MISC. MONDAY

MISC. MONDAY

  • Best Bloggin’ Buddy BittyBoo has been pretty under the weather lately. Stop by her blog, check out her greatest hits and give her some love. Get well soon, Karen! We miss you!
  • After twelve total years of living in this apartment (eleven for him, one for me), Drew and I may have to move. On Friday night, we came home to find a note on our door saying that the building had been sold to a creepy, faceless corporation whose name begins with the word “The” and ends with the words “Investment Corp.”. If, as I suspect, the point of investments is to make money and the point of corporations is to cut out all that awkward sentiment and good will that messes up business relationships, then our sweet rent deal isn’t going to last much longer. That means: a) looking into our rights so we don’t get screwed more than legally allowed and b) exploring the terrifying world of home ownership earlier than we planned. Two of Drew’s assistants have recently bought condos, so why not us?
  • R.I.P. Laura Branigan. According to reports, she’d been complaining of headaches for two weeks, but never got them checked out and ended up dying in her sleep of a brain aneurysm. She filled my youth with song and my weekend with tales of people like the girl Drew knew who ignored her stomach aches for three weeks and then died suddenly of stomach cancer. My near future will be marked by bouts of hypochondria and occasional longings to hear “Spanish Eddie”.
  • If you are a gay man who adamantly insists that other people are gayer than you, odds are you’re actually the gayest one in the room — and definitely the saddest.
  • I couldn’t be prouder that blogging mentee and oldest member of the ever-growing Drew Club is posting more regularly, but he still has a few things to learn to learn — like the fact that if you link to an online photo album where a female friend’s nipple is accidentally exposed, not only are you inviting throngs of greasy-haired, mouse-clicking strangers to gawk at that friend, but that the friend’s husband can totally trace it back to you.
  • Man, I miss New York.

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