Sorry, no real update today - but remember the Landlady Bing blog is updated daily! Sure, it's a pathological collection of inside jokes, but it's still funny. Enjoy.

Posted by Toby at 01:53 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Do these muscles make me look fat?

I'll write about my birthday tomorrow because something ridiculous just happened and I need to share it with you all.

A few nights ago, Agatha and I went to Guapo's for a pitcher of frozen margaritas and a few items off the dessert menu. (In retrospect, this seems an awful lot like something a pair of do-nothing stay-at-home moms [Redundant?] would do after convincing their overworked and understandably unloving husbands to take care of the kids for the night, as if they haven't already gained 40 pounds since the wedding, but who cares, it's not like we spent the entire time recounting that day's episode of "The Oprah Winfrey Show" or something, mostly due to the fact that I hadn't yet had a chance to watch it on TiVo yet. Whatever.) Conversation about my landlord was kept to a minimum (20 minutes), thus good time was had by all.

As we were leaving the restaurant, I ran into a guy from college who I hadn't seen in a while, for reasons that I won't get into here. We chatted for a bit and then went our separate ways, but not before the tequila had a chance to say, "Keep in touch!" Those are the three most damning words to have ever emerged from my mouth, next to "I love you" and "Mom, I'm gay."

Today, I received an instant message from the guy. He said simply: "You're not as hot as you used to be."

No stranger to what appeared to be sarcasm, I replied: "Oh, really?"

Well. This is what he said next:

"You've gained too much weight. You're fat."

LET ME REITERATE: HE SAID I'M FAT. BITCH SAID I'M FAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

For the record, I am not fat. In fact, I am the opposite of fat. If I were a woman, I'd be incapable of menstruation. And yet, could it be possible that I'm surely but slowly (as the morbidly obese are ought to do) becoming gay-fat?

The "SATC"-type rhetorical pussy-farts will have to weight (har!) until tomorrow; I have a cheesecake to inhale.

Posted by Toby at 03:48 PM | Permalink | Comments (30)

I know I shouldn't post this, but because I tend to beat the running jokes on my blog to a needless death, I'm going to anyway.

A few days ago, I wrote about a local bar owner who claimed one age on his Friendster profile but another to a Washington Post reporter. He left a comment yesterday:

First, my 'friends' know my real age, and therefore they understand the context of the humor. Second, if you are not my friend, don't look at my fucking profile on Friendster. Third, if I were that concerned about my age why would I tell a Washington Post reporter. I have an idea! Let's play "Grow Some Fucking Balls" First, if anyone has a question about my age,contact me yourself rather than using some anonymous blog. Lastly, do something important and write letters to your DC Councilmembers expressing your concern that our elected officials sit and wait while ministers spout hateful rhetoric. Peace.

Hmm, speaking of hateful rhetoric: Be Bar sure sounds like it's going to be great!

Anyway, I want to make amends. I don't really care what his "real" age is; I was just poking light fun at something that anyone with a computer could have figured out on his own. Oh, and please don't tell me that I can't look at the Friendster profiles of random people I don't know, unless you want to come up with something else for me to do when I'm at work.

If you live in D.C., then I really do encourage you to e-mail your councilmember and request that Be Bar be given its liquor license. We need a new gay bar in this city, even if it's managed by someone as young as 28 years old.

P.S. DID YOU KNOW IT'S MY MOTHERFUCKING BIRTHDAY TODAY?

Posted by Toby at 09:58 AM | Permalink | Comments (30)

It's never too late to change careers - or, for that matter, blogs! So check out my roommate Agatha's new blog, CyberAgatha.com. Follow your dreams; follow this link!

Posted by Toby at 07:12 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

Anyone know how to buy an expired domain name?

UPDATE: Damn. He's paid up. And here I was, looking forward to permanently routing all traffic from Brat Boy School to NNIRR.

