM, did some quick shopping, and departed from my overly-expensive Glochester Road hotel. of course, the Circle line was not running westbound, meaning I couldn't get on the superquick Heathrow Express, so I had to take the hour-long Picadilly line trip to the airport.

I arrived at Heathrow around 11:30, and found the check-in desk I was SUPPOSED to check in to for my flight. Unfortunately, they require their passengers to arrive at least 80 minutes in advance, and since my flight was in forty minutes, they said "no." So, I had to reschedule for the 2:35 flight to Chicago, which I flew standby in.

Waiting, waiting, eating, shopping, waiting.

So, I boarded after impatiently waiting for my name to get called off the doomed "standby" list. I didn't get a chance to call my parents, but I assumed they would figure out that I had switched to the other flight.

Four hours into the flight, while we were careening thousands of miles above a crisp, foggy northern Canada, many of the passengers (not including myself) started smelling smoke. The crew was in hysyterics--I thought they were trained to handle such situations?--and the predominantly-geriatric passengers made a communally soiled their Depends, no doubt. (I have never been on a flight so dominated by dinosaurs before...I hated it.)

So, we made an emergency landing in TORONTO, CANADA after the entire cabin filled with the odor of an electrical burn.

SIX HOURS LATER...

Yes, we waited there for six hours. They gave us food by the fifth hour, while most of us were hungry within the first. I sat alone, and stared into the vast nothingness that is Toronto. I had nothing with me--they told us to leave our carry-ons on the plane. It was horrible. My body, keep in mind, was telling me that we arrived in Toronto at 11:00 PM. We didn't depart (from another plane, of course) until my 5:00AM. I got this horrid feeling of having a big bubble in my temple while on the one-hour plane trip to Chicago. My ears were killing me. I just wanted to go to sleep.

So, after customs, baggage, and the drive home, I went to sleep around 3:30AM Chicago time...which was 9:30AM my time. Yay for 24 hours of no sleep!

It's good to be back, though.

Oh...one quick thing. In a few years, a musical created and produced by Andrew Lloyd Webber will come to Chicago. It will be called "Bombay Dreams," and it will be a mildly farcical love story set in the heart of Bollywood--India's answer to Hollywood, and the US' booming film industry. I think Bollywood, by quantity, produces more films per year than the US, but as far as quality...think three hours of campy musical numbers and dancing, and that's a standard BW movie.

Regardless, when this show comes to Chicago, or broadway (this fall), go see it. It's very...fun. It's no "Phantom of the Opera;" I'll be honest. If theatre were food, "Bombay Dreams" would be a piece of bread--light, satisfying, gets the job done. The music is fun--middle eastern-inspired, with the bass beat of today's pop. There was an abundance of humor in this show, and the actors were all proficient singers and actors. I didn't love it, but it was a wonderful way to end a wonderful trip.