Thursday, February 24, 2005
| Project Runway of my Love Last night was the finale of the hit Bravo series Project Runway. For those of you who don’t know, Project Runway is a reality series created to find the next great American fashion designer! And it’s a load of fun. Each week the contestants complete a challenge relating in some way to the fashion industry. As someone who has never understood ANYTHING about high fashion, I figured I would give the series a shot. After the first week, I was completely hooked. Not only are the challenges fun to watch, the people that they cast are hilarious and interesting as fuck. Well not so much fuck as enjoyable, but you get the point. This show proves the point that reality TV (which usually sucks every last shred of brain out of your skull) is only good when the casting is done right. Who cares which lame bachelor is going to get a rose on The Bacherlorette when you can watch Austin Scarlett and Wendy Pepper go absolutely insane over backstabbing and a piece of fabric. Last night’s finale was two hours long and worth every second of it. There was stress, cat fights, the strangest designs I’ve ever seen, and a shocking, but totally satisfying winner. The last three contestants were: Jay McCarroll (an overweight gay guy from Hicksville, USA who was as outlandish as he was bitingly funny), Kara Sohn (A pretty, confident black woman with designers blood coursing through her veins), and Wendy Pepper (The middle-aged villain of the group). The finale was shot 5 months after the last episode was taped in order to give the designers five months to create their final collection for Olympus Fashion Week in NYC. By the time that the final three showed up to present their collections, all of them had seen on TV what kind of backstabbing and lying had been going on during the taping. It was brilliant and I relished in each and every fight that took place throughout the two hour special. “Everybody hates you Wendy. You have no talent and everybody hates you!” spat Jay as I laughed and laughed until my sides split wide open. And then Kara goes and has designer shoes delivered to top off her designs, which is totally cheating, and made her look like a complete thief in the night. LOVED IT! At the final runway show, Parker Posey (who is just about the best person on earth) joined the panel of judges and was her usual bizarre self; laughing and playing with her untamed crazy hair. More than anything I wanted to be sitting next to her talking shop and snorting coke up my nose. Each designer presented their collection and I sat there trying to figure out a way that I could become a male model. How awesome is it to walk out in crazy clothing, acting all tough and important with cameras and lights and music booming around you? What a fun and adrenaline filled job that must be! If only I could lose about a hundred pounds and learn how to tame my Asian hair. The designs were so-so, until Jay’s final presentation. The thing I’ve learned about creating a “collection” is that the clothes need to be simplistic with a major theme running throughout the presentation. It’s good to put your individuality into the design, but make sure that each piece tells a story as they are presented. Jay McCarroll’s Collection was aesthetically beautiful, with a strong theme, and he totally knocked the other two competitors out of the water. When they made him King (or Queen) of the Runway, I clapped out loud. I literally…clapped out loud. It was the finest moment of television I’ve seen all week. I’m eagerly awaiting the next season of this overly addictive reality show. The directing, the challenges, the contestants…it’s all very well done, as most of Bravo’s programming is. And when I talk to my friends and say “Don’t be a Wendy Pepper”, it’s really just plain hysterics all around. The New York Times is quoted as saying “Project Runway is the Prada of all reality TV shows”. It’s time for you to get your very own designer handbag and take a seat on the couch. |
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
| A Few Things You May Not Know About Joe CuttheShit 1) I eat tacos once a week. When I eat tacos, I’ll eat like 8 of them. Four will be filled with only meat, cheese, and lettuce. 2 will be filled with those ingredients plus sour cream. And the last two will be laden with hot sauce. And I’m not kidding about that at all. 2) I always wake up before the alarm goes off in the morning. I can’t remember the last time that the alarm went off and I was in a dead sleep. It doesn’t matter what time I go to bed. If my alarm is set for 7:43am, I am guaranteed to wake up by 7:40am. Annoying! 3) A few of the older kids in high school called me “Pat” cuz I was neither a man nor a woman. Needless to say, that didn’t do a lot for my self-esteem. 