All of my friends (aka Cyber Agatha and Rusty) know that I have astoundingly bad taste in music. Although there are a few exceptions here and there, my "Top 25 Most Played" playlist in iTunes is dominated by Lindsay Lohan, Britney Spears and, inexplicably, Christy Carlson Romano.

(Technically, my No. 1 most played song is "Wouldn't It Be Nice" by the Beach Boys - the only not-entirely-shameful favorite on the list. The play count amounts to 348, only because I passed out drunk after unintentionally setting it to repeat.)

That said, you will never believe the playlist I created for my workout yesterday. And by "playlist I created" I mean "individual song I chose to play on repeat." It goes a little something like this:

Who is that girl I see, staring straight back at me?
Why is my reflection someone I don't know?

Recognize it yet? No? Surely you, too, have heard this in a TJ Maxx recently.

Must I pretend that I'm someone else for all time?
When will my reflection show who I am inside?

It is, of course, everyone's favorite body dysmorphic anthem, "Reflection" - as sung by Christina Aguilera on Disney's "Mulan" soundtrack!

This song is completely inappropriate for weightlifting purposes, and yet, somehow, it motivated me throughout a grueling chest/back/traps/rear delts workout. I almost fell off the incline bench when I spotted myself looking all ripped and mean and angry in the mirror and then realized I was casually mouthing the words to the "Mulan" theme song like the huge fag that I am.

Posted by Toby at 11:19 AM | Permalink | Comments (7)

"Cat shit in my eye? Just my luck!"

On the surface, "Just My Luck" is the story of a girl temporarily down on her luck. But when Cyber Agatha and I took a closer (and, incidentally, drunken) look at the film this weekend, we discovered a story much greater than the sum of its stunningly miscast parts.

Lindsay Lohan stars as Ashley, a manic, unlikeable p.r. coordinator with a flourishing dependency on instant-win scratch-off tickets, crystal meth, and dumb luck. When she's arrested at her own promotional event for expensing a male prostitute on her Capital One card, Ashley decides then and there (in jail) to nip her substance abuse problem in the bud. Ironically, a meth lab explosion floods Ashley's apartment, and so she is left with no choice but to move in with her two sponsors from A.A.

Things go from bad to worse when Ashley drops her contact in the well-used cat litter box, and then proceeds to recover the lens and place it immediately in her eye. She develops pink eye and must wear a pirate's eye patch for the duration of the movie. As the withdrawal symptoms escalate and she grows weary of begging strangers for scraps of bacon at the local diner, Ashley attempts to end her life by diving into a pile of shit, sticking her fingers into a lightbulb socket, and drawing a bath onto a plugged-in hair dryer. Nothing works - that is, until she falls in love. With a nine-year-old girl.

This really is an amazing movie, and it shows Lindsay's true devotion to method acting. (She looks hung over in every shot. Take that, Meryl!) Her character finds true love at the end, but not without her friend first inconsiderately dying of a stroke in the middle of McFly's debut performance at the Hard Rock Cafe. Her last words: "Is that the sound of the audience clapping, or is my central nervous system shutting down?" Unfortunately, a little from Column A, a little from Column B.

Posted by Toby at 12:15 PM | Permalink | Comments (8)

Posted by Toby at 05:50 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Allow me to introduce you to the iTwink.

The iTwink is the boyish, slender, and often mentally vacant fawn your friend met on the Internet and brought along to the club. He is usually introduced by your friend with a nonchalant "Oh, this is [name of iTwink]" - and so the nature of their relationship is at first assumed and then confirmed later on in the evening when the iTwink is throwing up in the bathroom, being tragic on the dancefloor, or otherwise not within earshot.

Your friend may very well have a collection of iTwinks, and so it is better to catalogue the various models by assigned numeral ("iTwink v 2.0") than by name ("Kyle").

Posted by Toby at 07:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Prison break.

Well, what do we have here? It appears that a crafty (but foolish ... ) tenant of the Manor is attempting to move out - and in broad daylight, no less! Such a daring stunt is usually performed under nightfall, when Ms. D. and her sister are tucked neatly in their bunk beds, seemingly oblivious to those residents who try to flee the five-story, prewar nest.

