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January 31, 2005

I think he's legal

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Oh boy, Aaron Carter is looking hot these days. I sure do feel bad for lamenting his then-unfortunate escape from an exploding SUV a few weeks ago. Though he seems to be taking fashion tips from Flava Flav and James St. James. Oh my gawsh, and in makeup, he looks like Lindsay Lohan. I am now looking away. [via Hunter]

And are we liking the new layout? If not, then you might not like the direction in which my blog will be going in the coming weeks. Just a warning, y'all.

UPDATE: Another insane picture of Aaron Carter. Thanks, Hunter.

Hmm, there's a liquor store downstairs

I want to get drunk RIGHT NOW just to call this Web site. [via lindsayism]

Life imitates spam

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January 30, 2005

Our lovely neighbors

I would just like to say that our neighbors are really fucking ugly and it's disgusting that two people as ugly as they are can stay together as a sexually active couple and that they are huge losers who feel the need to call the police on a Saturday night at 10:30 p.m. to alert the authorities that we are being "loud" and playing '90s music and that they can fuck themselves because for the next few months they will have to tolerate our zaniness because ugly people don't have rights, especially ugly people who are balding and have fat girlfriends.

I played Mr. Nice Guy the last time they bitched to us about playing Ginuwine's "Pony" too loudly — sorry, but can you really play "Pony" too loudly?? — but now I'm cranking up the bizzase and blasting Ashlee all the live long day.

January 29, 2005

Rocky Horror E.R.

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I really hate my doctor. His secretaries are rude, and whenever I call to make an appointment, no one picks up and I'm forced to leave a voice mail to which inevitably no one will reply. And yet I keep coming back! This is not unlike the phenomenon of my racist dentist back home who likes to jokingly tell my mother that "Toby's teeth are just fine, oh, except for the marijuana stains," but I'll save that story for another day.

So as I mentioned before, I went to my doctor yesterday for a referral to an orthopedic. After he surmised that I have a sinus infection and prescribed me some antibiotics and a cough suppressant, the doctor glanced at my MRI results and said the findings were "unremarkable." This is interesting, because I might just use the word "remarkable" to describe injuring one's elbow in October and still feeling pain three months later. Anyway, he referred me to the physical therapist who has an office in the basement.

I went downstairs and met with the therapist right away. He said I probably sprained a muscle that, at the time, sounded a lot like Anacostia but now I forget. After three weeks of therapy, I should be fine. I was then hooked up to a machine that shot spurts of electricity into my arm, it was like having a thousand muscle spasms in an isolated area for 10 minutes. Weird. After that, the therapist said it was time for the ultrasound. I asked if there was a baby in my elbow, so he laughed politely and added, "My assistant will take it from here."

And in comes his assistant. Seven feet tall, long ratty hair bunched up on top, big boned, grossly long fingernails, arm hair. And a feminine voice that cooed, "This won't hurt a bit." Oh my gawsh, his assistant is a transsexual.

Now, I don't know if you've ever had a transsexual give you an ultrasound before, but she was very gentle and we had a lovely conversation about the benefits of electrotherapy and its effects on tissue healing. It was all very surreal and I kept waiting for someone to break out into the Time Warp, but alas that moment never came.

To conclude on a positive note: My doctor didn't specify an amount on my cough suppressant prescription, so the pharmacy won't fill it. That fucking asshole.

La la la la la la

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January 28, 2005

MRI update

A lot of you have asked how my MRI went last week. As you might recall, I hurt my right elbow way back in November, and since then, I haven't been to the gym. I've lost progress and weight, which is one reason why I haven't posted a shirtless picture in ages. Today my doctor will look over the MRI results and refer me to an orthopedic. We'll see what happens.

I promised myself I would start going to the gym to work on legs and abs, but with the craziness of a new semester and my recent bout of the flu, I just haven't gotten my shit together. So many of you helpfully e-mailed me, offering tips and pointers on good leg workouts, but as you know, seeing the workout on a computer screen is different from seeing it in person.

I'm saving up some money to book a few sessions with a trainer. As I said earlier: We'll see what happens.

January 27, 2005

Mandy sure gets around

Not entirely surprising, but she still makes me wanna la-la. No, I do not work for Geffen Records. (via stereogum)

Stupid Health Center

My fever broke yesterday -- too bad it's met with no spectacle as frantic as when your water breaks -- but I still needed to go to the university's Health Center. Only there can I obtain one of those slips that would retroactively (and conveniently!) excuse me from missing class for the past three days.

It turns out that the Health Center has changed its policy. The secretary said too many students have "abused" the sick note system and so they no longer dole out slips unless you've been examined by a doctor. Considering the only diagnoses to ever emerge from that damned medical building are mono and pregnancy, I don't see how this new policy makes any sense.

Anyway, I begged the secretary to grant me a slip but she resisted.

"I can't give you a slip," she said, "but you do look pretty sick."

Oh, how gracious of you. I'm feeling better already.

This fire is outta control

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It seems I've gone from one extreme to another, as far as my bed is concerned.

When I moved into my apartment last May, I tried to save money by getting a $200 futon rather than a $500 mattress. Believe it or not, I saw nothing wrong with this at the time. My two roommates had futons, as well, so why not be part of the Kool Kids Futon Club, too? After sleeping on the communal flip 'n' fuck for a few nights (looks a lot like this, only bigger and with more suspicious stains), my futon arrived and of course it was the most god awful thing I have ever slept on in my life.

