J'adore Dior

So many things to talk about, so little time! Let's get started, darlings.

My day on Capitol Hill was pretty uneventful. Except for the fact that Donald Rumsfeld was somewhere in the building holding a press conference. As I was leaving for the day, I spotted a gaggle of suits and a few TV cameras, presumably near the committee room where the Secretary of War Mongering was speaking. Yea, it was pretty cool to be that close to the man, but let's be honest: I was more excited to hear that Betty White was standing outside of the Congressional cafeteria this morning. Awesome! Betty White RULES.

Moving on -- the other night, I got drunk and accidentally bid on a fake Dior cell phone strap on eBay. At first, I was pissed -- I mean, that's $12 (aka a nice box of burgundy wine) down the drain! But as the days passed, I became increasingly excited about my new tacky purchase. It arrived in the mail today, and it is more gaudy and unbecoming than I ever could have imagined!!

Shit, it even matches the color of my phone. DAYUM, I am gonna be the coolest fag on the block. OK, I gotta get back to werqq. Peace out, negroes.

Fucked up links o' the day

If I bought a house from her, I wonder if she'd let me make a, er, down payment... (Think it's a joke? Click here.)

Hmm, I've never really been into sports, but I could see myself rooting for this guy...

All that, and more

Hey, remember Josh Server?

Does anyone know if he's gay?

Surprise, surprise

Remember the campus television show I was bitching about because I was not asked to participate? Well, as the turning gears of irony would have it, the creator of the show is none other than MY OWN BOYFRIEND. Yea, I had a really good laugh at that one. He said he didn't want to tell me because he wanted to "surprise" me. Surprise, indeed! It's all good though. I would not have wanted to be involved anyway.

You see, the show's formula is merely a direct rip-off of the real thing. If I was behind the helm, I'd spice things up. Instead of making over a straight guy, I'd just transform him into a gay male by making him do gay things, like taking crystal meth, touching adolescent boys, and contracting HIV.

Oh, calm down. I'm kidding.

Workout Journal: Premiere entry!

A lot of you seem to be under the impression that I have an amazing body. Well, it's time that the truth came out: I am a fucking babe. My pecs are perfectly chiseled, I have rockhard abs, and my biceps drive grown men to their knees. Literally.

OK, so maybe I am fudging just a little bit. To be honest, I am a rail. Or, at least that is how I see myself. Ergo, the debut of my new feature, "My So-Called Body Image Disorder: Workout Journal." Every time I go to the gym, I will add another entry to my workout journal and post it here for you all to see. That way, I am motivated to workout, and you feel ashamed and discouraged because I'm the one who goes to the gym and you're the one who sits at home in your underwear, reading crappy weblogs and eating the day-old donuts you got on sale from Krispy Kreme before closing time.

Today's workout: Chest
-flat bench press, incline press, pec fly, front raise, and all the machines that focus on pecs

My workout was great. While doing the incline press, I had a great view of Agatha from below (she was jogging, her boobs were bouncing) and of two hot guys from the X-country team from across the room. RARR. I hadn't been to the gym in a few days, so I was really feeling the burn. Loved it. I did a few extra bench presses towards the end of my workout just because it was feeling so good.

Afterwards, Ag and I went to the cafeteria. As we walked down the steps, I could feel my pecs bounce up and down. LOVE that feeling. If I keep at it, they will get big enough so that this happens all the time, not just after I workout.

When I got home, I looked in the mirror and was quite pleased with myself. I have to drink a protein shake later, I didn't do it right away because I had two pieces of chicken at the cafeteria. Ag said my biceps have gotten smaller, which made me sad, so tomorrow will be arms day. My boyfriend and I might go with some friends and play gay music in the smaller workout room; we're gonna take over the place! It is always a good idea to go with friends, you'll have more fun and they keep you motivated. :D

OK, homework time. Peace out, negroes.

I can scarcely recall

If any of my Left Coast readers know of conservative California papers that support the recall of Davis, please email me and let me know! I am writing a paper on the topic this weekend -- I have found plenty of good sources that say why the recall is bad, but not too many legitimate sources that argue for the recall.

Remainders: Davis isn't the only thing being recalled.

Not-so-high times

Last night was mucho retarded. I spent most of it running around the dorm with my friends, trying to score some weed. God, it made me feel like a freshman. What's next? Paying some junior $20 for a half-empty bottle of Zelco vodka and then drinking it by myself because I am too cheap to share with my broke-ass friends? Um, not that I have ever done that before or anything...

