anonymouse

I'm prefacing this entry by saying that this entry is posted at my other journal in its entirety. From now on I'm just going to post the same entry in two different places because I'm a spazz like that. I don't have enough Joementum (read the rest of the entry or watch The Daily Show -- it'll make sense) to keep more than one journal going.

Oh maaaaaan. I feel like such a piggy. A piggy, not a Piggy. In the gluttonous sense, I mean. Not like, "Oh, I wish that Jack fellow would stop making fun of me and trying to kill me on this godforsaken island. 'Lord of the Flies,' indeed!" Was Jack the main bully? I haven't read that since it was assigned at... age 12? Age 12, I think.

Yeah. I'm aboard the S.S. Gluttony. Toot toot. Or, you know, since I'm going to go to Hell for gluttony with a bunch of other passengers, the boat would probably make more of an "Awooooooogah" sound than a "toot toot" sound. It's a ship, not a tugboat. I feel piggy because I hate an entire box of Thin Mint Girl Scout cookies. It's counterintuitive, y'all! THIN mint. Those girl scouts are tricksy little bitches. Oh, and Camera Boy is totally getting anal sex on Saturday night. He bought me a pint of Thin Mint ICE CREAM. Yes, it's Girl Scout approved. Made with real Girl Scout cookies. I suppose that's manipulative -- letting him think that I'm "letting" him give me anal, like I wouldn't ask for it anyway. Should I tell him I like it before I ask him if I might peg him?

I'm going to shy away from the dirty talk right now because I feel... Dirty.

Okay. Okay. So, I've seen quite a few shows and things and 'dos. LAST Wednesday, I saw the Mosquitos. They're cute! I saw them, and after the show I went home and watched The O.C. -- my other boyfriend TiVo recorded it, and my other OTHER boyfriend (the imaginary one who doesn't know about me) stars in The O.C. Dear Adam Brody, please do me. I will let you put it in my butt. Um, ANYWAY. One of the main musical themes of the night on The O.C. was the MISCHIEF-IS-ABOUT-TO-OCCUR-AND-THEN-WACKY-HIJINKS-WILL-ENSUE theme, which was -- and this is so meta -- "BOOMBOX" by the MOSQUITOS. That's awesome. I also saw the Black Lips over the weekend with the Lids, and I liked them to. They're freakout dirty rock and roll garage style music. GARAGE.

God, it's been... SIX WEEKS SINCE I'VE HAD MY SHOW. I have it next week. I think. I picked up my mail today, though. At the WVUM office. I got some stuff from Gearhead -- the new Greaseball Melodrama compilation which was put together by Eric of the New Bomb Turks. On it is -- oh god, why did they print this up with red text on a blue background? That shit is hard to read! Ah, wait. Forget that, the package included some promotional copy. Black text on white background! Yeah! Oooh, this has some good shit! Baseball Furies! The Cuts! Geraldine! Diverters! Hunches! Mystery Girls! Colombian Neckties! Blowtops! And others! Why... Why would someone name their band Scat Rag Boosters? EW. Well, I shouldn't be ew'ing anything. I'm giving myself an enema before Saturday night because I'm anal when it comes to things going up my butt. Ha ha. Ha. Don'tforgettotipyourwaitresstrythecrabcakesI'llbehereallweek. I also got the new New Bomb Turks CD, which totally blows since I just bought the new New Bomb Turks CD with my Chrismukkah gift certificate at my local Virgin Megawhore. And I unwrapped it. So they won't take it back. Well, I still have a lot of money to blow at the Megawhore. It's okay.

Sigh.

Yeah. I also went to see Cirque du Soleil because my gay boyfriend Byron has a real ex-boyfriend in Allegria. I'm sort of a kiss slut, so I spent the 30 minute intermission heavily making out with a lighting technician backstage. I mean, Byron and I went backstage anyway since the Ex -- Victor -- had hooked us up with passes, and there was this cute blond boy with TINY short dreadlocks, and we made out. And it was awesome. I was a little tipsy from the champagne. From the VIP tent. Champagne makes me slutty. And I was wearing my new pumps that I bought at Neiman Marcus (J'adore Dior -- and the losers at eBay who buy my old toys and support my habits), and the asymmetrical skirt my mom bought me at Nordstrom, and the sexy cut out top that I can't find at their website right now, but it was hot and showed off my cleavage because it was slashed open right across my titties (but, you know, no nipples slipped because I wore a strapless bra anyway) and... I bought it at Spiegel. Okay.

Digression. Spiegel. For every awesome article of clothing like this, there is something horrifying like this or this. And... tunics? That's old lady clothing! But if it's an old lady clothing catalog, then why are they selling miniskirts and thongs? And I'm too scared to click on the "overalls and jumpsuits" link right now. It's just too terrifying to even think about. And, okay, I just bought this shirt. Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up. But I do enjoy buying things in "misses" sizes in "medium" and actually having it fit me. No more shopping at Delia*s unless I'm just buying things for the top shelf. I can't wear pants from them. Because then I'll cry. Again. Some more. Anyway, I think Spiegel has a split personality. Oh! I just Googled and found the top I wore. It's hot, see? How is it that the same store that makes embroidered bodysuits (why?) makes a hot top like that?