Of course, if you bothered to read your lease, then you'd see that it takes more than a moving van and a set of brass balls to make a break for it. In legal terms, terminating your nearly indissoluable renter's agreement with Ms. D. is tantamount to filing a petition for divorce; at the end of the day, Ms. D. obtains half of your earthly possessions, as well as post-rental alimony to be paid in cash on the first of each month until the day you die.

Posted by Toby at 04:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

You know, I take back all of the mean things I've said about Brat Boy, because, as it turns out, he is actually retarded.

Posted by Toby at 10:35 AM | Permalink | Comments (12)

Wow, it's amazing what steroids you can do in two months!

Now that I've ballooned to a swollen 160 pounds - a far cry from my 145-pound days back in January - I can look back and nervously laugh at the countless nights spent in front of my tri-fold mirror, crying the tears of a body dysmorphic clown.

Of course, I still glare with disgust at my nude reflection every evening before drunkenly passing out in my bed, but I consider this behavior to be more along the lines of "constructive self-criticism" than "a somatoform disorder featuring a disruptive preoccupation with some imagined defect in appearance." Semantics, really.

The benefits of my reckless but ultimately unsatisfying pursuit of physical perfection are many. My arms look better in T-shirts, my ass looks better in jeans, and my chest bounces up and down when I walk down a Metro escalator. And the best part: In another month, I'll look even better! Boy, does it sure suck to be you.

Strangely, there are a few drawbacks of having a body as hot as mine. Consider the following:

1. Instances of sexual harrassment have dramatically (and unwelcomingly) increased.
2. My ass no longer squeezes into briefs purchased for me by my mother when I was eight years old.
3. An adoring but nonetheless creepy Mexican guy stares at me when I'm at the gym.

I've paid the costs of being a literary genius for nearly all of my adult life (read: two years), but only now do I face the penalties that come of possessing a flawless physique. Life can be so very cruel.

Posted by Toby at 01:31 PM | Permalink | Comments (14)

She's gonna cost ya.

Rusty has taken his obsession with "Boy Meets World" a step too far (Who could have thought this was even possible?) by proclaiming last night his unwavering respect for Topanga and her selfishly manipulative scheme to wait until marriage before allowing Cory to fuck her.

"I respect people who wait until marriage," said Rusty, who - despite his physical appearance and a heretofore unknown belief system that would suggest otherwise - is not a virgin. He went on to say that sex is "sacred" and added an unsolicited remark about the Bible.

Something had to be done, even if it meant destroying someone's faith in lies and delusions.

"Do you know what happens when you die?" said Cyber Agatha. "NOTHING."

Nevertheless, Rusty insists that he'll rise to the Heavens courtesy a newly acquired pair of wings and watch reruns of "Boy Meets World" with the angels and saints for all of eternity. It's cute when people have dreams.

Posted by Toby at 12:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (8)

Got potassium chloride?

Let's take a look and see what's on TV, shall we?

Next on Lifetime: Television for Women... Tia Montgomery (Sophie Gendron) is a seemingly transgender woman struggling to cope with the sudden murder of friend and suspected lesbian Carrie (Lisa Langlois); her self-described (and -imposed) "marriage" to her job as Executive Liaison to the Environmental Protection Agency for a construction company in glamorous Scranton, Pa.; and the speech-impeding burden of her plus-sized Gortex lip implants. Will Tia relinquish her hormone injections and grow some balls, or will she be murdered in a crowded parking garage by her employer's deceitful wife Marrianne Danforth ("Melrose Place"'s Jamie Luner)?

Only time (two hours, to be precise) can tell, in the Lifetime Original Movie, "The Perfect Marriage."

I don't know what's more pathetic: The fact that Cyber Agatha and I watched this movie last night from start to finish, or that bored housewives have done the same exact thing in the middle of the day.

Posted by Toby at 09:58 AM | Permalink | Comments (7)

Have you ever walked into a room and thought you know everyone, but then realized you only think you know everyone because you've stalked them all on Friendster?

No?

Hmm.