Fast-forward seven months and I still hadn't upgraded to a proper bed. It wasn't until this past Sunday, while struggling to get a good night's sleep despite the monstrous back pain to which I had become accustomed, that I logged onto craigslist and arranged for the $130 purchase and delivery of a full size mattress and box spring. Yes, it is a used mattress. But we've all slept in hotels, and I endured the dorms for three years, and frankly, a blood-stained mattress is better than an immaculate, wafer-thin futon.

As it turns out, the mattress is gorgeous — not a stain or odor or pubic hair as far as the eye is willing to see. The moment it arrived, I jetted off to Linens 'n Things to pimp out my new bed with sexy new sheets (Jersey sheets seemed like a good idea seven months ago, but what do you know, I was wrong), a down comforter and an electric blanket. Yes, an electric blanket. Amazing. Get yourself one. You deserve it.

Okay, well, there is just one problem with the electric blanket. Despite how amazing it feels to slip into a toasty bed every night, the luxury wears off at around 3 a.m. when I wake up in a pool of hot sweat. Before my bed was too cold, but now it's just too damn hot. My sheets are always wet in the morning and I feel compelled to wash them every day.

And yes, I'm pretty sure the sheets are wet because of the blanket, okay? I'm not 13 years old — implying that when I was 13, I had wet dreams, not wet the bed, though to be honest, I've never had a wet dream.

Anyway, back to my inferno of a bed. Xo.

Vividblurry Fan Fiction: Part I, The Locker Room

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I know that, when compared to that of Bravo, this picture of me isn't that hot. Perhaps I'm not tan enough. Or maybe it's because I'm not wearing enough rouge. Regardless, it's the best I could come up with for this week's installment of VIVIDBLURRY FAN FICTION.

That's right, y'all. One of you was bored enough to pen a sweeping epic detailing the life of my imagined alterego. Enjoy, and stay tuned.

Toby In: The Locker Room
It was late in the afternoon, and Toby’s football practice had run long. Coach Shellhammer had asked him to stay late to do sprints in preparation for the match against their rivals, the Twink Magnet School. Toby was the star quarterback for Hung High, and tonight the locker room was empty, the air thick with the smell of jock sweat, and steam clung to the windows. The sound of Toby’s cleats on the cold cement floor echoed throughout the locker room.
“Hello? Anyone in here?” Toby called out, to nobody in particular. The remnant of a Brooklyn accent clung to his voice. Nobody responded, but as Toby walked down the hall, he heard a locker door creak and slam shut. “Hello? Who’s there?” His heartbeat quickened, causing his bulging pectorals to quiver imperceptibly. He would be afraid if it weren’t for the fact that he was by far the biggest guy at Hung High — in every sense of the word. Nobody responded, so he continued to walk, until from behind him he heard a voice which he recognized, but couldn’t place.
“Hello, Toby.” The voice was slightly effete, but there was a hint of it belonging to someone attractive. “Don’t turn around. I want you to take off your cleats and your football shorts, but leave the rest of your pads on.”
Toby froze. His massive, perfectly-shaped cock rose a bit from the command. About to turn around to face his assailant, he changed his mind at the last minute and decided to play along. He started to pull off his shorts, and asked, laughing, “what if I decide to turn around? What’ll you do to me?”
The voice replied, “Whether or not you turn around won’t make a difference. I’m still going to tie you to the goalpost and invite the Twink Magnet Football Team to gang-bang you. Whether we let you go afterward or leave you tied up until the big match tomorrow morning is up to how well you listen to orders, slave boy.”
Toby began to panic. If the entire Twink Magnet team was hiding, ready to ambush him, he didn’t have much of a choice. Should he submit or should he fight? It wouldn’t make a difference. As soon as he turned around to face the mystery Twink, he was tackled, blindfolded, and cuffed by a linebacker. Still, out of the corner of his eye, at the last minute, Toby saw who it was that had organized this heinous attack on him.
Bravo!
TO BE CONTINUED: A WEEKLY SLASH-FANFIC ADVENTURE STARRING OUR FAVORITE BLOGGER, TOBY.
NEXT WEEK: TOBY FACES A BRUTAL BONDAGE GANGBANG BY BRAVO AND THE TWINK HIGH TEAM! WILL HE ESCAPE? MAKE SURE TO CUM BACK FOR THE STARTLING CONCLUSION!

January 26, 2005

Bolt, don't walk

Still very sick, y'all. So if you haven't had your fill of Toby lately, check out my review of the "Bolt" dildo on Fleshbot. <3

January 25, 2005

Oh, the pain

I have the flu, people. We're talkin' fever of 100 degrees. No major updates today, unfortunately. Hopefully I'll be feeling better tomorrow.

Xo,
Toby

P.S. No, "flu" is not a euphemism for "cosmetic surgery procedure with a recovery time of five to seven days." Seriously.

January 24, 2005

We are all winners

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To vote for a bunch of gay/lesbian/bisexual/transgendered/crappy blogs that neither you nor I have ever heard of, click here.

I wish I was a ballah

No major updates today, kids. Toby has the flu. :(

January 23, 2005

I feel like bitch slapping someone

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Emergency

Does anyone know where I can find archived issues of CARGO magazine? Do you have any old issues laying around at home? Please consider that I live in Washington, D.C. E-mail pronto!