Whatever, I know I am a loser since I can't score hash on a fucking college campus right smack in the middle of the murder capital of America. My friend was selling during the start of the semester, but he pussied out. I was so excited to have been close friends with a sketchy drug dealer, but now the only person I know who deals lives in an apartment one block from campus, and we all know that is entirely too far for me. Ah, remember the days when I could score weed, Adderall AND coke (if I wanted it, though I never did) all in the same room on the sixth floor of my dorm? Good times...

PS I am getting a haircut today, I will take a pic of it later for you to see.

Call me, call me, anytime

I am at my internship on Capitol Hill, watching the closed circuit television station. It seems that every Member of the House has something to say about the Federal Trade Commission's do-not-call registry. Oh, and big surprise, they are all saying the same thing. Telemarketers are conniving bastards! They ruin your family dinner with their invasive phone calls! They ask you sneaky questions! Our households are under siege!

I am just waiting for one Member to proclaim hysterically, "If we allow telemarketers to call our homes, we let the terrorists win!"

Puh-leeze. It's a damn phone call. In fact, I sort of like when telemarketers call. They are fun to harass:

"Hello, how are you this evening, sir?"

"Ahoy, matey. I am fine!"

"May I speak to Toby?"

"I'm sorry. He died."

"Oh…"

"Yesterday."

"I'm sorry, sir…"

"In a car accident."

That usually puts an end to the conversation. But even if toying with the minds of telemarketers isn't your thing, why not just hang up the phone? Think of it this way: whether you give in to whatever bullshit they are trying to sell you or not, someone out there is getting paid $10 an hour to speak with you. And that is what Congress seems to be forgetting. If we prohibit telemarketers from reaching out to our homes, a huge number of people will lose their jobs. The unemployment rate is already high, so why encourage this trend just because we are annoyed by a phone call every once in a while?

But just think of the public's reaction if a representative said that. We'd all be enraged! For this reason and many others, I do not want to pursue a life in politics. Bills are passed that might generate a lot of publicity and make the public happy, but many times they don't make a helluva lot of sense.

/politically oriented rant

A Susan Lucci moment

OK, so I was going to write about I read somewhere that designer Tom Ford sleeps only three hours every night because he thinks better at 4 a.m., and how I have been up at 4 a.m. for the past three mornings and that I do not feel any smarter or more creative, in fact, I feel WORSE, I feel like a pile of shit, the kind your dog craps when it is your turn to walk him, the kind that is yellow and definitely not solid (more of a plasma, perhaps) and when you pick it up with the little poopy bag, you just SWEAR the liquidy fecal matter is being passively absorbed through the plastic and infecting your hand...

But then I heard that the campus television is developing this show called "Queer Eye for the Campus Guy"...

AND THAT I WAS NOT INVITED TO PARTICIPATE.

OK, I am really starting to feel the Susan Lucci vibes here. I am like the fucking underdog. Every time. GOD DAMN IT. You people SUCK.

Well, guess what, bitches? I am starting my own damn television show. It is going to be called "The Toby Show." No, wait. It will be called "Toby." Simply "Toby." And it is going to kick ass. I don't know what it will be about, but fuck that shit, I do not need to know what it will be about. All you bitches need to know is that it is going to RULE!!

Fuck web site contests that I am not nominated for. Fuck campus television shows I am not starring in. I am destined for much bigger things, baby. BRING IT.

Your sex is so HOT!

A new magazine called NYHS (short for "New York Hot Sex" -- am I supposed to be blushing or something?) will be popping up each month in the city's Starbucks and Tower Records, bent on "[promoting] the pleasure [New York] can bring rather than the heartache."

601am linked to the story in the Daily News, but I stopped reading once I discovered their "10 Sexiest New Yorkers" article positions Susan Sarandon at the top of the list. Um, excuse the pun, but New York Hot Sex had better come again! I hate Susan Sarandon!

And I hate the word sexy. It is the most unsexy word in the English language. I would wager that "hot sex" is by far the least sexy, but alas, it is a phrase -- a very unsexy phrase at that. NYHS should have been called "New York Bend Over." Or "New York Pee On Me." Or "New York Condom-Free In 2003." Or "New York Fuck Me Now, Pussy Boy." Or "New York Fuck Me Before My Wife Comes Back From Her Pilates Class." Now that is sexy.

And what is with NYHS being placed in Starbucks? Yes, because when I think of hot, unbridled sex, I immediately think of a non-fat grande caramel macchiato. Oh man, I am popping a woody just thinking of it!

Anyway, I am sure the other NYHS is going to have a lot to say about this one.

Bullshit!

WHY THE FUCK WASN'T I NOMINATED FOR THIS? God damn it, one of these days, I will win, just you wait!

