How romantic: a teasing dalliance by the urinal. I wonder why he gave you a "long look." Hmm, maybe it is because you stare at people in public restrooms.

This is why I don't shop at department stores, people.

Posted by Toby at 06:24 PM | Permalink

Posted by Toby at 04:51 PM | Permalink

Hoboken Manhattan wonderbottom wonderboy Bravo Erik took a break from lying about his age to hack a "glossy review" for Gawker that's about as derivative and pointless as his previous stab at relevance, metrospork.com.

At least when I write for Gawker Media, it's fun, coherent and doesn't use the word "fabulous" three times.

Posted by Toby at 04:44 PM | Permalink

My friend said I have gained muscle mass and that the change is most noticeable in my face, which seems to have filled out quite a bit. Thanks, Ben. I’m always happy to self-obsess about something new: my fat fucking face.

I have been sober for three days. Wasted Wednesday and Thirsty Thursday have passed me by, but I unscrewed not a single bottle of André. (From something that bills itself as “California champagne,” I would expect nothing but a screw top.) Is Toby changing his ways? No. I just needed to lay off the booze for a while to prove to myself that I still could. And I can! Cheers to that.

I can’t stop listening to the Ashlee Simpson CD. My favorite track is “La La” because she sings about dressing as a housemaid and fucking her boyfriend “in the kitchen on the floor.” No, seriously. It’s a great song for 11-year-old girls to be humming on the school bus.

My elbow is doing better. Thanks for all the e-mails of support and unsolicited nude photos. Rather than see a sports doctor, I’ve decided to just take a break from the gym and to stop masturbating so damn much. I’ll keep you updated.

Oh, and I’ve chosen my Halloween costume. Key ingredients: fedora; white velour track pants; Marlboro Light behind the ear; and a Big Gulp. Be the first to guess my costume and I’ll e-mail you an exclusive Halloween weekend party pic! Woop dee do.

Posted by Toby at 02:20 PM | Permalink

I injured my right elbow at the gym last week. My publicist insists we spin this like Britney's busted knee or Ashlee's acid "refux" problem, but I've never been one to sugarcoat the truth. Y'all — my true fans — have stood by and stalked me through the most difficult of times, and so I feel a Missive of Near-Absolute Certainty is long overdue.

A drunken, impromptu arm wrestling match with my buddy and fellow Red Sox fan Rusty strained a tendon in my right elbow. My manager obtained some bootleg cortisone to remedy the situation, but I declined. I'm all about rest and relaxation, man. A sling, a few ice packs, some Aleve — these are the ingredients to a speedy recovery. Of course, I'll have to stay away from the gym for a week, which upset my trainer. I guess I'll just focus on abs and lower body for the next few days.

It doesn't hurt too bad, so I'm not sure if I need to see a sports doc. Shoot any advice my way.

Posted by Toby at 09:07 AM | Permalink

Today was one of those days.

And by "one of those days" I mean "one of those days during which I feel like sobbing into my glass of André."

But there is a light at the end of this tunnel. I just need to survive until tomorrow night, when a grueling 14-hour workday will be behind me.

Since I am too tired to update, I shall leave you with this. Turn up the sound, my pretties. (Thanks, Blake!)

Posted by Toby at 08:17 PM | Permalink

Heather Havrilesky writes a very insightful reaction to "Ashleegate" on Salon:

The normally rabid live audience reacted with stilted laughter as Ashlee crammed as many "Oops!" and "What can you do?" gestures as possible into her final few seconds on the air. That hapless little-sister, "Sure, I'm pathetic, but in a cute way!" shtick that made her MTV reality show, "The Ashlee Simpson Show," so popular, won her the devotion of scores of fans, and contributed to selling almost two million copies of her debut album, "Autobiography," now wore thin.

Ashlee gave a phone interview on TRL just a few minutes ago. She blamed the mishap on "acid reflux disease" and her drummer, who she says "pressed the wrong button." Whatever, Ashlee. Take a Nexium and stop blaming everything on your band.

I managed to transcribe a bit of her TRL interview, which I've posted below. She performs tonight at the Radio Music Awards, which airs tonight on NBC at 9 p.m. I won't be watching.

"I had severe acid reflux that day. It started acting up. Rehearsals were amazing, but I completely lost my voice, and my dad was like, 'I'm sorry, but you have to sing along with the backing track.' …

I never sing to a backing track. My voice is much better now."

Posted by Toby at 05:21 PM | Permalink

Like menthol cigarettes and dark-skinned minorities, raw eggs are not as dangerous as everyone thinks. They are inexpensive, high in protein, easy to consume, and relatively harmless, if not entirely healthy.