I provided the empty bottle

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Really, this is how most of us deal with the snow here in The DC.

Saturday night fever

I am in one of those moods where I feel like apologizing to everyone. For being moody, for being an asshole, for blacking out last night, for not doing my homework, for spending too much money, for being a tease, for not hugging you when I saw you on the street, for being lazy, for writing stupid blog entries.

So, yeah, I'm sorry, everyone. It will never happen again.

January 22, 2005

I'm the one in pink, btw

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Insane night

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I wish I knew who that was.

And I love her hair

I'm too hung over to write a witty introduction to this clip, so I'll just copy and paste directly from iFilm:

A Fox News anchor flips out when a guest dares to question the nature of Bush's elaborate 2nd inauguration.

I just can't believe how biased Fox News is. I haven't ever watched it before (I'm more of a CNN and MSNBC guy), so this fucking AMAZED me. Totally unbelievable. Totally worth watching!!

January 21, 2005

You are all pussies

GROW. THE FUCK. UP.

Smoother than the L.A. weather II

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Goodbye, wop beard! See you again in five to seven days. Xo.

January 20, 2005

Wow, I'm in a hateful mood

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To the retard working the cash register at Panera this afternoon:

Perhaps you didn't hear me the first, second, third time I said Smokehouse Turkey sandwich, no cheddar. That's right, I do not want any cheddar cheese on my sandwich. I hate cheese, and if even the slightest slice so much as touches the plate, I will request that another be made.

Getting back to my point, because not having cheese on my sandwich was the last thing with which I should have been concerned, as it turns out. I stated my order three times, having seen your kind behind a cash register before. Even for an underpaid automaton who simply pushes buttons on a keypad and swipes the occasional credit card, you cannot be trusted to handle as detailed an order as mine.

And so, upon repeating my order for the second time — with particular emphasis on no cheddar — you asked what bread I would prefer. How kind of you to ask! But doesn't the Smokehouse Turkey come with a preselected bread, as specified on the menu? Hmm, well, knowing that I am a very particular customer who does not like cheese, perhaps you were simply striving to customize my meal down to the very bread between which the Smokehouse Turkey rests.

Or perhaps you were being a total fucking retard. As with all the other Hot Panini sandwiches, the Smokehouse Turkey sandwich is premade. It is already in an oven, piping hot, meaning that one cannot choose a kind of bread, or, for that matter, opt out of cheddar cheese! You should have known this! This is common knowledge for someone who works in a sandwich store! Don't you know anything?!

Of course, not having worked at a Panera before (not that this would have endowed me with any sandwich knowledge, as the employee before me had illustrated), I didn't find out about all of this until after my sandwich had already been made. Yes, it was a turkey sandwich, and yes, there was not a speck of cheddar in sight. But it was cold, and there was mayo. I cannot eat mayo. I don't know why, but I can't. It's slimy and disgusting and oh my dear god, it nearly entered my mouth! But at the last minute, I realized they had made the wrong sandwich, so I brought it back to the counter.

It was then that I was told I could not have a cheddar-free Smokehouse Turkey sandwich, for all the sandwiches are premade. How comforting. Someone who walks into Panera at 4 p.m. and orders a Hot Panini sandwich is getting something that was made eight hours ago. Wow, that is fucking disgusting.

And so, dear retard who works at Panera, I hope we never cross paths again, because I have a knuckle sandwich with your god damned name on it.

Angrily (and hungrily),
Toby

Who dare hateth the Toby?

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With the recent influx of fan art and advertisements on ye olde 'Blurry, one might think that all is well in Tobyland. One might also think that no one would dare hateth upon King Toby for fear of being eternally damned by the blogosphere's most powerful 21-year-old gay alcoholic. But one would be wrong to think so.

You see, I came across this entry while trolling through the unpleasant and disenfranchised shantytown of LiveJournal (a suburb of Diaryland, I believe). You can read his naive criticisms of King Toby below:

Because of the snow, i spend a wee bit of time tonight just mulling about the internet. Like we do. And I came across something I haven't seen for a year. Now, everyone, wait for me to explain before you click on this link: VividBlurry This is a blog of someone I knew, and quite severely despised, while I was at school.
This person, who named himself Toby for the sake of this god-forsaken blog (his real name I've now forgotten, and may it rest there in the depths of hell), is one of the most pompous, arrogant, self-rightious assholes I have ever met. And I only heard him speak once. Most of my experience with this fellow has been through his livejournal and through the condescending looks he gave me on the way to the bathroom. (Yes, he lived down the hall from me. It was like being within range of Chyrnoble - you just couldn't get the muck off of you no matter how hard you tried.)
No, the point of this post is not to tell everyone how much I hate him, at least not entirely the point, but instead to erect a sort of anti-idol, and proclaim to all the world that I do not ever want to be like him. Ever. He is one of many images I've found over the years of people who simply stand for everything in opposite to my own beliefs. And while I welcome the diversity, I'd perfer it if they not be an obnoxious asshole on top of that.