SUSAN LUCCI, GIVE ME STRENGTH.

I heart trance

Is anyone out there into trance? You know what I am talking about -- the thumping discotrash genre of music that I SWEAR is just a slew of remixes derivative of only three actual songs. Similar to the way I developed a liking of Queer as Folk, Paris Hilton and squeezable peanut butter, I am getting really into trance despite my best efforts to despise it. Besides, who can resist hours upon hours of repitive beats slamming into your ears? It's like a deep-penetrating session of unholy sodomy -- except trance won't give you crabs and results in far less rectal bleeding.

Anyway, a really good site for streaming trance is Digital Import. Trance, euro dance, salsa, classical -- it's fudging awesome. I have been playing it all day, much to the chagrin of my roommate, my boyfriend, my neighbors and, well, basically everyone. Oh well fuck them and you too.

In other news: I ordered Dominos thin crust (as usual!) and guess what? It actually turned out the way I like it! Slightly over cooked, a minimal amount of cheese, lots of oregano. RARR. The guy who delivered it was deaf, so I gave him a big tip when I signed the credit card receipt. I sort of felt bad for him -- he was so nice. But don't get me wrong -- if he was blind, I would have given nothing. It's not like he can read the receipt and see how much I wrote down. *evil*

Here she is, Miss America

Did anyone else watching the Miss America pageant a few nights ago? Did you notice that the only ones who got the "bling-bling" question right were the black chicks? Whatever, the whole ceremony sucked. Those 50 contestants are keeping some dental cosmetic surgeon very happy. Oh, and big surprise, the winner is black. Anyway, I guess I can't oppose any organization that sends hot people to college.

My weekend was pretty fun. Nothing unusual: got drunk, stripped down to my underwear, and demanded that my friends pour beer on me while I rubbed myself in the shower. *yawn* You can see a pic here.

My friend sent me the first season of Queer as Folk. The bastard sent them to me in a Prada shoebox but he still had the nerve to send the VHS version. Honey if you can afford Prada why the hell are you buying used QAF tapes from Blockbuster?

Anyway I can't complain. I am really enjoying the show, despite my best efforts to despise it. God damn it I can actually relate to a lot of it. I watched an episode tonight, and I couldn't help but reminisce of the times spent with my bare butt against the bricks behind Nation and my dick in a tweaked out tranny's mouth. I'd wake up with blood on my ass, and then we'd get high. Ah the memories that extreme drug abuse allows me to vaguely remember.

God i could go for a beer right now.

Hurricane partay

Some pics from last afternoon's, er, last night's, hurricane partay...

Agatha and a bag of hurricane cocktail mix:

Shayna and the disgusting bathroom that we converted into a bar:

Me and Agatha:

And below, tonight's arsenal:

Hurricane

Hmm. Sort of looks like my ass after a hearty pounding. The eye of the storm, indeed!

Old entry

sunday, december 30, 2001

I guess I didn't hear my brother call me from upstairs. It was time for dinner. After a few moments, my dad stormed downstairs and said to me, "Here, recluse. Eat shit and cry at the moon." Or maybe it was "bark at the moon." It doesn't matter to me now. He tossed my plate of food onto a chair. I stared blankly at the plate, a lone piece of homemade pizza. I wept quietly, not for the pizza. But for everything. For my dad's anger. My mother's reserve. My loneliness at home. The fact that my 18-year-old cousin Rita said "Ew" after seeing two men kiss on MTV.

At times like these, I imagine cutting ties from my family. Cutting them off like a failed, unnecessary appendage. Spent. Purposeless. I'd move to another country. Another continent. England, perhaps. Or Australia. I fancy the idea of moving to Australia. So far from here. So remote. I'd find a job and a husband, and I'd be happy. I would never speak to my family again. My past would finally be behind me.

Before, this plan seemed unlikely and impossible. Now, it is more real than ever. Context is all.

Things do not change. Only the way I choose to write about them.

This guy is cute

I hardly ever link to other blogs, but visit this guy. He is a cutie.

PS If you guys are really bored, here are links to my REALLY old archives, parts 1, 2 and 3.

Drunk on boxed wine

I am not sure what is worse: going to the gym twice yesterday, thereby reinforcing my perennial body image disorder; or, coming back from my second workout only to get tanked on boxed wine with my best friend and drinking mate, Agatha. I am going to go with the latter, only because it resulted in my going to bed at 3 a.m. and sleeping through my alarm. Needless to say, I was two hours late to my internship. Oh, and I went to the gym anyway this morning, despite being pressed for time. If this is not a clear indictment of my body dysmorphic disorder, I do not know what is.