And I have to digress on my digression. DUDES. If you have a pale or even slightly tan caucasian complexion, DO NOT WEAR ECRU, CAMEL, OR CAFE AU LAIT. Y'all look like a bunch of paper bags. Just stop it. It's getting as bad as the J. Lo hats and the Juicy Couture VELOUR (and that IS an oxymoron). Stop it. Also, don't wear bright yellow or pink shoes unless you're a women's size 7 or below. Your feet look like boats. No, like CRUISE SHIPS. By the way, I had brunch today on the Queen Mary II with my dad, and it was free, and my dad is writing about it for a British magazine. How very glamourous. I wore a Marc Jacobs dress that I got for half off because there is apparently some very small defect on it which I can't find, but I'm happy. Yay, outlet shopping.

Anyway. Cirque do Soleil. Yeah, I'm a kiss slut. It was fun. I'm going to review the show, but first I'll review the lighting guy: 8 out of 11. He had roman hands. Yeah, I'm the queen of bad puns and old jokes here. He was a little too focused on my lips and clavicles. I wanted to make out, not have my lower lip suctioned off. He was good otherwise, though. He gave me his email address and his cell phone number. I did not have sex with him, though Byron did stay behind and DEFINITELY had sex with Mr. Former Soviet Union. He was part of the Russian bars act, and he was strong like bull.

The show, overall, was good and fun, but DUDE. The clowns were annoying. There were scary "performer" masked clown types who looked like they had elephantitis and "funny" clowns who were not funny. They had WAY too many clown skits and not enough acts. Also, according to the program Mathieu (French-canadian boy I made out with) pilfered for me, there was supposed to be a handbalancing act. There wasn't. And there were supposed to be two singers! One in black, one in white. We only got a white one. Damn. Bitches. There was a synchronized trapeze act, which was okay. And a flying man. Usually you get a flying girl, so it was neat, but they've had more talented flying people in the past. I'm looking at the picture right now, and wow. Nice pecs. There was a girl who did "manipulation." You know rhythym gymnastics? With the ribbon? Yeah, she had a ribbon, and she had hula hoops, and she moved in serpentine movements. And she is probably also a contortionist, because... Ow. I mean, I can dislocate my shoulders painlessly and make my legs look broken when they're not (I think that's dislocating something there also -- knees?) and bend in ways I'm not supposed to, but I can't do that. I probably could, but I'd have to train. I mean, I can put my legs behind my neck and bite my toenails easily, and DIGRESSION. Camera Boy painted my toenails while I was sleeping with that toxic-flavored anti-biting nail polish, and I woke up and started to bite my toenails and retched and proceeded to stick my toes in his mouth and make him sucky fucky my toes. Yeah. I'll bite my toenails when I like, and I brush my teeth afterwards (most of the time), so I'll do as I please, blah blah blah. Also, Camera Boy's Annoying Roommate once almost called 911 when he saw my leg bent the wrong way. It looks broken, but it's not. It snaps right back into place. It's comfortable for me. And perfectly normal. So fuck you and your judgy pants.

Where was I? Cirque! Oh. The aerial high bar was pretty neat. The net extended over to the audience, and the audience helped put it together by passing it along so it could stretch out, and I'm not articulating this well. The ropes at the edges of the net were passed down through the audience, and the people in the first few rows were right under the net, and when the flipped (and they flipped!) off of the high bar, their asses were right in your face. And their asses were tight. Yeah, so I wound up passing the net's rope to a Swishy Ponce. Yes, the Swishy Ponces. They pranced and pranced and pranced, and wouldn't you know that they're also part of the Russian Bars act? They prance. That's how the choreographer told them to move, and I heard Victor bitch about how it makes him look really femme. Victor is BUTCH. Well, not really. But he's butch in comparison to Byron. Anyway, he's a "flyer" on the Russian Bars. These bars rest on the shoulders of strong men, and these flippy boys bounce on them and flip and sometimes flip from bar to bar to bar, and they did not fuck up once. Yay, Victor! You didn't fuck up! Anyway, the folks liked it. There was also something called the "fast track," which was modified tumbling. It was pretty neat. And there was "fire-knife dancing." The guy dropped one of his knives. Oops. But only once! Still, it killed the momentum. Or as Joe Leiberman calls it, Joementum. That's so awesome. And cringe-inducing. Joementum. Hee. Yeah, well. The guy isn't as cute as the fire-spinning hotties here. Fire is hot! Get it? Oh, I suck. There was also a strong man, and I'm sure he had muscles underneath all that fat. He lifted up men and women and weights and things. But the most awesome thing about him? HE HAD A FU MAN CHU MOUSTACHE. That is AWESOME.

Yeah. It was a good night, but I kind of regret my behavior. I have a boyfriend, so why am I kissing other boys? I'm a whore. A kisswhore. But not a KISSwhore. I suck.