I won't link to this guy, but I found his screen name and had a nice chat with him. No, really, I did! Instinct told me to yell and scream and curse, but I bit my tongue and we conversationally worked out our differences. His entry reminded me of the way I used to randomly hate on other bloggers — Bravo, for instance, or sometimes Bradford, who I've seen nakey. But 2005 brings you a new Toby and so there is no reason to hateth, okay? Alrighty, y'all, I'm off to Friendship Heights (no, seriously, the town is called Friendship Heights) to help my friend buy a dress for one of tonight's inaugural balls. Halfway there!

Final fan art edition! No, seriously

Okay, y'all, listen to me. I was, like, totally kidding about fan art featuring yours truly all up in Ashlee and Brit. I am now placing a moratorium on the posting of fan art on this site — with the exception of today.

This piece of fan art comes from Jonny. Have fun reading his LiveJournal, it will give you a seizure:

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I think he airbrushed my ass, but whatever.

The final fan art installment comes from some asshole in Australia. He likes to hate on Toby and is therefore no longer welcome in Tobyland:

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Hmm. I miss him anyway. <3

January 19, 2005

Breaking: 'Obese' and 'Elegant' Used in Same Headline

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From an Associated Press article about Cuba's Voluminous Dance group:

"It's incredible how they utilize their roundness," Mirta Castro, a tourist from Costa Rica, said as she watched the dancers rehearsing in Havana.

Mmm, utilized roundness. How very polite of Ms. Castro to "weigh in" on the dance group in such a diplomatic manner.

Last fan art post evs

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This is the last piece of fan art I plan on posting in a long while, unless, of course, something rolls in featuring Britney or Ashlee. Seriously, y'all, I appreciate the gestures, but wouldn't it be easier to click here than to spend valuable minutes shitting around in Photoshop? I said easier, not cheaper, people.

Anyway, I finally got my Airport Express working. Now I can cast my Ashlee mp3s wirelessly through the air as I zip back and forth from my bed to the living "area" couch. It's too cold to go out, so I'll stay in with a bottle of wine, my wop beard, and my other beard Agatha. Xo.

I don't even like the Phillies!

More ridiculous fan art. You people sure do have a lot of free time.

January 18, 2005

When I'm sad, I take pictures of myself

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For a fierce haircut such as the one above, ask for Mikel at Okyo Salon in Georgetown. He's been featured on Fox's "Ambush Makeover," but don't let that dissuade you. Mikel is very talented, earning him the questionably honorable title of Official Stylist of Vividblurry.com!

(Wop beard does not come with the haircut, though.)

Penguinz rule!

Okay, so I don't know who ordered this weather, but it came out cold and I have half a mind to send it back to the kitchen. Things are insanely frigid here in The DC, but while pretending to research German media outlets at work today, I came across these ADORABLE pictures from a recent snow storm in Scotland.

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OMGZ!! So cute that it almost makes you reconsider shooting it from your porch with a Smith & Wesson to teach a lesson to all those other carrot-snatching Humboldt penguins, damn vermin, always eatin' mah marigolds.

Be sure to check out the other pictures in the BBC News series, which include a three-month-old Jack Russell puppy and a 34-year-old African elephant playing in the snow (but not together, sadly).

I have awful taste in music, duh

From Bradford, who I've seen nakey:

1. What is the total amount of music files on your computer?
4070 songs - 15.67 GB

2. The CD you last bought is?
"Leona Naess" by Leona Naess. Didn't even realize she had a new CD out. Typical girl with guitar but more poetic. I dig it and so will you!

3. What is the song you last listened to before reading this message?
"Pieces Of Me" by Ashlee. I have been listening to this CD nonstop for three days. Thanks for the new tunes, Bradford!

4. Write down 5 songs you often listen to or that mean a lot to you.
Let's go with the Top Five Most Played songs, according to iTunes, which, unlike myself in times of inevitable embarrassment, does not lie. 5) "There's A Light" from the Rocky Horror Picture Show; 4) "Sisters" from the movie "White Christmas"; 3) "That Girl" by Lindsay Lohan; 2) "Toxic" mash-up featuring Britney Spears and Linkin Park's "Faint"; 1) "Wouldn't It Be Nice" by the Beach Boys. So sad.

5. Who are you going to pass this stick to? (3 persons) and why?
Augh, no thanks. Too lazy.

Look away

Many thanks to the reader who sent this to me. You have quite a way with Microsoft Paint. Not sure what the "open" signifies. Open bar? Open wide? Open casket? Regardless, it certainly is unique. Thanx. Xo.

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January 17, 2005

Happy MLK Day!

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I, too, had a dream. I was in L.A. with my mother and brother at some restaurant in the woods (I know), and lo and behold, Ashlee Simpson comes running up behind me and says bitterly, "Hey, Toby." Oh, shit! Ashlee Simpson! I'm, like, such a big fan of your work! You are awesome! And in the middle of this shower of praise, she turns swiftly on her heels (Manolos?) and heads back to her table.

20050117_ash.jpgI follow her around the corner, where I find her father, her sister Jessica and, inexplicably, Jamie Lynn Spears sitting in a T.G.I. Friday's-style booth. I outstretch my arms to embrace the fleeing Ashlee, but she whips around and tells me to back off. Why the attitude, missy? And then I remember... all the awful things I've written about her on my site. She's read my site, and she will never forgive me.

And so, the lesson learned is that don't make fun of celebrities if you plan on being their friends when you see them in public. Have a great day off!!

January 16, 2005

Experiments in layering

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January 15, 2005

Mmm'k

Boy, I can't wait to join the working world!

