I'm heading back to Washington tomorrow and will be looking to do something Tuesday night. Is anyone going to Cobalt?

Posted by Toby at 11:18 PM | Permalink

This is the back corner of my family's yard. I planted that tree in a milk carton in first grade, and now it's almost fully grown. This is symbolic of something, I think.

Ah, what suburban dwelling would be complete without an above-ground swimming pool? Our yard is steeply sloped, so the pool is sort of 50 percent below-ground, 50 percent above-ground. But don't get me wrong — it's still 100 percent trashy.

My dog Zachary likes to stick his head in shrubbery. He also likes to lick tomatoes off the vine and eat them once they fall to the ground. <3

Another picture of Zachary. Do not be fooled. Behind that pout is an evil genius with only one thing on his mind: Licking everyone in sight!

Here is a very large tree in the other corner of our yard. Damn, we've got trees out the ass, don't we?

OK, Zach, sit! Sit. Siiiit! Alright, now stay. Zachary, stay! Good boy. OK, Zach, 1... 2... 3... (Snap!) Ah, Zachary, no! Stop licking the camera! Noooo!

Posted by Toby at 11:48 AM | Permalink

Whenever I visit my family in New York, I always regret not bringing a form-concealing trench coat and oversized Channel glasses. This disguise would come in handy when visiting the mall or driving through the pub-lined streets of my "quaint" suburban hometown. I just really hate running into people from my high school, especially since such encounters serve only as a reminder of how lame I was four years ago. (But I thoroughly enjoyed being recognized on the Amtrak train by a random reader. Hi, Will!)

Anyway, given my fear of former classmates (Alumniphobia?), you can imagine my reservations about going to a townie bar Thursday night. Lots of people from my high school would be there, and from the moment my friends and I strolled in, I'd be judged with a self-conscious indignation typically reserved for the jaded queens at Cobalt. Whereas a drunk fag can judge me solely upon physical appearance, a former classmate has a lot more ammo at his disposal. ("Hey, remember that loser Toby, who'd carry around a dictionary with him at all times and would act like he's better than everyone else? He's at the bar! Let's get him!")

Of course, little did I know that when I walked into that bar (slightly buzzed from four Bud Light longnecks), the hottest guy from my high school class would walk up to me, shake my hand and say, "Look at you, Toby. You've become a man!" That night, we drank until 3 a.m., chatting and laughing like we were the best of friends. It was like a bizarre remake of "The Breakfast Club," except with less Molly Ringwald and more alcohol.

After downing my last beer, I stumbled out of the bar and journeyed home, feeling like one of those moronic participants on that show where former high school crushes are awkwardly reunited 30 years after graduation. My God, I've fallen in love with the high school quarterback. He's all I think about. Damn it, why can't my life be like a gay coming-of-age novel where the high school hunk inevitably turns out to be a fag?

Addendum: Sorry, I put no effort into this entry. I'm burned out from last night, when we were kicked out of a house party by a bunch of 17-year-olds. Can you believe it?

Posted by Toby at 10:06 AM | Permalink

Going home to New York for the weekend. Yay! <3

Posted by Toby at 10:43 AM | Permalink

My God. Who invited him back?

Posted by Toby at 12:39 AM | Permalink

For the record, we were not dating. In fact, the voice mail was entirely unprovoked, prompted only by a text message inviting him over for a glass of wine. No offense to him, but I don't really need any more friends. However, I do need an unrequited lover slash coworker with whom all subsequent social interaction is awkward if not perfunctory, so I definitely lucked out!

OK, friends. This chapter in my memoir is officially closed. Moving on. Recklessly Quickly.

Having moved into my new apartment, I've been without Internet and thus unable to post entries on a regular basis. But the cable guy comes on Wednesday so we should be back in business then. Expect pictures of my new stomping ground, including an aerial shot of the liquor store located handily (and ironically) below our balcony. <3

Posted by Toby at 05:56 PM | Permalink

It's funny how the "Let's Be Friends" talk prompts you not to be the person's friend but to run for the hills and never speak to the person again.

However, because I received the "Let's Be Friends" talk via voice mail at 4 a.m., it has prompted me only to run for my half-empty bottle of pinot noir and write a rambling entry that reconfirms the wild, undesirable disaster I've become since breaking up with my boyfriend in January.

But wait. Do friends get to make out? Do they get to cuddle? Hold hands, even? Flirt now and then?

No?

Sigh. I've lost at my favorite game.

Posted by Toby at 03:14 PM | Permalink

Finally, someone has invested more of his free time into Britney Spears than I.

Posted by Toby at 11:44 AM | Permalink

If you don't like my Web site, then don't read it. The time spent writing mean-spirited comments could be better used to improve your own crappy blog. I already know I'm not the hottest or funniest or kindest person in the world, so I don't need it pointed out to me on a site I pay good money to maintain. Assholes.