Posted by Toby at 11:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (35)

If you're gay and live in Washington, D.C., then you've probably kept up with the drama going on between the gay owners of Be Bar and the parishioners of a black church located in the bar's prospective neighborhood. Today's Post quotes a woman who captures things perfectly:

"A bar? Across from my church?" asked Barbara Campbell, who ... for three decades has gone to Scripture Cathedral in Shaw ... . "Don't they understand that there is a day-care center in the church?"

Honey, please! Get off the cross, girl. We gays need to get nailed, too.

Scandalized churchgoers aside, what I find most interesting isn't the "simmering pot" of "race, class and sexual orientation," as the Post phrases it. Rather, I'm more curious about Be Bar co-owner Michael Watson's age.

I have an idea! Let's play "Which of These Things Is Not Like The Other?" First, Michael's mention in the Post:

And, lastly, Michael's Friendster profile:

I spy with my little eye a four year discrepancy - and from what I've been told, 32 is lowballing it. Honestly, I don't care what age you are, but lying about it is just so fucking GAY.

I mean, geez, it's not like you're 40.

Posted by Toby at 05:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (13)

Forgive me for sipping on the Haterade, but...

WHO IS THIS IDIOT AND WHY HAS NO ONE TOLD ME ABOUT HIM?!

Okay, I am not going to comment on his physical appearance or say that he looks like Michael Lucas with fetal alcohol syndrome, but it astounds me that someone would willingly post photos of oneself that seem to be outtakes from a sexually humiliating Iraqi prisoner torture session. ("POSE WITH THE TEACUP, NOW.")

Granted, he looks hot here - BUT NOT HOT HERE.

Posted by Toby at 10:47 PM | Permalink | Comments (26)

I hate to be the one to say it, but ever since Queerty launched, it's proven again and again to be nothing more than a roundup of Towleroad's roundup of Google News Alerts' roundup of stories containing the keyword "gay". I like Towleroad because you can leave comments, and Andy doesn't end his entries with a tired "Oh, snap!" punchline. As for Queerty, well, comments are disabled, and the "Let's take back the word 'faggot'!" brand of humor gets really old, really fast.

I say this because of Queerty's recent (and out-of-character) stab at soapboxing, in regard to gay and lesbian parents bringing their children to the White House's egg roll. The entry caught the attention of AOL's gay-oriented "Worth Repeating" blog - Queerty blogs about it here.

Augh, when I first read Queerty's take on the egg roll, I couldn't help imagining some hysterical queen shouting, "Won't somebody please think about the children?!" The entry was just so bizarrely earnest - not to mention wrong. I'm glad the AOL blog pointed them out on it.

Of course, Queerty's response to the AOL blog is pathetic at best and plain old retarded at worst. Isn't there a way to, like, shut down a blog for being totally pointless? Queerty gets my vote.

Addendum: On a lighter note, re-read Lindsayism's of blogging cliches. A classic, BUT SO FUNNY.

Posted by Toby at 11:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (21)

So, I was browsing Amazon.com last night and typed in "enema", just for fun and because I'm two years old.

BUT NOW, EVERYTHING IT RECOMMENDS IS ENEMA-RELATED! OH DEAR GOD WHAT HAVE I DONE?!

Posted by Toby at 09:43 AM | Permalink | Comments (10)

Sometimes I wonder what the hell people are thinking when they answer the questions posed in Metro Weekly's "Coverboy Confidential" interview. I mean, maybe you don't care if all of Dupont Circle thinks you're a whore, but if I were to be interviewed, I'd at least come up with answers that didn't shame my mother and her efforts to instill in me a sense of modesty and tact.

Take, for instance, the famed (and often deal-breaking) question: "What position do you play in the big baseball game of life?" Now, this question is asked every single week - why? I have no idea. There are only so many positions in baseball (and thus only so many puns) that perhaps it's time for the folks at Metro Weekly to look deep into their hearts and come up with a different metaphor for anal sex. Because if I read one more interview in which the Coverboy answers, "Shortstop," I'm going to kill someone.