Consider that only one in every 30,000 eggs carries the Salmonella bacteria. The risk of Salmonella exposure is even smaller in organic eggs.

So, what happens if you eat an infected egg? You'll suffer from diarrhea and abdominal cramps 12 to 72 hours later. When untreated, the illness goes away within a week. If you are a slut like me, discomfort in one's midsection is by now routine, so chancing it with a raw egg should be no cause for alarm.

Raw eggs are an excellent (Or, dare I say, egg-celent?) source of protein for those hitting the gym with the intention to bulk up. One egg is packed with eight grams of protein. Toss four into a blender, and it's as if you've eaten a 3.5 ounce steak. That steak could have cost you $20 in a restaurant, whereas four eggs are just a fraction of a dollar!

Unfortunately, raw eggs are not very tasty. Sure, you could scramble them, but that takes time. This is where your blender comes into play. I asked for your favorite raw egg protein shakes a few days ago, and here are the best suggestions. My personal recipe is at the end.

For the fit alcoholic:

6 ice cubes
4 eggs
3 scoops of vanilla protein
1 scoop of chocolate protein
2 shots of Kahlua
1 tsp. of vanilla extract
1 banana for texture (optional)

Fill the blender half way with whole milk (or soy if you prefer). Don't use weight gainer; that shit will pork you.

The inclusion of Kahlua intrigues me, but not enough to give this recipe a try. Bananas are disgusting, and this shake has too many ingredients for it to be practical. Remember, guys: I'm lazy!

For the white supremacist:

1 whole egg
3-4 egg whites
2-3 tbls skim milk powder
1 cup cream

Blend it all with a stick mixer or a blender. Some people add sugar to taste.

Mmm, eggs mixed with milk. Sugar is probably a good idea for this one. Skim milk powder is a good alternative to protein powder in that it's high in protein and much cheaper. Still, the idea of using whole cream is a bit disconcerting. Remember my intolerance to lactose products?

Here's my recipe. It's easy, high in protein and surprisingly tasty — resembles a McDonald's vanilla milkshake in color, texture and taste.

3 eggs
3-4 scoops of Breyer's vanilla ice cream
Some whole milk

Put it all in a blender and enjoy. Less milk will result in a very thick shake; more milk will result in a thinner shake that can be easily consumed through a straw. Total amount of protein: Between 30 and 40 grams!

I drink this shake every night. This is in addition to the protein powder shake I consume after my morning workout. Factor in the fuckload of chicken I eat, and that's just over 150 grams of protein in a single day — one gram for every pound I weigh.

Any other tips for packing in the protein? Let me know!

Posted by Toby at 04:29 PM | Permalink

TJ, you shouldn't have. I could cry. Again.

Posted by Toby at 09:47 PM | Permalink

Any recipes for protein shakes involving raw eggs? Let me know.

I'm in a really good mood! And it's not because of the drugs! Yay!

Posted by Toby at 12:53 PM | Permalink

Yet another tragic missed connection. This is the last time I leave the apartment without my bodyguard.

Anyway, the date went well, so, no, I won't be calling you. But tell your friend to give me a buzz. He was kind of hot.

Posted by Toby at 12:43 PM | Permalink

Chrisafer.com? Dogpoet.com? Joemygod.blogspot.com? Yeah, never heard of 'em either. But we'll all be at DC9 this Sunday for "BlogJam: The Homo Speak."

"The Homo Speak." I know.

Listen, I had nothing to do with the name, but I'm under contractual obligations to go, so feel free to stop by and say ahoy!

P.S. There is not a shred of truth to this rumor.

Posted by Toby at 09:04 AM | Permalink

Oh my dear God.

Rupert! What the fuck?!

I guess this just goes to show that one day we all will be old, and no amount of eyeliner, hair dye or collagen injects can change that.

Posted by Toby at 04:50 PM | Permalink

Since the majority of my readership is unfuckable pimply queens, I decided to experience life through their perspective...

...by having sex with an inanimate object.

Enjoy, fucktards. And don't get any ideas.

Posted by Toby at 12:07 AM | Permalink

Ah, Chipotle. The festive yet decidedly unethnic atmosphere of stainless steel and bubblegum salsa music… The spicy aroma of marinated steak and dark-skinned minorities… And, today, a chance encounter with my bodybuilding fuck-buddy. Arriba!

Alas, the monkey gods of Mexico's people would have none of it. As I saddled up to the counter, bending over slightly in the direction of mi novio temporario, I felt a rumbling in my tummy. Que pasa? My bowels were as seismologically active as El Chichón in 1983.