4) I signed a petition when I was 11 never to watch The Last Temptation of Christ. The members of our church thought that the movie was completely sacrilegious, so we all signed a petition boycotting it. Now that I’m older and wiser, I still refuse to watch the movie, because I believe that once you sign your name to a petition, you are bound by that contract. Lame, right? But that’s how it is. 5) I’ve never broken a bone nor had any major illness. Well, except for depression, but that’s not what I mean. What do I mean? Probably nothing. 6) The first time I had a crush on another guy was when I was 11 years old. Ah…the same year that I signed the petition against The Last Temptation of Christ. That was a pretty big year for me. 7) I don’t get too star struck by celebrities, but I always think “I’ll talk to them about this moment once we’re really good friends.” 8) My mom used to curl my hair every day before school from like 6th-8th grade. And that was BEFORE people started calling me “Pat”. 9) I don’t believe that I will ever win the lottery. So I don’t play. 10) When I was 13, my girlfriend told me that her favorite number was both 3 and 33. They have been my favorite numbers ever since. 11) I wore out two tapes in my lifetime (back when cassette tapes were around). The two tapes were Debbie Gibson’s Electric Youth and Wilson Phillips self-titled album. I fully believed that I would eventually be the only male member of Wilson Phillips. It was my absolute dream at that point in my life. Thank you God for not making that dream come true. Could you imagine?! 12) I can’t stand Seinfeld. To me, it’s played out, totally unfunny, and irritating as hell. I may have liked it at one point, but unlike The Simpsons, I find that Seinfeld does not get funnier with age. Conversely, I LOVE Curb Your Enthusiasm. Go figure. 13) Since I live in a high-rise building, there is no 13th floor. Well, that’s not really an interesting fact about me, but you can go fuck yourself anyway. 14) I can play the following card games and quite well: Spades, Hearts, Pitch, Poker, and Euchre. One of my most favoritest things to do is blast music while I play these games on Yahoo. I’ll actually go home from the bar early on a Friday night just so I can have more time playing. Can you say LOSER? 15) I have a hard time letting go. In just about every facet of my life. |
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
| Stealers Always Prosper The other night, Paul and I ordered some food from a local restaurant called Charley’s. They have the best burgers in the city (as far as I’m concerned) and they also have super good cheese burritos. So Paul and I order the food and I light my cigarette in anticipation. About three minutes later we get a knock on the door and I look at Paul with my eyes huge and say “The food can’t be here already! You barely hung up the phone!” Paul jumps with joy and runs to the door to pay for the food. I stamp out my cigarette and get us plates and napkins for our feast. Once we are re-settled on the bed (yes, we were totally eating in bed together and yes it was totally the most adorable), Paul begins to pull the food items out of the bag. First to come out was a paper bag filled with bread. Second to come out was a chef’s salad. Third, a Philly cheese sandwich. Fourth, a bowl of pasta. HUH? Paul and I look at each other and burst out laughing. I say “Where’s the burrito and cheeseburgers?” Paul says “They don’t even sell pasta at Charley’s”. I told Paul to put the food back in the bag, but he wanted to try some of everything first. So we did. We picked and poked the food and in the middle of us stealing, there was another knock on the door. I yelped (literally) and locked myself in the bathroom screaming “You did it! You did it! I told you not to eat someone else’s food!” Paul answered the door while I ran the water in the bathroom. When he closed the door, he had our bag of food. I say “Is that our order?” Paul greedily nods his head and we make more room on the bed for all of the varieties of dinner we are about to consume. We decided to eat all of it and not return the first order. I shoved and shoved and shoved food into my mouth and then there was another knock on the door. I first panicked that the delivery man was going to bust into our apartment, slap our faces and take the food back. But then I decide to tiptoe to our bedroom door and quietly shut it. Sure, there was knocking on the door for a good 10 more minutes, but I didn’t care. I had a cheeseburger in one hand, a fresh roll with butter in the other, a burrito in my lap, and a mouthful of super good pasta. |
Monday, February 21, 2005