All of that said, let's take a look at this week's Coverboy. He is a prime example of someone who should never be allowed to represent the GLBT community in any capacity, ever. Coverboy Confidential interviews included.

Okay, fine, I can deal with that photo. Unbuttoning one's shirt is a prerequisite for Metro Weekly photoshoots, so I cannot fault him for that. But I can fault him for this:

Are you kidding me? I think he forgot to mention Propecia and a stick of Herpecin-L, but maybe he keeps that in his medicine cabinet.

I don't even know what's worse: Name-dropping your condom size, or claiming "Crash" as your favorite movie. Augh.

Posted by Toby at 12:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (18)

As I plucked at my eyebrows, gelled my hair into a gravity-defying do, and sprayed Axe directly onto my balls, I realized, "Hmm, I am kind of a guido."

Must be the New Jersey air.

Posted by Toby at 10:54 AM | Permalink | Comments (11)

Not as nice as Lisa's kiosk on "Sister, Sister"

Well, it's official: My U.S. and D.C. tax returns have been deposited into my checking account. What a delight to finally be part of the swollen $640 billion Fleet enema known as GLBT disposable income! And I'm ready to dispose all of it directly into the anus of Club Monaco. (Too far?)

I'm sorry, but I love Club Monaco. All of their clothes are made for people like me (anorexic/top heavy), and usually they have good sales. Except, when I went to Pentagon City last weekend, the sales were nonexistant, so the only thing I could afford was a $10 nipple ring at some random kiosk across from Aeropostale. The guy forced me to show him my nipple ring IN FRONT OF THE ENTIRE MALL and I truly felt violated. He really ruined public acts of indecent exposure for me.

Oh, and he kept saying, "Zee girls, zay love zeese, the ring, it glows in the black light." And I was all like, "Sweetie, I'm gay!" Except I didn't really say that because I'm too insecure to matter-of-factly out myself to a mall kiosky guy. If only mall kiosk guys across America understood that we have $640 billion in potential nipple ring purchases, then and only then would we all get along!!

HEAL THE WORLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLD etc. The end.

Posted by Toby at 11:02 AM | Permalink | Comments (7)

Richard Thomas, in better, less miraculous times.

I am not a good person. I've known this for a while, but a few things reminded me of this fact recently.

1. I yell expletives ("FUCK YOU!" usually) on Sunday mornings from my dining room window at innocent passers-by below.

2. I throw half-full milk bottles and empty jugs of sangria as loose trash down the garbage shoot. I don't know who cleans it up, and I don't care.

3. I'm more likely to read a blog because I hate it than because I like it.

Are these behaviors really that awful? I can't be the only person in the world who wets himself at the sound of a wine jug smashing into a million pieces. Also note that Behaviors 1 and 2 are conducted jointly with Roommate; alcohol is a third party, if you want to be precise.

Miracles happen - just ask Richard Thomas' agent!

Now, I bring this all to your attention as a means of introducing my latest guilty pleasure: a television program called "It's a Miracle", which airs on i, formerly known as Pax. My roommate and I are bad people for watching this show. Why? Because we watch it for all the wrong reasons, of which "Religious people are pathetic but also hilarious" is one.

For those who haven't seen this show, I can say that "It's a Miracle" is a show about miracles (and I quote the opening theme song) that "happen to everyday people." And by everyday people, I mean a Hispanic family from El Cajon ("The Ball") in California, a random guy with a valuable (in memories, not dollars - there's a difference) ring, and a pair of grandparents who are shopping for lawn chairs. (And this is all in just one episode!)

Of course, just because they're everyday people doesn't mean that terrible, decidedly un-everyday things can happen to them. The little Hispanic girl gets hit by a car, the guy loses his ring, and the grandparents' grandchild is kidnapped. All in a day's work at "It's a Miracle", my friends!

In next week's episode of "It's a Miracle": Immaculate conception.