And then I remembered a racial demographic of another, paler kind… White Russians! I'd consumed at least two gallons of these bad boys in the last three days. It was then that, like a vision of Santa Maria in a freshly baked tortilla, the moral of our story appeared: Though my tolerance for vodka and Burka's coffee liqueur is admirably high, my tolerance for dairy products, I'm afraid, is dismayingly low. My pipes needed a cleaning, but not in the way my would-be cowboy would have preferred.

This is what could have happened if I stayed in Chipotle a moment longer:

Just kidding. My roommate emptied her ass on the kitchen floor and, with frenzied embarrassment, smashed a bowl into the mix. Okay, Lauren, it's soup. Sure doesn't smell like it though.

Posted by Toby at 09:09 PM | Permalink

After awaking at 6 a.m. to the tune of an incomplete homework assignment, I embarked on a three-hour crusade to finish a 1,000-word essay on campaign finance law before my 10 a.m. class. The sad thing is that I'll probably get a better grade than many of the students who spent the last two weeks working on it.

You know, I'm prouder to receive an A- on an assigment I shit out an hour before class than an A on something into which I put considerable effort. It only makes sense. Why strive to be the very best when the standards set by your peers are already so low?

To paraphrase Jerri Blank: If you're going to reach for the stars, grab the lowest one you can.

Posted by Toby at 09:50 AM | Permalink

After weeks of resting unassembled on our living room floor, ignored and neglected like Jennifer Tilly's career, Agatha's bike (and its owner) are ready to ride. It takes a real man to break it in, right, baby?

Posted by Toby at 05:49 PM | Permalink

Posted by Toby at 07:54 PM | Permalink

Coming out of a bar as you were walking by? Sure, that sounds about right.

Posted by Toby at 08:12 AM | Permalink

Each morning when I stumble out of bed (or off of the couch — never drinking again), I make my way to the bathroom, where I stand naked in front of the mirror, surveying my body for developments. On good days I'll feel more like an "after" photo than a "before." But today, I couldn't steer my eyes away from my disproportionately small chest. Grow, damn you!

I'm not an 11-year-old girl, I swear.

Other insane morning habits include cleaning the kitchen and checking the missed connections on craigslist.

Future habits will most likely involve vodka in some way.

Posted by Toby at 09:16 AM | Permalink

Slapped it together in a day. Hope you like it.

Posted by Toby at 01:59 AM | Permalink

When you see me on the street, don't gawk; say hello. I'm not unfriendly. Chances are that I'm just massively hung over. :D

Posted by Toby at 10:07 AM | Permalink

Update: Meh, the pic looked weird, so I took it down. Expect a new layout over the weekend. I should probably get rid of that Blogads box, too. Don't know why it's there.

Posted by Toby at 08:30 AM | Permalink

With the gangly arms, fake tan, obnoxious Kaballah bracelet, and puffy breasts, I could have sworn it was Paris Hilton.

In fact, it is only Bravo, erstwhile blogger and perennial tool. Always a favorite here at Vividblurry.com!

Posted by Toby at 01:41 PM | Permalink

Drivin' in mah Beemah with the top down and mah collarr up...

If I were to become a rap artist, this would be my hit song.

Posted by Toby at 03:57 PM | Permalink

My God, Rick is hot. I mean, he's older and employed, so obviously he's hot. Yes, Daddy, take me to the men's restroom at the back of the restaurant, where you'll push me against the cool tiled wall and tell me how adorable I am. You'll force your lips against mine and I'll raise my hands to feel your stubbly cheeks and coarse, stone-like chin. You probably have to shave three times a day. Just get it over with and fuck me, Rick, darling.

Where am I going with this? Oh, right. I saw Rick at the restaurant for the first time since our impromptu tonsil hockey match. But did he extend to me an invitation for Round Two? No. So fuck you, Rick. I'll just continue crushing on stuffy gay Republicans and spoiled trust fund babies who drive Mercedes convertibles. Born to blossom, bloom to perish.

Enjoy this entry because when I sober up I'll probably delete it.

Posted by Toby at 11:10 PM | Permalink

Two all-American hotties, flanked on either side by a vintage end table (hers — well, her dead grandmother's, at least) and a 24 oz. bottle of premium malt liquor (his). To the Killers concert we go!

Posted by Toby at 01:57 PM | Permalink

Ew. I posted my first Missed Connection — albeit drunkenly.

Posted by Toby at 09:12 AM | Permalink