Well, that may or may not have happened to me on Friday night. I was among Friendster Royalty - you know, the random fags whose Friendster pages allege 836 friendships in all of, like, two cities. In case I'm failing to get through to you here, these people are usually shirtless in their default photos, and their testimonials are peppered with hilarious inside jokes from their buddies, like "On Tuesdays we wear pink!" and "Gary is such a slut - but a cute one!"

I will never be Friendster Royalty, but I am fine with that - sort of. To cope with my frustration, I wrote a poem, below. Enjoy.

On Friendster I'll sometimes explore
These twinks who claim friendships galore.
How popular is he?
Three-hundred-and-three!
I guess that he must be a whore.

Posted by Toby at 04:19 PM | Permalink | Comments (10)

People sure are strange sometimes. To wit: Some random Indian guy approached Cyber Agatha and I at an Irish pub the other night and accused us of taking pictures of him and his two friends. I didn't quite know how to respond to such a pie-in-the-sky accusation.

"You guys called us the 'Pussy Patrol' and then started taking pictures of us and laughing," said the Indian guy.

I denied it, of course. What kind of a person does he think I am?

No fat chicks.

Posted by Toby at 05:34 PM | Permalink | Comments (14)

Posted by Toby at 10:59 PM | Permalink | Comments (10)

Talk about a niche market.

I know, I'm like two years old.

Posted by Toby at 07:25 PM | Permalink | Comments (13)

Brat Boy - with whom I am slowly falling in love - posted a yummy new recipe on his blog today: Beany Protein Patties.

Oh, my dear Lord. I hope he's not a bottom.

Posted by Toby at 04:47 PM | Permalink | Comments (34)

I'm back from Puerto Rico, and boy, are my arms tan! I elected to use SPF 15 this time around, demonstrating a marked departure from the norm - that being SPF 4. Sunburn is for pussies, and although I am 100 percent Italian, I am certainly not one of those people who dubiously claim to "never burn." And so, SPF 15 (and SPF 30 for the mug) it is - a small price to pay for freely exposing my newly muscled frame to the locals.

The Gentleman Friend and I stayed at the Caribe Hilton, which I confidently recommend. What I cannot recommend, however, is the hotel bar. With Corona priced per bottle at a baffling $7, beachside drinking took an unacceptable burden on both my wallet and my integrity - that is, until we discovered a liquor store across the street. A bottle of Bacardi and two large Subway cups later, we were in business. A very drunk, very amazing business.

Indeed, a lesson had been learned: If you choose to stay at a none-inclusive (as opposed to all-inclusive) resort and wish to keep down costs, then take advantage of the duty-free store upon arrival at your destination's airport. This and other tips I've handily compiled below, for posterity's sake if nothing else. (Warning: These tips are not snarky, sarcastic or racist. I wrote them sincerely. They are ACTUAL TIPS. OK?)

1. Before embarking on your trip, call the concierge and request from him or her the locations of liquor stores, convenience stores and fast food restaurants nearest to the hotel. You will most likely require at some point the services of these establishments, so knowing their locations in advance will save you time.

2. Research your destination beforehand. Learn a little about its history and its culture. Seriously, I don't want to come of as sounding earnest, but this is important! I wish I had known before my trip a little more about Puerto Rico - for instance, the fact that it is part of the United States.

3. Apply SPF every morning and reapply throughout the day. Use at least SPF 30 on your face; you don't want to fuck up your face, so bring a bronzer if you want to look tan that badly. And moisturize after every shower, too.

4. Do not go to and from the hotel with a lot of money in your wallet. Rather, make a large withdrawal from the hotel's ATM when you arrive, and take from that amount as your vacation moves along. That way, you won't have to worry too much about being mugged, and you won't pay repeated ATM fees.

5. Don't plan out your entire trip in advance, but try to have a basic idea of what you want to do on each day. By the time you arrive, you'll have a better idea of how things can fit into your schedule, and you won't be fucking around with tourist brochures and travel guides at the last minute.

6. If you're gay, consider staying at a "mainstream" hotel - in order words, a place that isn't branded as gay-owned or -operated. Gay hotels are usually small and you'll get to know everyone there after two days - at which point you'll be entirely sick of them.

