I took this video while we were all hanging at Oliver's house the other night.
Mr. Kamm is attempting to milk his dog cuteness factor. As if winning against Galahad by stuffing the ballot box wasn't enough.
Well, move, and counter-move, baby. STEP. Of course, what you, my readers, do not know is that I announced the birth of my puppy to my friends, including Ms. Kamm, on October 3. So he has obviously scrambled like crazy to find a puppy to compete with me. As any objective observer will attest, he came for me. I'm choosing to step over his attempt to steal my boyfriend last week.
So now, I have pictures of the puppy I will receive on November 17th. Welsh terrier puppies are so cute they make you cry.
You'll note that my name means "warrior" in Olde English. Who knew? I did. And did my mom. So inspired (it's that kind of family, you understand, no retards we) she of course found the completist's site of Welsh Baby Names and suggested the noble Kimble as the name for my new Welsh Terrier boy-puppy. Kimble means "warrior chief".
Aquaman on Smallville: proof that gay porn has gone completely mainstream.
The best part of my correspondance today:
Why am I dreadfully afraid of that place? It looks gayer than a cheslea fag getting double butt fucked by carson kresley and jai rodriguez to the tune of holla Back girl at a circuit party on a mount of crystal.
I love my life.
The best part of jury duty:
Voire dire, where you get to see a cross section of randomly selected New Yorkers, and hear all your personal details grouped together in identical sets of questions. It's also very bonding. We're all in this together.
The worst part of jury duty:
Complainers. Someone next to me fixatedly spoke for fifteen minutes about how her therapist was willing to say she has ADD, because she,like, actually does.
Also, I am the only gay homo man in the room.
Blogging from jury duty. Just did voire dire for a murder case.
Noticed: some people lie to get out of their civic service. They say they have objections to being impartial, when the reality is they are so wrapped up in their world, they cannot even listen to evidence.
Also noticed: as much as I am passionate about what I do, I am not important. As the reporter (who is waaay more famous) next to me said “honey, we are all forgotten when we're gone”. If the process leads to my selection for this, I will make it work.
And, listen. I could use more practice anyway.
Yet my glib Snaxx (you pronounce both x's) entry below covers something up. I almost didn't put it down, but it's too important not to tell you about.
I completed something. It happened because earlier in the day, I'd sent an email. My first glimmer of authenticity in a few months. I won't tell you what I said, but I owned up to some big stuff.
If you play the game of your life as if you aren't responsible for anything, you will find there are excuses for everything, and you'll be just fine. However, you will hit a limit, and then you're done. You live out your life and die.
If you play the game of your life as if you are responsible for everything, or to be more specific, as if you are the cause of everything (very different than you control everything, which is silly), much more is available to you. Suddenly, the whole world opens up as possibilities for action. Your world can be transformed. However, it means a lot of situations in which you potentially Look Bad. You have to admit being cause of stuff you probably aren't proud of.
And so, at Snax-x, something else happened. I received an email telling me someone was touched by what I'd written. Suddenly, two years didn't seem like a mistake, something that happened to me, something I didn't cause. Instead, that time was a gift, again. And past.
In place of Oliver's Biweekly Snaxx Entry, I have been asked to step forward.
(as always, after Kerouac: First Thought, Best Thought)
Snaxx: Good music, and some hotties. But totes not all that.
However, two of them, who I have met several times over the summer, were absolutely shady. As in, say hi to them and they quit talking and just stare blankly. Shade, I say.
I also intersected with two alcoholics I don't care to hang with ever again, one ultra-fabulous electronic music star who got me on Friendster in 2003, and a greek DJ I had a wickedly debilitating crush on in 1999. Now, he was all up in my panties, and I found him amusing and *so not my thing*. The winds of desire blow hither and yon. And more yon.
I had a redbull and vodka and a cervesa and strolled home. I only live two blocks away, so no big deal.
ps all work in this domain is copyright chad the minx.