Ah, an evening of last hurrahs before school begins tomorrow. Who knows what our second-to-last semester will bring?

Posted by Toby at 03:22 PM | Permalink

Sadly I will be unable to attend the gay blogger brunch this morning. I have work (as usual) and also I split my toe open on the sidewalk yesterday, so I've cultivated an unbecoming limp. Thanks, Kyle, for putting a hex on me at Chipotle.

The semester hasn't even started and already things are sucking. I'm working at the restaurant all weekend, which means I can't go to the brunch. I'm working every spare moment next week, which means I can't go to the fag social on Thursday. How am I going to meet the hot freshmen?! Wah.

I'm overworked and most definitely undersexed. I wish I could be one of those people who just go to class and that's it, but I have the misfortune of possessing "hopes" and "dreams." God help me if all of these internships land me at the restaurant after graduation in May. Gah.

Posted by Toby at 08:33 AM | Permalink

Paul Hamm sounds like a gay robot.

Posted by Toby at 01:13 AM | Permalink

Expect more in the near future. It's the Toby renaissance.

Posted by Toby at 12:42 PM | Permalink

I took that stupid relationship quiz, convinced I had done something wrong. All of my friends wound up with these sweeping, glowing assessments of their personality. Why am I the fucked up jealous one?

Well, I ended up with the same response, so I'm going to repost the response below — but with a few editorial omissions.

You are volatile, sexy and sexually driven. You're magnetic and fascinating ... . ... [When] you fall for someone you fall hard.

... [You] have excellent insight with your friends ... . Trust your friends!

... [You] are cute as hell.

Word Count of Edited Assessment: 41
Word Count of Actual Assessment: 213

Posted by Toby at 10:48 AM | Permalink

Grow some balls, asshole.

P.S. Ew, ew, ew, ew ,ew. Snore.

Posted by Toby at 02:10 AM | Permalink

I want to go on a crack binge, take a few hits of meth, get fucked by an entire dance floor, blow it all for the weekends, hit rock bottom, waste away, steal a car, rob a 7-11, kill a man. Then I will really have something to cry about.

Or at least blog about!

Posted by Toby at 10:40 PM | Permalink

Posted by Toby at 05:51 PM | Permalink

I'm trying hard to brush off the results of 20 Questions to a Better Relationship. It's just a silly quiz, right? Right.

I'm not sure if my ex-boyfriends would agree.

You are volatile, sexy and sexually driven. You're magnetic and fascinating, but you don't really enjoy playing the field -- it makes you nervous and preys on your insecurities. But when you fall for someone you fall hard. … You blow hot and cold, with big highs and big lows. This makes the bad times very bad but the good times very good, so you tend to stay in a problem relationship much longer than you should. But when a relationship fails, you hold a grudge. … You can be needy and jealous. Fortunately you are cute as hell.

Posted by Toby at 03:44 PM | Permalink

Is this intended to be a spermicide reference? Oh, Teresa.

Posted by Toby at 01:49 PM | Permalink

I opened vividblurry.com on February 22, 2003.

And today I had my ONE MILLIONTH VISITOR!

Thanks to all my readers. OK, time to get back to drinking gimlets and cheap sparkling wine with Agatha.

Posted by Toby at 05:22 PM | Permalink

Can you guess which celebrity the following phrases describe in an article on today's salon.com?

• rebellious cupcake
• hormone-racked
• an overpaid affront to feminism
• a 16-year-old chickadee
• pink fleshy creature
• one of those dastardly millennial preachers of virginity
• sparkly kewpie doll
• processed food

Bonus Clue: Her boyfriend is...
• a douche bag of the first order

Click here to unveil the target of this pointless exercise in semantical gymnastics. (Oh, and the article links to me at the bottom of the first page.)

Posted by Toby at 12:29 PM | Permalink

Posted by Toby at 11:34 AM | Permalink

Went to Rhino last night in Georgetown. The bouncer must have doubted my photo ID because he asked me to spell my last name. ("H as in Howard, A, L-L, I, W, E as in Edward, L-L, beeotch!") I took this as a compliment because my driver license photo looks like ass.

Today I am going to the American Idol concert. Get excited!

Posted by Toby at 11:18 AM | Permalink

Once again, my friend Mike's vocal talents shine in "Jaws in 30 Seconds (And Re-Enacted by Bunnies)." Smile, you sonnuffa...!

Posted by Toby at 01:00 PM | Permalink

I worked a promotional event at the Montgomery County Agricultural Fair today. As you all surely know by now, I have a true love for mullets and body odor, so I knew I was in for a good time.