7. You're not blazing any trails by visiting a place like Puerto Rico or Hawaii or whatever, so ask around and see what other people did when they traveled there. This is especially important when it comes to restaurants and gay bars or clubs; their descriptions in travel guides are not nearly as reliable as what someone who's actually been there has to say.

8. Bring food onto the plane. You will be hungry, and the snacks they provide (if any) are shit.

9. Don't skip meals while on vacation. Try to eat regularly (and healthily, if possible).

10. Don't drink too heavily in the middle of the day; it will ruin your night.

11. Take naps if you need them.

12. Bring both a funny book and a serious book to the beach.

13. Tip your housekeeper every day.

14. When choosing a hotel, pick something that is within the city or an area of interest. You may not want to be taking cabs to and fro every night.

15. If it won't kill you, try to speak the language of the locals. Ethnic slurs do not count.

Well, that's all for today, folks. I took a few short movies on my camera while I was away, and I will post one or two later today!

Posted by Toby at 02:52 PM | Permalink | Comments (17)

I'm leaving for Puerto Rico with the Gentleman Friend tomorrow morning. I'll be back on Tuesday. TRY NOT TO MISS ME.

Posted by Toby at 09:37 PM | Permalink

"Sorry! You're a retard."

Ah, vodka and prescription sleeping pills - not only a glamorous way to wile away one's evening, but also a glamorous way to die; I like to keep my bases covered.

Just kidding, of course. Last night Agatha and I turned off "Planet's Funniest Animals" in favor of a board game or two. First up: "Wit's End", a sort of "Trivial Pursuit" for those who know a lot about classical composers and eastern Europe (aka not me). Agatha won fair and square, mostly because she somehow knows shit like this:

Alto is to tenor as French is to: A) German; B) English; C) Spanish; or D) Japanese.

The answer is B) English. Why? There are alto and tenor saxaphones; similarly, there are French and English horns. Yeah, I know. By the last round, I was truly at my "Wit's End" - but I suppose that's all in the name of the game. (Literally!)

After allowing me sufficient time to gather the tattered remains of what was once my self-esteem, Agatha brought out "Oxford Dilemma", a game in which the main objective is to correctly spell and define words ranging from "bubble" to "Pythagorean theorem." Now, I failed to spell "Pythagorean theorem" correctly, but I did offer a definition: "Is that, like, when all angles of a triangle add up to 90 degrees?" Um, no. And the angles of a triangle add up to 180 degrees, but thanks for playing!

Victoriously, I did manage to spell "Nicaragua" and offer the sweeping definition "A country either in South or Central America, I forget." Agatha granted me a win for that round, but I failed to take home the bacon overall. Oh well - I usually beat her in the "Maintaining While Fucked Up" game, so we're even.

Posted by Toby at 09:46 AM | Permalink | Comments (5)

I should have thought twice before making a $100 bet with Agatha that I could "do a Lynndie" in every single photo taken of me from now until the end of time:

It's a very becoming pose, but this is going to be one hard bet to keep.

The weekend was interesting; I went to a house party on Friday night and ran into the Lincoln Memorial rim job guy. Fortunately I didn't recognize him until he left, so I never had a chance to run up to him and say, "OH MY GOD, I WROTE ABOUT YOU ON MY BLOG, HAVE YOU EVER HEARD OF VIVIDBLURRY.COM??? NO????? OH MY GOD, YOU ARE LIKE THE ONLY ONE." I was on the receiving end of very few blessings that night, but this was certainly one of them.

On Saturday I knocked back two pitchers of frozen margaritas with the Gentleman Friend at Guapo's and then went home to watch racist Warner Brothers cartoons on my roommate's computer. I thought I'd seen it all until I saw Bugs Bunny dressed up as Hitler. Equally disturbing was Bugs Bunny dressed up as Abe Lincoln and being shot at by Yosemite Sam. If you search "banned cartoons" on Limewire, you can find some of these golden oldies.

Agatha and I have lived in our apartment for a full year. Happy anniversary, Ms. D.! Is the first year silver or gold? Oh wait, it's $47 rent increases.

Posted by Toby at 10:05 PM | Permalink | Comments (11)