After a long holiday weekend, I like to get in the office early and ease into the day. By the time the associates roll in from their vacations at 9:30, 10:00, or even later, with tans that will quickly fade and stories no one wants to hear, I'll have a stack of assignments ready to hand out and shock them back into the routine.
I've already left some post-it notes on people's computers asking them to see me as soon as they get in. I dated one of them last Wednesday, one last Tuesday, and one, for someone I know has been gone since the day before Christmas, 7 A.M. on Christmas morning. "Check in as soon as you get this," it says. "I have some work to take with you on vacation. Hope it won't be much trouble. Thx." It'll put the fear of God into them, just a bit.

I don't know if this Anonymous Lawyer fellow is real, but he offers some good tips on instilling fear in those below one's rank. Have a great weekend, y'all, and I'll need that memo Monday morning, thx.

January 14, 2005

I saw him nakey

I want the world to know that Bradford is the greatest! <3

Bed time

I went to the gay "mixer" on campus today, though I'll tell you right now, there were no mixers for the non-existent alcohol, so it wasn't that fun. I was there for only 10 minutes anyway, handing out little cards with my Web address on it because I'm a loser. A few cute guys there, a lot of really nice guys there, as well. Not that I'm looking to date, that's what craigslist missed connections are for, y'all.

Shit, I'm tired. And I have my MRI tomorrow. I'm kinda nervous, not about the actual MRI but the results that follow. And I'm spitting out blood due to the Crest White Stripz. Fantastic! Nitey.

January 13, 2005

Ashlee picks up the pieces

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Okay, so I promised I would write about the awesome Ashlee article in ALLURE, so here you go.

To begin, ALLURE points out a few inconsistencies in Ashlee Simpson's "you make me wanna spit out cuss words, open a box of Clairol Nice n' Easy 122 Natural Black, and pop a Nexium or two" image. The first myth to be de-punked: her noble battle with acid reflux.

"I'm one of those people who lives my life by the moment," Ashlee announced back at breakfast, between gulps of grapefruit juice and big bites of a cheddar-cheese omelet with peppers and bacon.

The author conducted this interview a day and a half before her retartar appearance on SNL. A day and a half! You'll be interested to know that purplepill.com lists pepper, citrus fruits and fried or fatty foods as major triggers of acid reflux. Ashlee might want to lay off the breakfast sandwiches for a while, but I'm sure she knows this already, since acid reflux is something with which she has supposedly dealt for years. Like, whatever.

Okay, so next up? The whole "I'm so bad, I'm the opposite of my sister" thing.

Besides picking at her cuticles, she claims her worst habit is that "I say 'fuck' a lot" — the first and last time she utters the epithet throughout a two-hour interview.

LOL. The author has a kick-ass sense of humor. She also points out the star-shaped tattoo on the inside of Ashlee's left wrist. I'm willing to bet it's not even real, but I owe her at least a little credit, due to what she said about something far more prominent than a little body ink.

"I felt like my nose was big. I was always like, 'I'm going to get a nose job one day.' And I'm so glad that I didn't. I love my nose. I personally think that I've grown into my nose. I think it has character."

20050112_ash.jpgAnd that is why I totally love Ashlee Simpson. I hate my nose, too, but there is something to be said about unconventional beauty. Still, I've heard rumors and seen pictures that suggest Ashlee has had a nose job — to streamline the bridge — and also an eye lift, just like her sister. But I still like her anyway.

Maybe you hate her music, or maybe you just haven't heard the right song. My fav is "Love Me For Me," which I'll post below for the next 24 hours. Girrrl power, y'all.

Ashlee Simpson - Love Me For Me

Fin de Fiesta

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Having worked for a radio giant during the summer of 2004, it doesn't surprise me that WHFS — once known in the District for its seemingly playlist-free broadcast of alternative rock — did an abrupt U-turn to Spanish pop music yesterday afternoon. Hardly anyone saw this coming; the morning show jockeys weren't informed of the switch until moments after what would prove to be their last broadcast. It's a shame, because HFS had some good music and their interns were always cooler than the morons with whom I worked.

It just bothers me that Infinity didn't even give HFS fans a chance to say goodbye to their favorite radio station. Just another example of how radio juggernauts really don't give a flying shit about the listeners.

January 12, 2005

Better be street if ya lookin' at me

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UPDATE: Fixed the link, sorry about that.

Another great Web log for y'all to read today: Scott just moved to New York from some southern state, and when he isn't serving Mary-Kate non-fat lattes at Starbucks, he's insinuating himself into the club scene. Now, I hate dance music and Amanda Lepore scares me, but I can't help but be a little jealous that he's making fast friends with so many recognizable names.

I used to chat with Scott three years ago when my site wasn't the media empire it is today. Things have changed quite a bit for both of us.

20050112_ash.jpgAnyway, GO BUY A COPY OF ALLURE because my girl Ashlee is on the cover, she gave a really good interview, I'll write about it later. Also, the new issue of CARGO is rockin', lots of great tips on layering clothes. Oh, and download SOLDIER by Destiny's Child, that's my jam right now. So many great things, so little time to write about them. Off to class, xo.

January 11, 2005

Mmm, apple

I love Apple. Always looking out for the consumer, as illustrated in the second footnote.

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My God, how could I not eat it?! I am so buying one, it will be perfect for the gym I haven't been to in months!

