Digital love

I met a boy at the Peaches show last night at 9:30 Club. We exchanged numbers during the opening act, and later, exchanged text messages when Peaches took the stage. “Peaches rules,” I breathlessly texted. “Absofuckinglutely,” my lover replied.

Augh. I am so not punk-rawk.

Alcoholics are good tippers

I learned today that the bartender reserves a "special" bottle of vodka for an equally special patron known to the staff as Drunk Dave. After Dave soaks up two of his requisite double Seabreezes, the rest of his drinks are poured from the vodka concoction made especially for him.

Since he was too smashed to recognize me as his server when I brought him the third Seabreeze, I doubt Dave recognized that his drink was a "special" one (read: mostly water). Poor Drunk Dave.

P.S. Drunk Dave and company were seated in my section at 11:30 a.m. (!)

March for Women's Lives

Not enough hotties at the March for Women's Lives, but enjoy these pictures anyway. <3

Rude awakening

Holy fucking shit I am 21.

I went to a concert tonight

Proving once again that I have no taste in men or music, I was totally enamored by the frontman of Throne, which opened tonight for Fountains of Wayne and N.E.R.D. Derek has this cute blonde hair with a cute punk-rawk black streak near the front, and he wears eyeliner and shakes his butt a lot. Becca thinks he’s gay, but the eyeliner and the tight leather pants and the butt-shaking don’t amount to much evidence since he was playing a guitar at the time. Oh, well.

This is a crappy entry but it’s been a crappy day, so there. Here are some cute pictures of Derek, which I pulled from his band's Web site.

Listen to Throne's "Freakin' Out" here.

Buzz cuts are for lovers

Don't read into this question, but ...

If you've written a research paper on the media coverage of gay rights groups compared to that of anti-gay conservative groups, could you send me an e-mail? Please include "Gay Rights" in the subject line. <3

iChat is fun

I <3 my iSight camera

I've never taken a hot shower. It clouds the mirror.

Give thanks for Photoshop and Google Image Search

No, that isn't a still from Britney's new video, "Toxic Shock Syndrome." (Ed. note: Ew.) It's actually a shot from her "Everytime" video, in which a suicidal Britney "throws a glass against a mirror, then climbs into a bath. She looks at her hands, sees her wrists are cut, slips under the water and passes out. Moments later she's running down a white tunnel towards a bright light."

Though she recognizes the controversy of including such a violent scene in a music video, Britney insists she is merely trying to depict how listeners have reacted to the tuneless, derivative songs on her "In The Zone" album.

The video won't be released until later this month, but do not fret! I have obtained top secret stills of the suicide video, which I present to you below. Enjoy.

I am going to regret enabling comments

Starting on my 21st birthday, I am going to be less of an asshole.

What other goals should I seek to achieve?

Welcome home

I'm at home in New York. There is a pimple on my eyelid and I am considering to pop it. I have to be up in six hours for Easter mass. All I can do is think about cocaine and how some of the guys in my high school class were just so fucking hot. I'm fantasizing about one in particular and he lives right down the street from me and whenever I drive by his house, I touch myself.

Go, shorty! It's ya birfday!

On Sunday, April 25, 2004, an era marked by excess and debauchery will come to an end. No longer will hangovers and vomit-stained pillowcases be excused as the pitiful consequences of youthful indiscretions. No longer will near-death dalliances with alcohol poisoning be greeted the next morning with casual self-reproach. No longer will “Whatever, I’m 20 years old!” serve as a catchall for a bewildering array of otherwise inexcusable behaviors.

On Sunday, April 25, 2004, Toby turns 21.

It's not an alcohol problem, it's an alcohol priority

The one good thing about vomiting all over yourself is that it forces you to do chores you’d otherwise put off indefinitely. For instance, the chunks of partially digested chicken fingers, smeared into the cuffs of my jacket and the right leg of my jeans, encouraged me to perform a few loads of laundry. Also, my dorm room benefited this morning from an hour of “spring cleaning,” which can be directly attributed to the small piles of puke gathered around the foot of my bed and beside the mini-fridge. Who knew alcohol-fueled disgrace could yield such productivity?

Anyway, my body’s natural defense against alcohol poisoning was an untimely one, seeing as how I was in a cab en route to campus at the time. Still, that’s nothing a little Febreze can’t handle. If only the same could be said for my other random act of kindness: I neglected to pay my fare! Nothing gets the adrenalin going like hearing the shouts of a scorned Arab as you race to the dorm with an empty stomach and full wallet. Augh — it’s just more shame.

But whatever. The evening’s end may have sucked balls, but the antics preceding my ultimate collapse in the men’s bathroom (Thank you, dear roommate, for awaking me from that impromptu nap!) were fierce. Matthew joined Agatha and me for dinner at The Duplex, then he and I went to JRs for (more) drinks. To sum, I’ve never been so drunk (and so enamored) in all of my life.

How to justify drinking during the day

Demonstrating an incongruous alliance of incompetence and charity, the cashier at Sutton Place Gourmet once again forgot to ring up my bottle of La Casita Sangria. The label reads (below a compelling $4.99 price sticker): “Excellent served chilled as an aperitif at any time, and particularly good for parties, barbecues and picnics!” And underage college students, evidently. A toast, then, to the ham-handed cashier, for not only selling alcohol to minors but giving it to them, as well. Cheers!

Though the wage slave could not join us for brunch this morning, I will enjoy a Bellini in her honor.