my freaking. awesome. life.

Wow, it’s been a while.

To say that I’ve had writers block is like telling your grandma that the handsome Anderson Cooper she watches on the CNN is actually gay. Duh, Grandma. He has his own god-damn daytime talk show now for Christ’s sake. It’s not like it’s a big secret. He’s practically a lesbian.

I still don’t even really know what to write about. But, I felt like it was about time I at least make some sort of half-assed effort. It’s a lot of pressure keeping up a blog! But you guys just won’t leave me alone about it. Of course, by “you guys” I mean the 77 1/2* keys on my MacBook. (The halfer status goes to the eject button, which doesn’t like to work when it’s hot out. I completely understand this mentality and totally sympathize with it, but I also only consider myself to be half a man — on a good day — so I have to stick with that logic. Consistency.) I guess I’ll also include my roommate in “you guys,” who seems to be the biggest fan of My freaking. awesome. life. since he asks me a few times a week when the next entry will be up. Although, I’m 90% sure he does this to give me a false sense of importance, which is a hundred times better than a real sense of rejection so I’m totally cool with it. Ian, this one’s for you.

I guess the last MFAL exclusive focused on Gym Butter. Well everyone, I’m sorry to say that nothing much turned out of the situation. I saw him the following Monday at the gym, and we talked for a few minutes, but no phone numbers were exchanged. God dammit, I’m such a terrible conversationalist when I’m sober! We talked about what we did the rest of the night (which wasn’t much for both of us), how are weekends were, what muscle groups we were focusing on that night… and then during our goodbyes he said “Well, I’m sure I’ll see you out there again soon,” meaning West Hollywood. I, being a total stammering idiot in the presence of greatness, responded with: “Oh, uh, actually I work really late so I have no idea when I’ll be out again.” This pretty much translates into: “I really hope I never see you again.” Ugh, I’m so much better at this stuff when I’m a little lushy. Being stone-cold sober really puts a damper on my social life. It makes me all nervous and clammy. I’ll have to look into getting a flask.

But kids, drinking isn’t always the answer. It can sometimes be the problem (however, rarely.) Take for example the few times I’ll get home early from work and pour myself a nice glass of red to celebrate the short day and unwind before the roommate comes home. Three lonely and [not so] coincidentally thirsty hours later, my roommate is still at work and I’m now multitasking to the best of my abilities by doing three things:

1. popping open my second bottle of vino (this time a white… for balance);
2. playing my “Well… This is Embarrassing” playlist, which consists mostly of Howie Day ballads and Glee covers, with some gospel numbers from the Sister Act: II soundtrack peppered throughout for good measure; and
3. googling my ex to see if he’s become rich, famous, and happy without me.

Turns out my ex is exactly where I left him, freelancing at some fancy-ass established magazine in Manhattan. Although this makes me feel slightly better, I still realize that I used the words “fancy-ass,” “established,” and “Manhattan” all in the same sentence to describe him. Words/phrases I’d used to describe me are: “Ikea,” “Can’t use my Macbook unless I have an outlet nearby,” Urban Outfitters!… sale rack,” “Hulu,” “TV dinner,” “bloated,” and “Groupon.” Did I mention he has a loft in Brooklyn? Fucker.

(I guess we can probably add “Bitter” to my descriptors.)

Anyway, this has been quite a strange entry! If anything, hopefully it gets me back in the blogging mindset. I’ve been really busy lately with a lot of stuff…. yeah, that’s definitely it. If you didn’t like this post, blame Ian. It’s his fault.

*I wanted to point out how sad it is that it took me 3 times to count all the keys on my keyboard. At first I tried going top to bottom from left to right, but was fooled time and time again by how the keys in each row are offset to complement a skilled typist’s quick-paced digits. My next strategy was to count in an inward spiral pattern, starting with the edge keys and then working my way to the center in a counter-clockwise manner. I’m not sure why I thought this was a good idea, since all I could count were the edge keys before I fucked it up. It wasn’t until my third attempt that I realized I could go in rows, from left to right. I of course blamed this on my sobriety and immediately opened a bottle of wine. I’ll be smarter soon; give it three glasses.

Time to prep the iPod.