Host Richard Thomas (John-Boy, "The Waltons") guides us through the "miracles" that Jesus is kind enough to bestow upon the aforementioned everyday people. The little Hispanic girl is healed, the guy gets his ring back 30 years later, and the grandchild is rescued. But, there's more. Oh yes, much more. And it involves the most entertaining genre of television programming ever devised: REENACTMENT.

I can't even begin to describe how amazing the reenactments are. They just barely stop short of Jesus coming down in a harness from the ceiling of a soundstage, healing the Hispanic girl's internal injuries, and then curing cancer, just because he can. I mean, the acting is horrendous. Oh my god, it is just so horrible. Although their depiction of "Loitering Child Molester" was pretty dead-on: an unshaven white guy in jeans and a t-shirt, casually smoking a cigarette while leaning against a pole and leering at an 8-year-old boy. Nice!

"It's a Miracle" is an hour-long program, but it keeps the unintentional laughs coming from start to finish. I can't believe that they air this stuff on TV; you might even say... it's a miracle that they do!

ADDENDUM: Okay, so perhaps "El Cajon" does not mean "The Ball". All the more reason to kick these ILLEGAL ALIENS out of our country, their crazy language confuses me.

Posted by Toby at 04:42 PM | Permalink | Comments (13)

You know, when you type ILLEGAL ALIENS in all caps, it almost makes it seem like you know what you're talking about.

And for what it's worth, if you replaced "ILLEGAL ALIENS" with "people", I don't think the argument would be as effective, so congrats on your keen public debate skillz, Brat Boi.

(For more adventures in racial discrimination, read B.B.'s proposal to build a wall across all of Mexico. Lordy.)

ADDENDUM: Hey, assholes! If you are expecting me to write a 1,000-word entry on U.S. immigration policy, then you are reading the wrong fucking blog. Similarly, if you look to Brat Boi for a "conservative's" take on U.S. immigration policy, then you're also reading the wrong fucking blog. I don't have an opinion on Mexicans one way or the other. Comments for this entry are closed, go somewhere else.

Posted by Toby at 09:28 AM | Permalink | Comments (29)

I smelled my coat this morning and nearly gagged. Clove cigarettes, vodka, and disgrace. My god, isn't there supposed to be a smoking ban in effect or something?! Damn you, cute bartender named Joe at Pepper's. DAMN YOU.

Also, damn you for tricking me into getting drunk. I ordered a vodka soda, not a glass of vodka with some ice cubes thrown in.

Posted by Toby at 09:48 AM | Permalink | Comments (7)

I roasted a chicken tonight. Wanna see?

Almost too delicious to eat. Almost.

I used one of Giada's recipes. Considering that Giada's recipes are always easy to follow and that you can't really fuck up a roasted chicken, the dinner was a success!

My next opponent: a four-pound pork loin, currently taking up space in my freezer. It will probably take about three weeks to defrost, since I don't own a microwave (Thanks a lot, you old bitch) - BUT, OH, WHAT GLORY SURELY AWAITS US AFTER THOSE THREE WEEKS.

Posted by Toby at 08:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (7)

I cannot even begin to tell you all how amazing it was to meet Giada de Laurentiis yesterday at the Barnes & Noble in Rockville. She is as stunning in person as she is on television, and despite the hundreds of people waiting in line for her signature, she was nonetheless friendly and personable to my friend and me.

Now, what does one say when encountering one's idol? Unfortunately, I don't have an answer to that question, as I was at a complete loss for words when I walked up to Giada's little table (above). At first, I said, "Hi, Giada!" And then she looked up and saw my Italia jacket and said, "Nice jacket!" I nearly died. Giada likes my jacket! And that is basically our exchange from start to finish.

My friend told Giada that she likes her chicken piccata recipe. Giada replied, somewhat cryptically, "Oh, a lot of people in Washington, D.C., seem to like chicken piccato!" I don't know what that means, but it must mean something important. Who knows what's swimming around in that big head of hers? If only I knew.