Alrighty, I'm going to Cobalt tonight. Peace out, stalkers. <3

Posted by Toby at 10:04 PM | Permalink

God damn it. Why don't you want to make out with me? Everyone else does.

Posted by Toby at 12:29 AM | Permalink

During Mother's Day brunch, a family prays over their plates of blueberry and mango french toast, poached eggs and Cobb salad. I have never seen a table do this before, and their reverence for food impresses me. It's as if these people are giving thanks not just to God, but to the servers, cooks and hostesses who have made their meal possible.

The family finishes their prayer, and as I turn to leave, the father barks at me, "Hey, waiter!" Jesus Christ. "These eggs are overcooked! They are disgusting! Send them back." Right. Of course.

I've been dealing with assholes like this guy for the past few days. I'm working full-time this week, and I also am moving into my new apartment, so please understand if my posts are either numbingly work-related or entirely nonexistent. <3

Addendum: A little advice to all of you servers out there. Respond to "Hey, waiter!" with "Hey, customer!" It's worth the subsequent five percent tip.

Posted by Toby at 01:15 AM | Permalink

It wasn't the college kids who neglected to tip me on a $60 check. It wasn't the table of cotton-tops who accused the bartender of not knowing how to make a scotch and sour, or who claimed the decaf wasn't "fresh." And it wasn't the friend of a friend who left me an insulting 10 percent tip, even after I had comped all of their drinks.

It was the endless procession of gay couples, all happy and in love over their plates of fried calamari and of cumin-crusted salmon. Fuck. You. And your boyfriend is ugly.

Posted by Toby at 12:09 AM | Permalink

After many a sleepless night and shower-less morn, I have finally turned in my last final exam — this one, a take-home packet that was given to my professor with a confidence noticeably lacking two weeks ago when I showed up shit-faced to class. (Spanks to Julia for offering, er, forcing upon me that night a much-needed piece of breath-concealing gum.) I expect an A, not because I worked hard, but because beautiful people deserve nothing less.

On that note, peace out, nigs. Agatha, a bottle of chardonnay and I are off to see "Mean Girls" — which, as we all know, is the No. 1 movie in America this week. <3

Addendum: For a Very Special Toby Retrospective, check out an entry from last year's final exam week. (It involves alcohol and monster power ballads.)

Posted by Toby at 08:54 PM | Permalink

Things I Did Not Know on the Current Events Section of My Editorial Policies and Methods Final Exam

L. Paul Bremer is the U.S. administrator in Iraq.

Prime Minister Ariel Sharon's plan to pull out of the Gaza Strip and parts of the West Bank was rejected by his own Likud Party.

Things I Did Know on the Current Events Section of My Editorial Policies and Methods Final Exam

The final episode of NBC's long-running television show "Friends" airs this week.

The No. 1 movie in American this week is "Mean Girls."

Posted by Toby at 12:50 PM | Permalink

BULLSHIT.

Posted by Toby at 12:27 PM | Permalink

Let's play "Never Have I Ever," shall we?

Never have I ever given or received a "rim job." (Sorry, dear roommate, I'm afraid you're out of the game.)

Never have I ever had sex with a former Armani model. (Goodbye, Agatha.)

And lastly, never have I ever been so grateful for a cold, damp, overcast Monday afternoon!

You see, due to inclement and crotch-like weather conditions, not every server was needed for today's lunch shift. After I explained to him my case, the manager, being the kind and pliable person that he is, allowed me to go home, thereby granting me six more hours to write the 12-page paper that is due tomorrow at 8:30 a.m. The gods are truly smiling upon me. Let's hear it for polytheism, yo.

Posted by Toby at 04:04 PM | Permalink

My new iSight video camera makes me want to do things that are wrong — very, very wrong. And we all know what happens when I want to do things that are wrong: I do them!

To wit: I initiated a video chat yesterday with the gay boogeyman — aka Geek Slut of geekslut.org. The moment the bare-chested Geek appeared on my desktop, I became acutely aware of iSight’s limitations. (Despite the camera’s auto-focusing F/2.8 lens and noise-suppressing microphone, iSight does not permit the physical transmission of furry pectoral muscles and engorged genitalia.) Damn you, technology! You are both the base and bane of my sad, tedious, sexually lacking existence.

If only Geek lived in D.C. We’d fuck. I’d subsequently ignore his phone calls. Months would stretch by. Horny and self-hating, I’d call him one random evening. And unlike the other older men I’ve slept with, Geek wouldn’t have the pride to say no.

(There, I’m done. This is the part where you post comments about how much of a whore/ alcoholic/ insipid hack I am.)

Posted by Toby at 09:50 PM | Permalink