God, I have so many things to do today, including but not limited to returning the fire extinguisher I drunkenly (and thus, accidentally!) stole last night. Ah, a day in the life.

Hot guy with a bulge

I know you all read my web site for introspective pontifications on an assortment of global crises, but allow me this one tangent...

So I was at the gym today, and I spotted this buff black guy on the bench press. Sure, he was lifting an awesome amount of weight, but something else demanded my attention... It appeared his crotch was setting up camp with a rather large, awe-inspiring tent... Fuck, this was no tent, it was a 150-acre wilderness lodge.

Zip up your jeans, kids, there ain't much left to this story. It's not like he fucked me in the showers -- I just gave him a blow job. JK! I just stuck around and did another workout so that I could continue to rudely stare. And yet, the whole time, I thought to myself, why stop at staring? This deserves to be WORSHIPPED!

As I walked back to my room, I practiced some would-be pickup lines in my head: When you are done pumping iron, why don't you pump me? They say it is good to eat protein after a workout, wink wink! OK, I am done now, sorry.

Fuck you

You might say that I am boring. Or that I am a bad writer. Or that I am only 20 years old and have no idea what I am talking about. Or that my dick is not as big as I say it is. Or that I make fun of people I do not know. Or that I am not funny. Or that I am ugly. Or that I am a fad. Or that I have had too much press.

Well, guess what, muthafuckas? YOU ARE READING THIS ANYWAY.

Thanks for visiting, come again!

PS Who wants to Paypal me $600 so that I can fly to Hawaii with my (shapeless pork-rind-fed) boyfriend in March?

Things that don't impress me

To: My readers
From: Toby
Date: September 11, 2003
Subject: Things I am no longer impressed with

-DJs
-Big dicks
-Weblogs, aka "blogs"
-New York City
-The employed
-Porn
-Cell phones with cameras
-Gawker.com
-Anti-smoking ads
-Expensive alcohol
-Britney
-Designer clothing
-VIP passes
-People who dismiss things as being "uncool"

Of course, it is true that one thing has and will always impress me: myself...

Fucking 9-11

I decided not to go to my internship today, but now I am regretting that choice. Instead of writing constituent letters and sorting mail, I am glued to CNN, which has predictably chosen to air the mind-numbing 9-11 commemoration ceremony in New York. Yea, what I really need to see this morning is teary-eyed children rattling off the names of their dead relatives. Oh, and according to Colin Powell, it is Patriot Day! WHAT THE FUCK. The people who died on Sept. 11 should not be remembered as patriots -- they must be remembered as innocent civilians who were mercilessly killed by an act of unforeseen terror. They are a symbol of grave tragedy, not patriotism.

Oh great, one of the kids just fucked up the name of a 9-11 victim. WHY ARE WE SUBJECTING OURSELVES TO THIS???

Mastercard commercial

The best part of my day was this morning on the Metro when I came across an article in the Washington Post about the $87 beeeeeeeellion (bwa-ha-ha-ha!) that Bush wants for his real-life version of SimCity Iraq. Condoleeza Rice actually said this: "$87 billion might sound like a lot, but FREEDOM IS PRICELESS."

You know what else is priceless? When political advisors sound like Mastercard commercials. I think from now on, whenever someone mentions the $87 billion request, he or she must laugh maniacally and hold an inquisitive pinky to his or her lip.

Anyway, I have my internship again tomorrow, which I am dreading. Not because I hate my internship on the Hill, but because I am a lazy fuck who can't stand the thought of waking up before the asscrack of lunchtime. I am now going to bed, where I am destined to have more fucked up Nyquil-fueld nightmares about exboyfriends and estranged members of my family.

Alcohol tax

I think one of the staffers at my internship is gay. To my dismay, he isn't really my type -- so much for becoming one of those scandalous Washington interns. :(

So anyway, I went to a briefing on underage drinking this afternoon. The committee unveiled their top-secret, superhero plan to purge our nation of underage drinking as one might purge two-thirds of a bottle of Skyy vodka that I consumed in 30 minutes on my birthday, whereupon I keeled over in Agatha's room and explosively expelled $20 worth of booze... I mean, yea, um, I digress.

Argh, where was I? Oh right -- the top-secret, superhero plan. So the committee wants to put a heavy tax on alcoholic beverages. That's right -- A HEAVY TAX!!! I nearly choked on my Orbit sugar-free gum when the chairman introduced this HORRIBLE idea. HOW CAN YOU TAX ALCOHOL, that's like taxing air, for crying out loud. Sheesh.