Anyway, I took the Giada quiz (scroll to bottom) on Food Network today, and as I suspected, I am a certifiable "Giada Genius." LOVES IT!

Posted by Toby at 12:34 PM | Permalink | Comments (7)

So, last night the Gentleman Friend and I went to our friend's birthday party at some random house in "AU Park". Before entering the house, we observed a few things from the sidewalk: the house was really nice; the people inside were milling about, chatting politely and nibbling on food and not binge drinking; and there were balloons tied to the mailbox (THIS IS THE UNIVERSAL SIGN OF "CLASS"). Clearly, this was neither the kind of party I'd enjoy nor the kind of party I'd ever be invited to in a million years.

Acting as if we had a choice, we debated whether or not to go inside, but after a few moments of creepily walking up and down the front walkway, we journeyed inside. Immediately I felt like a second class citizen, because I was wearing jeans and an "Italia" jacket from Filene's Basement. My lazy eye kept drifting toward the table of chilled white wine, so before we even sought out the birthday boy, I filled up a glass and began to drink away my socially awkward tendencies.

Eventually we found our friend, who then introduced us to a bunch of people I will probably never see again. I shook a lot of hands (I'm used to greeting strangers by drunkenly bear hugging them) and then made a bee line back to the wine table, seeing as to how my glass was empty. And this is the point in the night where I did what I always seem to do whenever given half the chance: I found someone who reads my blog so that I could talk about myself for three hours.

So, yeah, hi Jeff, if you're reading this. I had fun last night, I hope I didn't offend you with my sloppily racist remarks about Native Americans and Asians. And Mexicans. And the Irish.

Today I am going to Giada's book signing and then shopping for new clothes. WHAT A GREAT DAY!

Posted by Toby at 09:46 AM | Permalink | Comments (10)

Not that I really care, but does anyone know the real reason why Lizard Lounge is ending?

It seems a little ridiculous to shut down a bar and blame a smoking ban that doesn't even come into effect unti 2007. Maybe the promoter is trying to make a political issue out of the fact that Lizard Lounge sucks balls.

Posted by Toby at 09:30 AM | Permalink | Comments (16)

Express is just a free Monday-through-Friday tabloid from the Washington Post, right?

Riiight...?

WRONG! YOU ARE WRONG, SIR, BECAUSE I READ EXPRESS TODAY AND MY LIFE WAS CHANGED FOREVER.

The head of an angel - only bigger.

You see, I turned to the Weekend section, and lo 'n' behold, an article proclaiming that THE Giada De Laurentiis (aka my hero) will be in Rockville on Saturday at 11 a.m. for a book signing!!!!!!!!

I AM SO THERE.

Posted by Toby at 12:53 PM | Permalink | Comments (10)

I've decided that my new thing is going to be giving the finger in every single photo taken of me.

Posted by Toby at 11:33 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I rarely go out during the week. There are two reasons for this:

1. I am poor.
2. I'm in the process of forcing my body to become something that it is not and probably never will be - so at least four nights a week are reserved for making the most of my WSC membership.

Still, I make exceptions - for instance, I went to Halo last night for Jamie's birthday. (He has a fake ID, I guess.) A good time was had by all, mostly because I spent the entire time openly judging everyone in the bar. As if there was anything else to do, right?

Now, when I see someone cute at a bar, the first thing I think is: The Gentleman Friend is hotter! And then the second thing I think is: He is probably a psycho. Cute boys are always psychotic (except for me and the Gentleman Friend and all of my other friends). I tell myself this mostly to prevent a disastrous slip into Body Dysmorphia Mode in the middle of a bar - never a pretty sight.