So I pull up the cargo van to the entrance of the fair. I haul the large, awkward and heavy gazebo out of the van and drag it to the area clearly designated as "Exit Only," as per the huge sign. I have a name tag, I'm wearing a shirt emblazoned with the promotional company's logo, and for fuck's sake, I'm carrying a gazebo. Clearly I am not here to ride the Gravitron and eat funnel cake.

As I'm schlepping the gazebo into the fairgrounds, a guy in a "Security" t-shirt says to me, "Exit only." Oh, really? Would you rather I enter through the turnstile? Let me just shove this gazebo into my messenger bag and I'll be on my way. Naturally I ignore him.

He repeats again with unnecessary enunciation: "Exit. Only." OK, fuck you. I'm not about to be patronized by some dude in a position of dubious authority. I drop the gazebo, point to the "Exit Only" sign and say, "Thanks. I can read."

Yay. I'm at the fairgrounds for only 10 minutes and already I'm making friends.

The guy gets out of his golf cart, stomps over to me and shouts, "I don't need attitude from some little fucking obnoxious prick!" Whoa. I apologize, explain that I've had a rough day, and leave the area as fast as one carrying a gazebo can. You don't need attitude from me, and I don't need a fractured ribcage from you.

The rest of the event went well, but the aforementioned discourse served only to cement my hatred of suburban Maryland and its inhabitants. Or at least of mongoloids undeservedly wearing "Security" t-shirts. Your method of transportation is a golf cart, for crying out loud. Get back to me when your manager permits you to drive something that has doors.

Posted by Toby at 12:11 AM | Permalink

Don't worry, baby. It's the kind of pain you'll learn to love.

Posted by Toby at 11:37 AM | Permalink

• Hilariously neurotic article in USA Today, in which details of Britney's wedding are cited from In Touch Weekly, the New York Post and Britain's Daily Star. Despite rumors, the wedding is still on. And there's even a tentative date — November 14 in Santa Barbara, just two days before Spears' greatest-hits album is due.

• The U.S. military offers free breast implants to female soldiers so that "military doctors can practice their skills." (Um, what?) Mary Carey speaks out against the policy: "'I think girls should have natural boobs and natural beauty,' Carey said after unveiling her own breasts in the protest."

• Shirley Manson blogs about Trashlee Simpson and the demise of girl rockers: "I heard [Ashlee's] single and it doesn't sound even remotely like a rock record to me at all. True rock girls are close to extinction. They should put Karen O., Peaches and Brody in an enclosure and start charging people a fortune to even look at them let alone hear them." (No permanent link available. Just go to the Garbage Web site, click Diary, and scroll to entry No. 20.)

Posted by Toby at 10:14 AM | Permalink

• This is sort of like the time when I woke up with some random dude in my bed, except replace "bed" with "vagina" and "some random dude" with "the face of my aborted child." (Spanks, Mike!)

• Amy Sedaris could take over "The Late Late Show" when Craig Kilborn steps down in two weeks. I'm excited for her, but I still see Amy as a pet project person. Hopefully this won't distract her from the upcoming "Strangers with Candy" movie, which is being produced by David Letterman's company World Wide Pants. Pee on me!

• Child Ho Costume: Trick or treat, indeed. (Spanks, Parker!)

• "There is no sign that the Britney brand is on the wane," insists BusinessWeek columnist David E. Gumpert. Unlike an agonized business (i.e. Enron) that must spend millions to restore consumer confidence in its brand, Britney can be "less than respectful to [her] fans" because she is "immune to scandal's side effect."

Posted by Toby at 05:40 PM | Permalink

"Through the murk of the water, you see elbows swung into guts, knees slammed into groins, hands yanking bathing suits into painful wedgies, guys simply swimming on top of an opponent and holding him under water until he fights his way, punching and kicking, to the surface."

Click for a larger view. Mmm.

Posted by Toby at 01:02 PM | Permalink

Britney inexplicably releases another crap-tastic B-side, "(I've Just Begun) Having My Fun." The song begins with a promising beat — a forward drum set graced by a warbling moaning Spears. But when we get to the chorus — "I'm just a crazy kind of girl, I'll tell it to the world" — OK, whatever you say, stepmother. If you want to hear an awesome Brit-side, then download "Don't Hang Up," a techno ballad recorded before she fell in lust with her flyover love rat. I love it, and you'll love it, too.

