Haikus for the Penultimate Day of the Year
The plays are almost done.
One more show tonight
(If you haven’t seen it).
* * *
The little minx sleeps.
He says it’s cold in our loft.
I say, wear socks, Mary.
* * *
We’ll be in New York soon.
There’ll be a party (Friday?).
Details to come.
“I assure you that the world is not so amusing as we imagined.”
For your edification and amusement: The Archive of Endangered, Special or Fun Words.
Personal favorites:
Another snippet found floating aimlessly in the My Documents file. It’s my favorite piece of bathroom graffiti ever, which I transcribed directly from the wall of the men’s restroom at the Audubon Hotel:
the streets are full of sinister eyes and ringworm
and ringworm shall cast its judgement upon thee
bob, for example, has ringworm
I was always fastidious as a child. My room was kept painfully neat and ordered–so much so that my friends used to delight in shifting around my bibelots ever-so-slightly just so they could watch me scurry around and straighten them again.
As I’ve gotten older, though, I’ve found my anal-retentive tendencies slipping away like so much yak butter on a hot Mongolian day. Little mini-holidays like this when I have a few days to myself are practically the only time the old me can shine through. Not surprisingly, today I’ve decided to tidy up my computer a bit.
During this sort-and-vet process, I’ve come across some old things I’d completely forgotten, including this lovely meditation on Circuit fags. Even if you’ve read it before (and I’m sure you have, dearie), why not sing along just for fun. Humor me for chrissake….
The Gay Circuit Scene
(to the tune of “My Favorite Things”)Bullets and bumpers and yellow sunglasses,
Barbacks and doormen with tight little asses,
Tattoos and Levis on e-ver-y queen,
These are all part of the Gay Circuit Scene.
Dealers and bouncers and homely fag haggies,
Uppers and downers in clear plastic baggies,
Hots shorts and cock rings and all things obscene,
These are all part of the Gay Circuit Scene….
Glo-sticks and Blow Pops and loud metal whistles,
Tearing your cheek on unshaven back bristles,
K-holes and O.D.s becoming routine,
These are all part of the Gay Circuit Scene.
Refrain: When my week bites, when my job sucks,
When my life is sad,
I simply retreat to the Gay Circuit Scene
and then I don’t feel…much of anything.
Miss Morabito and Victor and Abel,
Junior who spins like my dead gramma Mabel,
Tic-Tacs and Tina to make you so lean,
These are all part of the Gay Circuit Scene.
Cher and Madonna and Cher and Madonna
Cher and Madonna and Cher and Madonna
Cher and Madonna, you know what I mean,
They are all part of the Gay Circuit Scene.
Tickets and lines and the ex-boyfriend wanker,
Curse her, berate her, then pay her and thank her.
My wallet is empty of all that is green,
This is just part of the Gay Circuit Scene.
Refrain: When the gym’s closed, after hours,
And I’m going mad,
I simply retreat to the Gay Circuit Scene and then I don’t feel…what did you ask me again?
Since my boyfriend has already written up an accurate chronicle of yesterday’s fun-filled family events, I won’t bother to re-hash–although he missed out on the near-agonizing round of shopping through A&F with my younger brothers (they’re straight, so it’s excusable). But just in case you’re curious about what today holds in store, I found a much more graphic description of that regional holiday delicacy known as turducken. (Vegetarians beware.)
Happy day, folks!
So, the boyfriend and I are off to breakfast and the Saints game with my dad and brothers.
I know, it sounds kinda frightening (not unlike dove hunting with the bubbas)–at least it does to me. Personally, I can’t stand sitting through football games. Baseball, tennis, even golf tournaments, yes. Football and basketball, no. Of course, that could have something to do with the fact that I fairly suck at football or basketball…
Still, I love spending time with my dad and brothers…. Well, most of my brothers: the Bible-thumping one right behind me (conceived at almost the very moment I was adopted), grates on my nerves, but the others are cool. Maybe if I saw them more often, that wouldn’t be the case, but since we cross paths only a couple of times each year, it’s a novelty.
My mom, on the other hand…. She’s one I just don’t get. Her version of family visits–especially Christmas–really bugs me. I’m in her house for two minutes and she’s already sobbing about how happy she is to see me and getting all smarmy and cranking up the Perry Como Christmas album. Imagine Sally Field in almost anything, and you get the picture. I’m sure that makes me sound like a monster in the first degree. All my friends who meet her think she’s adorable.
The problem is, I feel like I’m friends with my dad and most of my brothers. My mom, though…we have very little in common.
Um, is it just me, or does this headline sound like it could have been lifted directly from the pages of The Onion?
Note: there is no “x” in “espresso.” Ergo, please refrain from mentioning “expresso” in my presence.
Yes, I’m speaking to you–you, the aging jock holding the poorly lit cigar with the band still on it.
Same goes for your acid wash-wearing “Omigod why the hell would anyone pay $15,000 for this Ansel Adams photo when they can walk right around the corner and get the poster for ten bucks” girlfriend.
Hey, Timo! When did you start an online diary? Shame on you for not sharing, Mary. You get an “F” in citizenship for the day….