Anyway, there were two boys last night who satisfied my theory/crutch. The first one I recognized (to my dismay) from my glory days at university. He began flirting with Jamie last night as if he were the last bottom on earth, despite the fact that there were a million bottoms in sight and that Jamie (AS WE ALL KNOW AND BELIEVE) is a top. Jamie said to me later, "Wow, that guy sure was aggressive." Um, yeah, you'd be aggressive, too, if you shoved that much crystal up your nose. (Is that how you even do crystal? I'm so innocent/retarded.) Anyway, the entire situation just proved that cute boys are often psychos if not raging drug addicts.

Lastly, there was the cute guy at Cobalt (I was boy-about-town last night) who has messaged me on Friendster but never actually spoken to me in person. I pointed him out, but Jamie shook his head.

"You don't want to know him," Jamie said.

I asked him why not.

Jamie turned to me and said simply: "Because he gave someone a rim job at the Lincoln Memorial."

AND THEREIN LIES PROOF THAT CUTE BOYS ARE ALL PSYCHOS, THE END.

Posted by Toby at 09:23 AM | Permalink | Comments (15)

A few of you may have been wondering why my blog has been so sparingly/crappily updated as of late. Well, to be honest, I've been cheating on Ye Olde Vividblurry and, along with Roommate, been helping out my landlady's sister with her own blog, The Crazy Life of a Crazy Real Estate Heiress.

Landlady Bing has been updating daily - save for Saturdays and Sundays - since March 15. If you ever wanted to know what it's like to be a wealthy property manager of questionably sound mind, then Landlady Bing's blog is the one to check out!!!

Posted by Toby at 02:53 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

If someone has a profile on Friendster or Myspace and doesn't specify his sexuality, then is it fair to assume that he's gay?

I hope to god that the answer is no. This kid lived on my floor in college and I spent two years fruitlessly (har) flirting with him, AND IF IT TURNS OUT THAT HE'S ACTUALLY GAY I'M GOING TO BE FURIOUS.

Posted by Toby at 09:19 AM | Permalink | Comments (11)

I'm one of those people who refuse to "run, don't walk" to a bus pulling away from its stop or a subway train pulling away from the station. There really is nothing more stupid looking than some discheveled oaf who's futilely "running" (Fat, sloppy people who rely on public transportation don't really run, it's more of a hasty lumbering) to a bus, only to see it drive off down Connecticut Avenue without him. See, I don't ever miss the bus (If you aren't frantically trying to catch the bus, how can you miss it?), so I'm usually able to view this spectacle from the comfort of the elderly/disability section of the Metrobus (whatever). These people always make me angry so I refuse to become one of them.

Similarly, I refuse to jaywalk. And don't give me any of that "Oh, I'm from New York, I always jaywalk" bullshit. I can't tell you how many times I've heard that! Is being a retard and walking into oncoming traffic to get to work 2 minutes earlier inherent of being from New York? Maybe so. But jaywalking isn't even remotely bad-ass - it's just stupid - so don't try to claim it as a result of growing up on the mean cul de sacs of Westchester County.

That said, I see people jaywalking across L Street during rush hour ALL THE TIME. They will just walk right in front of a moving vehicle and actually expect it to stop. I hope that one day I am able to witness the satisfying THUD of a jaywalker being run over by a Metrobus - preferably a Metrobus that is pulling away from some sorry soul who woke up late and therefore missed the bus. I would not feel bad for any of these two people!

I was reading an article about Tom Ford (I think) the other day, and he said that it's stupid for girls to carry around HUGE purses for their cell phone, wallet, water bottle, kaballah books, etc., because the ultimate sign of luxury is being able to afford carrying around NOTHING. The same thing applies to getting to and fro your destination of choice; the COOL thing to do is to be as if you really have nowhere to be, so why run for a bus? Running for buses is for poor people.

Of course, the fact that I take the bus to begin with sort of negates the entire argument, but hey, public transportation is a fact of life for (almost) any 22 year old climbing the corporate ladder from the bottom up! Perhaps I will request door-to-door service upon my annual review.

Posted by Toby at 05:37 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)