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Resident Ass-istants

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There is no one I hate more than a resident assistant, known to most college students as simply an RA. RAs are invariably selfish, hostile and lame, as their days and nights consist of trolling the hallways for misbehavior, guarding the front desk of the dorm from those who dare not carry a university ID on their person at all times, and otherwise being egomaniacal assholes.

RAs do not care about the residents who they are supposed to assist. Believe me, I know. I once worked the front desk with these losers, and their unofficial motto was "Don't be stupid" – implying that any student who broke a rule (usually alcohol-related) was "stupid" rather than someone who had the balls to stand up to the university's ridiculously naďve "dry campus" policy.

Everyone knows that I don't trust RAs, and so usually there is an argument made that some RAs are "cool." How are they cool, exactly? Oh, well, they drink with their residents and they don't go out for fire alarms and they sometimes smoke weed in the stairwell. Isn't that cool? They break the rules, just like us!

Well, no, asshole, that isn't cool. Being a hypocrite is as retarded as being a nazi when it comes to enforcing the rules. Someone is giving you free housing and a monthly stipend to serve as an example to other residents, and if you can't do that, perhaps being a RA – as lame as they are – isn't for you. Just a thought.

I've had friends become RAs and usually I don't see them again until they break free from the Ministry of Housing & Dining Programs. Sometimes this is because they become the asshole RA they swore they'd never become. Mostly, it's because they're on duty all the time and can't leave campus. Sure, I could go over to campus with my friends to visit, but I pay for an off-campus apartment for a very good reason.

Anyway, I'm writing this rant because my old roommate has decided to become an RA, and this means one of many things. First, I'm afraid we'll never see him again, since he'll have his residents and boyfriend (also an RA) to tend to. Second, I'll have to give him his TV back. Shit. Guess I better haul ass to Best Buy, y'all.

Vanna Vanna Vanna

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I was watching "Wheel of Fortune" at Hamburger Mary's last night, and I must say, why is Vanna White not more of an icon? You'd think she'd be all up in Us Weekly, perhaps a little "Vanna White: She's Just Like Us!" action. The greatest crime against celebrity, if you ask me.

20050111_posh.jpgAnyway, there was this cute bartender at Mary's, but I swear to God, his shirt was from Bebe and he kept doing that damn Posh Spice pose where she pushes her shoulders back to show off her silicone manchesters. Cute, but too prissy for me.

Time to go to work, have a good Tuesday, y'all.

January 10, 2005

Adventures along the bipolar continuum

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My class schedule is ironed out and I'm all set to graduate with a double major in journalism and law in May.

BlogAds paid me today, so I bought a box of Crest Whitestrips Premium. Gotta get my teeth all sparkly since I quit smoking!

My apartment is cutting me a $1,000 check for referring a friend. Figure I'll take everyone out for drinks once it arrives in the mail.

My new speakers are blasting my girl Britney's jams and I'm McLovin' it.

The weather is gorgeous despite it being caused in part by the tsunami. Profiting from the misfortune of others is for lovers.

And I'm getting my haircut tonight. Lots of reasons to be happy in Tobyville.

I want to have sex with strangers for money :(

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They keep showing that tsunami video on CNN, but right now, I'm engrossed in Hunter's blog. He writes about his porn career and New York bathhouses and all sorts of crazy sexual situations, and I feel like I'm totally missing out on being a reckless slut. Like many porn actors, Hunter is a little white trashy, thanks to his Alabama upbringing. But that's just part of his appeal.

I'm getting my haircut today, so if it goes well, I'll post some pictures. Xo.

Oohh yeahhh!

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This whole "monitor what I drink" resolution is working out quite nicely. I went to Dupont Italian Kitchen and JRs last night with some friends, and I had only three beers the entire time. I deserve a fucking medal, yo! Normally I'm as wasted as the Sri Lankan coast before I've even left my apartment, but apparently I can still have fun without being dangerously intoxicated, as long as the music is good and there are attractive friends to subliminally touch.

You know, despite what people say, JRs is, like, the best gay bar evs. Even though I was thrown out once, I still like the bartenders, and they are always playing good music, even on show tunes night. The clientele is a bit older, but I happen to like the company of older men, so it works out for everyone. I feel comfortable there because dress code doesn't demand glitter, a sleeveless T-shirt or painted-on Diesel jeans – though you're more than welcome to wear that if you wish, I'm not one to judge. But most guys seem to wear a button-down shirt complimented by a Bud Light in one hand, a fashion statement I was happy to have made last night.

When the bartender announced last call, some hot guy stumbled in and walked toward me. He was staring pretty hardcore – an admiring fan, perhaps? Um, no. I told him I was leaving and he was like, "You don't have to leave if you stay here with me." Wow, an excellent point. He continued to romance me by adding, "Why don't you come home with me?" Sure, bud, that sounds like a great idea. You come into the bar during last call, hoping to pick up whatever scraps are pathetic enough to have not moved on to another bar. I guess I should have been flattered, but I couldn't help but feel like a last resort.

God, I'm in such a good mood lately! I'm especially liking my red Kool-Aid and the box of pink tissues in my bathroom. I'll post pictures soon. Have a great Monday – first day of skool, y'all!

P.S. OMGZ I KINDA LOOK LIKE THE KOOL-AID GUY!!

