Just so we�re all on the same page, I�m really starting to get pissed off at Boy Meets Boy. Not just because of the underhanded practices of the producers, putting someone through the emotional hell and uncertainty that has come to personify dating shows, only to spring that twist at the end of it all and make the bachelor attempt to divine his potential suitors� sexualities via subtle interrogation, like some fucked up episode of Columbo. But also because I�m now positive that Wes is straight. Dammit.
Sadly, he�s still the best pick. I mean, he and James have the most chemistry of all the remaining guys -- and I frankly attribute that to the fact that Wes isn�t really worried about entering into a relationship of any kind, leaving him to be the most naturally relaxed in regards to his personal behavior. I keep hoping against hope that it�ll turn out to be Franklin who�s been living a lie, and every time I see Wes and James connect in any way, I get all happy. But then, every gay guy has been down that road. �Did you see the way he looked at me? He must be gay! Straight guys don�t look at other guys like that! He just wears all that plaid because it�s warm. And he�s just making out with that girl because she lost her lip balm and he�s just being friendly. He�s gay, I know it.�
In other news, the air conditioning at Arts-Friendly Non-Profit conked out yesterday, and we�ve all been living the life of Reilly ever since. That is, of course, if you assume Reilly is currently being slowly steamed to death by a crazed tailor. I mean, the A/C works just fine downstairs, but as soon as you get upstairs (where my office happens to be located, natch) you are immediately so hot and sticky, you fear you have become transmuted into one of those delicious cinnamon rolls, only sweatier and with a far less tasty smell. It�s highly unpleasant.
Factor in that there are no windows upstairs (not kidding), and you will realize that there is absolutely no circulation whatsoever. Ergo, the heat and moisture just sort of hangs in the stuffy air, and we all start to go a little stir crazy. As I was sitting at my desk this afternoon, watching the screen on my computer liquefy and drip down onto the keyboard, I had to wonder if perhaps I was hallucinating. We had an interminable staff meeting, during which none of us could concentrate, or even write the most basic of sentences. The manner in which the heat affects one�s ability to concentrate is really quite fascinating, actually. We were all acting, well�drunk:
Me: Excuse me, but can I just ask a question? About Ballet Company X?Sophie: Uh, �sawright.
Me: Like, what is up with them?
Colleen: I know, right? Seriously.
New Girl: Cha. Wait, who?
Sophie: What are they doing?
Me: Like, stuff! I mean, I don�t get it.
Sophie: Me either. What�d they do this time?
Me: Um�I don�t remember? But it was bad.
New Girl: [laughs riotously]
Colleen: I hate them. Oops! Can I say that?
Sophie: [laughs riotously]
Just when I seriously thought I was going to lose my mind and start envisioning the new girl as a gigantic, walking ice cream cone, in manner of Yosemite Sam, the A/C was fixed and we were spared a little Donner Party redux.Also, I feel I should mention that I leave Thursday morning for a nice, long weekend up in the mountains! Hooray! I�m going with my family, so it should be a lot of fun, but it means this may be my last entry for about a week or so. However, if you start feeling lonely, or you miss the sound of my�er, typeface, please feel welcome to click on the link at the bottom of my page (the one that says �Click Me�) to enjoy (I hope) some classic memoirs, selected at random from our studio audience.
Ciao for now!
Someone Got Here By Searching For: blofeld chairs [Which got them here. Probably not what they were looking for.] What Are �Blofeld Chairs�? I don�t know�but this is a �Dr. No Chair�. I�m Watching: Casablanca. Hot damn, I love this movie. I�m Craving: One of those ice cream brownie sundaes, covered in hot fudge and a mountain of whipped cream. And topped with a chocolate cake. I hate healthy eating.