NJGuido.com

The greaseballs over at NJGuido.com do not appear pleased with my site. You can read their rants here.

One of the blondies (with who looks like a HORSE) claims to have emailed me, requesting that I take her photo off of my site. Um, yea, ok, I never got the email, you dumb slut. She also claims to take legal action if I do not comply with her alleged request. YOU ASS HAT, I CAN POST WHATEVER I WANT AS LONG AS I AM NOT MAKING MONEY. Let's keep in mind who goes to college and majors in law, and who divides all of her time between the nail salon and shitty Seaside divebars.

Argh.

Drinking and studying

Though you may think otherwise, studying and drinking simultaneously until the effects of drinking render you incapable of studying is NOT a good idea.

I tried complimenting my public policy textbook with a glass of Red Bull and vodka, but within minutes I was dancing around Agatha's room, shouting the lyrics to Avril Lavigne's "I'm With You" and chugging boxed wine (a blush!) with reckless abandon. HOLLA.

A tangential Toby tidbit: I have neither showered nor shaved in two days. "Hygiene" has been officially boosted to the top of my To Do list.

Britney

BRITNEY, WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU SMOKING DURING YOUR INTERVIEW ON CNN THIS MORNING?!

Britney may be able to afford a New York penthouse, a private jet, and shitloads of cocaine, but the following items were evidently too hefty to reach the bottom line:

-A decent haircut (I swear, the blonde, red-highlighted bob she sported on CNN looked like a motherfucking WIG)

-Tasteful clothes (her outfit during the kick-off show: well, let's just say it defies further commentary)

-You know what? Fuck tasteful clothes, the bitch can't even afford TASTE! She was chewing gum on CNN, for crying out loud! Her endless gum-chewing and head-bobbing made her look like a fucking Girl Scout on speed.

-A mildly talented song writer/producer. As blood drained from my ears during her performance of a so-called 'new' single (sounds like her last album, only condensed into three minutes and 30 seconds), I wondered, 'Even Justin fucking Timberlake has had three hot singles in a row, why can't Britney come out with ONE?!'

-A choreographer. ANY choreographer will do, really. Because as far as I could tell, there were no recognizable dance moves during her kick-off show. Unless, of course, you consider epileptic headbanging a dance move.

God, I could go on and on. And I'm not being bitchy. I'm not trying to rag on Britney. I am just very, VERY disappointed right now. I love Britney to death, and I had really high hopes for this performance. I feel so let down.

Sadness. :(

Site Meter

I was criticized for not letting people see my Site Meter stats. Well, now you can see just how popular I am. Scroll to the bottom and click the little green square if you give a shit. Because you know what? I don't.

I am boring

Things I did today:

-Woke up at noon
-Washed my lube-stained blanket, ew
-Ate
-Flipped through Out, it is the shittiest mag ever
-Ate more (peanut M&Ms this time)
-Talked on AIM

OMG WILL THE FUN EVER START?!

PS What the fuck is with gay guys saying 'woof'? This really needs to stop, along with bad attitudes and sneakers that look like bowling shoes.

Bad tan

Clearly, my boyfriend does not know how to use a tanning bed.

Not drunk

I spent all day at my internship on Capitol Hill, and then I had Reporting at 5:30, and then I had to edit a bunch of stories for the school paper. And by edit, I definitely mean re-write, because to some of my staff writers, drafting a brainless, 500-word news feature on the campus television station means conducting only one interview. And then quoting from the lone interview only once. I looked out my window just to make sure I was still at an upper-tier university where literacy is generally considered a prerequisite for admission, whereupon I returned to banging my head on the keyboard. Incidentally, the shock-and-awe attack I unleashed upon my keyboard resulted in a pretty decent news feature on the campus television station. Amazing.

It is 2 a.m., I have no class tomorrow, and I am not drunk. The question begs to be asked: why am I not drunk?

Gay people are bitchy

So here is the new layout. Yes, that is my crotch. Please be kind and clean up after yourself once you finish, er, drooling.

My weblog has a new theme: Stupid Things Gay People Do. I am sure you will figure it out after a while. And now, the kickoff...

There is this kid on campus who everyone hates, yet he tries to be everyone's friend. And for some inexplicable reason, he acts distant and aloof and rude whenever I am around him. Ironically, I am the only one who defends him when my group of friends maliciously makes fun of him. What a fucking dumb ass. Gay people should stop acting so bitchy to each other. Why can't we all get along and quote Rodney King?

hoLLer

New things to come. Big things! And I will give you a hint: it fits in my diaper, and it is not a toaster.

Check back tomorrow, nigs.