January 09, 2005

<3 Jake Shears

Interesting paragraph from the Washington Post's article on Scissor Sisters:

Getting serious about [making music] was not on anyone's agenda. After all, Shears was anticipating a course in journalism, and, like many journalists, supporting himself as a go-go dancer and stripper.

Um, like many journalists? I'm a journalism major, too, and the number of go-go dancers and strippers in my class is hardly a plurality, let alone a majority.

January 07, 2005

Brad and Jennifer's divorce, sponsored by Nokia

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Ah, the cruel, unforgiving irony of the Yahoo! Search banner ad. Hindsight is 20/20, indeed.

Yesss, D.C. bound

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What are you doing today, Toby? Going back to D.C.! Sweet! And I'll get to see my old roommate, aka Rimjob2000, who has been studying abroad somewhere for the past semester. In the meantime, don't forget to nominate me for best GLBTDQLKJSDVF blog. Have a great day, y'all!

January 06, 2005

I am the requisite gay uncle

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My one-year-old niece loves her flashcards. E is for Elf! C is for Cat! G is for Goat! H is for Hat!

She picks up another card just as she's done the others, but this time, something about it catches her eye.

"Ahhhhh!" she coos, handing me the card.

Well, what do you know? Q is for Queen!

Bang Bang, he shot me down

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I used to love going to Bang Salon, but on my 21st birthday, I was 10 minutes late to my appointment and they refused to take me. My stylist wouldn't even trim my hair so that I would look at least half-way decent on my "special" day! So sad was Toby.

Now, I had been going to the same stylist for a year at that point, not to mention referred five or six of my friends to the place. And so not only did they refuse to cut my hair, but they charged me a $15 cancellation fee.

I know!

Seriously, is that any way to treat a regular customer? At the time, I was working part-time at a restaurant and had become very acquainted with the idea of "customer service," so you can imagine my displeasure with the stylist and bitchy tranny receptionist at Bang Salon. I haven't been there since, and now instead of referring people there, I tell everyone within earshot to stay far, far away.

The fact remains that my stylist at Bang is amazing and cuts my hair in a way I would expect from someone who charges three times as much. Realizing that no one in D.C. cuts my hair so well for so little, I called Bang this morning to make an appointment for this weekend.

WELL.

According to the bitchy tranny receptionist, he is booked until the next coming of Christ. So no more Bang Salon for me. If you live in D.C. and know of any nice salons that charge around $25 for a men's haircut, please e-mail me whenever you get a chance. Xo, y'all.

January 05, 2005

Shameless promo

Hey Toby,
I've been reading your blog forever, but this is my first shameless fan-letter. You are HOT and brilliant. The BritneyWatch piece is hilarious. And I think you're responsible for my recent predilection for Natty Ice. Thanks. Oh, and please don't quit drinking, it's just not worth it.
-Cooper

Thanks, Cooper. I posted this e-mail not to toot my own horn but to remind y'all that I do put a lot of effort into this site, and so I appreciate the praise. If you like me as much as Cooper does, then nominate me for a Bloggie — Best GLBT, obvs. Alright, time to get hammered for the last time at my suburban New York ranch. Peace, y'all.

Let's go on a cruise to Big Cup

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Big Cup should have its own missed connections section in New York's craigslist. When you walk in, everything seems innocent enough — people reading books, typing on their laptops, flipping through magazines — but as you approach the counter to order your iced chai, each and every patron will quickly steal a glance to see if you're worth his shifting his jacket so that you might have a seat.

Once you secure a seat (hopefully it looks towards the door), you, too, will be helplessly drawn into this game of darting eyes and stolen looks. I resisted, of course, absorbed by the new double issue of People, and all. But I would imagine everyone rushes home after they are done pretending to read, and immediately log onto craigslist to post a missed connection.

Or maybe that's just me.

Wouldn't it be great if we all just smiled and laughed and said hello to each other when we come across a friendly, attractive face? As I sat in Big Cup, I felt this tremendous sense of community and I just wanted to look up from the security of my magazine and stare everyone in the face and smile and say, "Hi, my name is Toby, isn't this great, being surrounded by so many wonderful, gorgeous, gay New Yorkers?!" But I didn't say that, because it didn't seem to be protocol and perhaps I was simply confusing simple horniness for a rushing sense of fraternity. Oh, well.

I leave for D.C. on Friday. It's too bad because I really did have an amazing time in the city these past few days. Who knows where I'll end up after graduation, but like all true New Yorkers (Staten Island, yo!) I'll be back.

(Parkie, this is a weepdot4u moment!)

The Great White Way?

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According to its Playbill, "The Producers" had an intermission of only 18 minutes — Is this because 18 is a lucky number for Jewish people or something? — which didn't leave me much time to hook up with the hot Italian a few rows ahead of me. We'd been making eyes before the show began, and though I didn't quite know how to blink "Fuck me in the bathroom during intermission" in Morse code, I think he got the hint.

Intermission comes and perhaps so will I, if all goes to plan. I get up from my seat, walk to the bathroom, and behold, there is a line as long as the Diaspora. What gives? I catch my Italian stallion approaching the line, and we both accept that a sordid dalliance in the men's bathroom of the St. James Theater was not in the stars. I return to my seat and pretend not to be a total pervert.