Posted by Toby at 12:07 AM | Permalink

All this time, I couldn't wait until I was back in my apartment and could turn up the Ashlee Simpson album. Sure, it's overproduced perfection, but raw teen angst still emerges from the polished pop sounds and the impossibly infectious hooks. Oh, you drive me crazy, oh, you just bring me down. Somehow I relate to Ashlee, with her unconventional looks and her nagging self-conscious. But just this once I wanted to reject Top 40 as the soundtrack to my life and instead pop in Ultra Chilled 01 — the ultimate make-out CD, as one unrequited crush once said. Not tonight though. Tonight is Ashlee and Britney and Avril and Mariah. It's clean and tangible and uninvolved. It's what I'm used to, and it's fine.

Posted by Toby at 09:22 PM | Permalink

Posted by Toby at 02:05 AM | Permalink

Whenever I watch Style Network's "Dr. 90210" I think of you.

Posted by Toby at 12:42 AM | Permalink

You chose to celebrate your friend's (30th? And I'm being generous here.) birthday at a restaurant where the average entree is $20. You also chose to celebrate as a party of eight individuals, a party size that warrants minimum gratuity of 20 percent. And so I find it dismaying that you chose to leave me a $50 tip on a $400 check. If you cannot afford to tip your server in a respectful and appreciative manner, then go to Friendly's, you thankless little shit.

My God, I even stuck a lit candle in that bitch's truffle cake. In retrospect, I think we both know what I should have stuck in there.

Posted by Toby at 12:02 AM | Permalink

You are not aware of how adorable you are somtimes, or you simply pretend to not know what I'm talking about. Either way, you are cute, and I like to think I'm the only one who notices.

Posted by Toby at 02:15 PM | Permalink

"I envy you because your life will be a lot more normal and stable than mine."

This doesn't quite beat out my ex-boyfriend's infamous verbal bitchslap: "I spend more money in a week than you earn in a month."

Nice!

Somehow, these both pale in comparison to my parents' not wishing me good luck on my job interview today. I love you, too!

Posted by Toby at 07:47 AM | Permalink

I want to come home to New York before school starts. My parents do not want me to come home. I find this upsetting.

Posted by Toby at 11:36 PM | Permalink

• Meet Laura, a 19-year-old group home resident struggling with weight loss, college applications, and being put on resident alert — again! Her interests include "horses, Kate Hudson, knives, [and] feet." She maintains a LiveJournal, but until she earns the privilege of going to the library every day, she is unable to update daily. (Older entries start here.)

• I joined a gym. It is closer to my apartment than the university gym. If I go consistently for two months, I know I can achieve great results (read: weight gain). But when the forces of my job, my internship, body dysmorphic disorder, depression and excessive alcohol consumption unite, the motivation to work out just isn't what it should be. Any advice? I'd love it if you could help design a work out program for me. If only I had the money for a personal trainer who kick my ass and get me in gear. His name would be Sven and he'd be a big fan of the sauna room. Mmm.

• A fantastic night at The Guards. Slipping the waitress $5 to sneak in our friends through the back. Double glasses of bar gin and soda. Getting hooked up with free shots of GM. Screaming Singing along to "Living on a Prayer," "Electric Slide," and Mariah Carey's "Fantasy." And people wonder why I like going to straight bars.

Posted by Toby at 11:41 AM | Permalink

A table asked me tonight to calculate 15 percent of their $100 check. Cheap bastards. I told them $20 and walked away.

You can guess how much they left me. Not only are they cheap, but they're fucking retarded, as well.

Addendum: Why?!

Posted by Toby at 12:26 AM | Permalink

Posted by Toby at 02:06 PM | Permalink

• The only thing worse than a mandatory meeting: a "fundatory" meeting. Fundatory? As if this made-up word can trick me into thinking that attendance at tonight's intern dinner is by no means obligatory but entirely spontaneous. In fact, the dinner seemed like a great idea until my advisor had to fuck it all up by using the word "fundatory" at the end of the e-mail. Great, nothing like a bunch of middle-aged corporate slaves forcing me to have fun. And the real difference between Mandatory and its flirty, aloof sister, Fundatory? About $7 an hour, before taxes.

• "The great British faggot is full of flavor," says Fred Doody, whose children Lewis, 13, and Grace, 7, "eat faggots twice a week." Yes, I really am this immature.

• And now, a picture from last night, taking full advantage of the amazing smoke-air-tight capabilities of my walk-in closet.

Posted by Toby at 10:20 PM | Permalink

Yesterday my friend and I drank rancid wine because we were convinced it had a higher alcohol content than its previous, less fermented incarnation.

Currently I am drinking Natural Light, which might as well be rancid but I am loving it. That, and Ashlee Simpson's new song. Somebody stop me.

Posted by Toby at 01:25 AM | Permalink