The Pink Pistols – Part Deux

Several years ago I read a Salon.com article titled Pink Pistols, a Swiftian argument for issuing guns to gay people in lieu of extending the hate crimes bill to include sexual orientation. It was quite funny.

Equally entertaining but not funny in the least, was Brokeback Mountain, the gay cowboy (read: Pink Pistols – 2) film I saw last night with a great friend. I call her a great friend because after seeing this incredibly depressing and poignant movie, she put up with, hell she even laughed at my barrage of smart ass comments, including the following:

“You know, for a comedy, it really wasn’t laugh out loud funny.”
(Note to readers: Brokeback Mountain was in no way a comedy. I have to make this note because last year when asked what I thought of Closer I said “it was an uplifting tale of love and commitment that made me immediately want to get back in the saddle and meet someone to settle down with.” He believed me and took a date to see it. I felt my sarcasm was clear, but from then on I’ve decided to make sure.)

“You know, the movie really shows us that love conquers all, even in Wyoming.”

“Well, at least he got his shirt back in the end.”

I would encourage everyone to see the film, if not to see why it was nominated for so many awards, then to understand my sarcastic and wholly inappropriate commentary.

Happy Viewing!

How to Have Fun in LA

Last night I went to a birthday party for a friend I made out here. Her name is Marcie and she just turned 22 for the umpteenth time. This was a big evening for me in three ways.

1. I left my apartment for a non-work-related event.
2. I spent time with all two of my LA friends at the same time.
3. I had fun.

You see, Marcie and I are both black women in our late twenties who err on the side of catty. That would be where our similarities end.

Marcie is a very talented singer.
I played cello in high school.

Marcie dresses like a rockstar.
I dress for the Hamptons.

Marcie generously arranges events for a group of women we know, some she likes, some she doesn’t.
I don’t come.

But we both have the same direct, honest, and somewhat harsh outlook on life and people. So last night when I arrived at the party she informed me of some drama that had occurred at a recent event she arranged (which I didn’t attend).

After that she asked me if I was sleeping with a mutual friend of ours.

“What? No!” was my response.

She then informed me that there was a rumor going around that the mutual friend and I were “having relations.” (Note to readers: “having relations” is not a direct quote.)

“In that case, Yes. We are so totally 'having relations.' Please tell everyone.”
(Note to readers: “having relations” is not a direct quote.)

This is when I began to have a good time. I waited for said mutual friend to arrive and informed the person in question about our torrid love affair. The mutual friend was game for the ruse and we set about creating a romantic relationship for the benefit of people I don’t care about.

I began to drink, calling my new significant other “honey,” “sweetie,” and other terms of endearment. We danced, we laughed, and we had a great time. It occurred to me that I should create relationships out of thin air all the time.

It also occurred to me that I had more fun than I’ve had with that group of people in a really long time. They’re quite drama-prone so I decided to remove myself from the mess so as to remain sane and maintain my dignity. Instead, I should be using their proclivity for drama for my own amusement.

Why didn’t I think of this before? Everyone annoying exists to entertain me in some fashion or another. Instead of shunning people for being morons, I should embrace them in a purely patronizing way.

Alcohol and condescension are always the quickest paths to Funville!

I’m ashamed this is only now coming to me. I really am slipping…

A Hermit Thanksgiving


I know Thanksgiving was two weeks ago, but since I wrote my blog about Halloween on November 10th I've decided to continue with my post-post-holiday blogs.

Basically, I worked.

Not on Thanksgiving, but the day before from 8am-midnight, the Friday after, Saturday, and Sunday.

Did I get paid?
Did I mention that I worked at a non-profit?

Did I get comp time?
Have you met my boss?

Well what did I get?
I got some flowers.

So just in case you didn't pick up on this already, I'm looking for a new job. By the spring I would like (read: NEED) to be in New York doing great work for great people with great pay, living in a great apartment, and traveling to great places. Any assistance in arranging that would be greatly appreciated.

On a happier note, my brother finally came to visit a couple of weeks ago. For those of you not in the know, my brother lives in San Francisco. Two years ago he launched a successful marketing campaign to get me to move to LA, you know, so we could be closer to each other. So I moved in December of 2004.

His recent visit, in November of 2005, marks the first trip he's made to see me.

I'm so glad I moved here to be closer to my brother, who reads this blog, and never visits. In his defense, he brought me a TV when he came to visit, so my hermit lifestyle has been enhanced. I am now no longer confined to staring at my ceiling and listening to NPR. I can watch Law and Order (again)!

Actually, I wanted to visit him for Thanksgiving. But as you know, I worked. Instead I watched television and ate cookies.

I would have gone to the movies,
but that would have meant driving and changing out of pajamas.

I would have gone to a friend’s house,
but that would have meant driving and changing out of pajamas.

I would have gone out to eat,
but that would have meant driving and changing out of pajamas.

And since I’ve not watched TV regularly since moving to LA, sitting in my pjs, eating cookies, and watching shows I’ve only heard about was the best Thanksgiving I could have wished for - given my current state of affairs.

Next year I’ll go home or host a dinner in my great NYC apartment. Until then, chocolate covered wafers and a remote control will do.

(Thanks for the TV, kiddo.)