Anyway, I'm heading back into the city (New York, duh) tomorrow for a lunchtime meeting. If you have any recommendations as to where I can go afterwards to get coffee or fucked up (not fucked), then send me an e-mail, like, soon. Really soon. Xo, y'all.

January 04, 2005

Vividblurry's BritneyWatch: A Cautionary Guide to Your Pregnancy

britneywatch2.gifGot five hours to spare? Here are some ways to bide the time, according to Google.

• Install Windows XP
• Deploy 500 servers
• Get psyched and nervous
• Throw a rave
• Excrete a fraction of xylose
• Travel to five countries
• Find and ship Spandex fabric
• Fill a tank with a large pipe
• Paint a house
• Make it past Drummond
• Do anything with a python
• Catch 108 speeders
• Fly three orbits
• Identify six qualified prospects, contact them with an offer of a sample session, deliver those sample sessions to the approximately three out of six prospects who will accept your offer and ask for the business or a referral
• Solve your personal problems

Or, if you're Britney Spears, you can shoot a music video, clad entirely in Juicy Couture.

In her latest letter o' truth, co-director Britney describes the new "Do Something" video as "record breaking," though I'm not quite sure which record the video breaks. I've heard the song, so "Album Sales" probably isn't one of them.

But perhaps her interest in directing (not just music videos, but feature films that "make fun of the whole Hollywood scene" — brilliant!) is a sign of The New Britney of 2005. Other than a new album that gives extended metaphor an entirely new meaning, I don't know what we can expect from her. A baby, perhaps? That seems like a disappointingly safe bet. And so, I present to you…

For The New Britney of 2005: A Cautionary Guide to Your Pregnancy

red_bull.gifRed Bull and Pregnancy
Most doctors agree that large quantities of caffeine are not good for pregnant women. A can of Red Bull has 115.5 milligrams of caffeine — about the same as a cup of coffee — so to slam down five or six cans every day would not be recommended. Guarana, a caffeine-like substance found in Red Bull, might also fuck up your child. Common Red Bull add-ins like vodka are to avoided, as well.

images.jpgMarlboro Lights and Pregnancy
Women who smoke during pregnancy are much more likely to experience the nightmare of having a stillborn baby, to suffer a miscarriage, or to deliver a low birth-weight baby. Sudden Infant Death Syndrome (or SIDS, for short), a condition in which an apparently healthy baby dies unexpectedly during sleep, occurs twice as often in children born to mothers who smoke during pregnancy. That said, it is strongly recommended that Britney avoids Marlboro Lights and second-hand smoke during her pregnancy.

Cigarette smoking can also increase the risk of a wide variety of pregnancy complications including premature rupture of membranes, vaginal bleeding and premature placental detachment — just to name a few. Smoking interferes with your absorption of vitamins B and C and folic acid. Lack of folic acid can result in neural tube defects, which is, like, not very cool, y'all.

cheetos.jpgCheetos and Pregnancy
Leg cramps can be quite bothersome during pregnancy and are often caused by ingesting too much phosphorus. Soft drinks, processed foods and snack foods (such as Cheetos) are high in phosphates and should be avoided if you dislike sharp, grabbing pains in your calf that force your foot to point involuntarily.

But in general, pregnant moms shouldn't feel like they have to completely abstain from snack foods. Because certain foods and beverages have little nutritional value, they should be included in moderate amounts.

singlemom.jpgSingle Motherhood and Pregnancy
In the interest of a child, it is best to plan for the inevitable. There is an undeniable stigma attached to single motherhood, but it is important to remember that this stigma is based on myths and stereotypes that have been promoted by half-truths and prejudice. In fact, the number of single parent families has doubled in the past 25 years, so you are not alone, Britney! If memory serves, you, too, come from a broken home, and you turned out juuust fine.

January 03, 2005

Sweet dreams

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Link via boing boing

I like the song though

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Christina Aguilera's video for "Dirrty" meets the movie "Party Monster."

In other words: Pretty damn crappy!

P.S. Like, OMG, have you seen the new ad on my site, with the huge black guy?! I'm, like, scared to click on it. Wallet in your front pockets, y'all.

Night cap

My mother says I make noises in my sleep that wake her up.

I think she's lying.

I wonder what sort of noises she means. Screams? Moans? Banging shit around?

I spent my night watching that Lizzie McGuire movie, eating pretzels with mustard, and being an asshole to nice people. What about you?

January 02, 2005

New Year's Resolutions

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So, my mother is beginning to suspect something. No, not my wife — my smoking habit. It's the most casual of habits, believe me. I smoke mostly when I'm drinking, and the only reason I have brand loyalty to Marlboro Lights is because my girl Britney smokes them. It's also a satisfying way to harm yourself, since cutting is so "depressed 13-year-old girl alone in her bedroom surrounded by the pink, frilly trappings of her childhood as well as her father's razor." Yup.

But this year, I'm going to stop smoking now before I get addicted. I'm immune to poison ivy so perhaps I'm also immune to the addictive effects of nicotine, but that is a risk I'm not willing to take. I'm also going to drink less, as well. A noble crusade, if there ever were one.

Cuz da boyz in da hood are always hard

I was going to give a "shout out" to my Web site's "sponsors" but then I remembered this is a blog, not a fucking AIDS marathon. Half the time I have no idea who is advertising — something about Jesus, a whirl pool maybe? I particularly love the sketchy text ads in the left column. The home loan people hav