| Is Paul the ONE? I was writing an email to one of my readers this morning (Hi Pizzat!) about my relationship with Paul and I began thinking in depthly about our situation. As most of you know, Paul and I have been together for just over five years. Considering that I’m 27, that’s a big chunk of my life that has been spent with this guy. If we were a straight couple, everyone would be asking us when we would be getting married. And then a year after that, when are the grandkids coming?! But since we’re a gay couple, we haven’t quite reached that place when these deadlines would be imposed on us. Other than that, our relationship is very much like a straight couple. We live together, we love together, and most importantly, we understand each other more than anyone else in each of our lives. I depend on Paul as I would my best friend and he has the ability to create happiness in my life or conversely, create sadness. We celebrate anniversaries and birthdays together and sometimes we even visit with eachother’s families. It’s all very normal and as with any relationship, a lot of work. Last night when Paul got home, we somehow ended up having the “forever” conversation. Paul explained that he considers me to be the love of his life. I explained to him that I don’t know who the love of my life is supposed to be. Obviously he didn’t like that answer very much, but I feel like saying anything to the contrary would be a lie. When I was growing up, I always believed in one person for everyone. I believed that when you met that person, you would instinctively know that they were your soulmate, the one that completes you. But as I get older, I’m starting to believe less and less in that theory. I’m in love with Paul, that’s for sure. I just don’t know if he’s the one I’m supposed to spend the rest of my life with. That “recognition” that I believed would happen hasn’t come with him and I’m starting to get a little nervous about it. I always say that once my acting career takes off, I’ll know if Paul is the man for me. But is that just an excuse or is it a viable truth? Since Paul and I have yet to have intercourse together (yes, it’s strange, I know!), are we not supposed to be boyfriends? Are we meant to be just friends? Sometimes I feel as though Paul holds me back from what I really want to do with my life. But when I break it down and analyze it, I see that he’s not the problem. It’s me. Then I go back through the cycle, trying to find some sort of answer. Obviously the answer is within me…but where? How do I find it? Paul has given me so much to be happy about. I live in a beautiful apartment, I eat well, and he takes care of things for me so that I’m comfortable and content. He is a great and wonderful boy. I just don’t know if he’s supposed to be the last boy I ever date. When this used to bother me a lot, I would tell myself to take it day by day and see where I ended up. Well, I’ve been doing that for years now and I’m starting to wonder if I should stop taking it day by day and start being a little bit more proactive about it. Or maybe I’m just a selfish crazy asshole who always wants something more than what I have. |
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
| Valendizzle Dayzel About a month ago, I asked all of my girls if they would be willing to spend Valentine's Day with me, since Paul always has to work on the holidays. In unison, all of the girls said that they couldn't, as they would be spending the evening with their girlfriends. I completely understood, although I felt pretty sad that I would be spending the night alone. Yet, wouldn't you know it, a couple of days later I received an evite from my friend Angie asking me to spend the evening with her and her girlfriend, Carolhot. The invitation was for the three of us to get together for dinner and drinks. I was SO shocked and felt overwhelmed at the kindness of these two ladies. Considering that this Valentine's is the first that they've spent together as a couple, inviting me along for the ride was an exceptional sacrifice on their part. Leave it to that Angie...never leaving me out in the cold. During the day yesterday I felt pretty guilty about Paul having to work. Valentine's Day is not only a semi-lame holiday, it's also his birthday. We were able to spend the day together on Sunday and that kind of made up for it, however, I could tell that he was pretty depressed about having to work. But this post isn’t about Paul’s sadness; it’s about Joe’s great friends! In any case, I showered after work and went over to Carolhot's apartment. My first reaction to the size and beauty of her home left my eyeballs rolling on the floor. Once I collected them, I took a tour of one of the nicest places I've ever seen in Manhattan. And not only nice, they live in the heart of the West Village. That is like Gay Mecca wonderfulness. I could have stayed all my life. Carolhot and I had a few drinks and caught each other up on our day until Angie arrived. Carolhot's roommate came home and she turned out to be this super successful and totally awesome lesbian. It is SO refreshing for me to meet a mature, responsible, successful gay person. I talked her ear off and laughed at everything she said for at least a full hour. I was the only boy around and eating up every second of it. Eventually, Carolhot, Angie and I went out for our Valentine's Day Mexican dinner. We ate at this adorable little place called "Mexican". heh heh...I don't remember the name. We ordered a pitcher of margaritas and had guacamole with chips for an appetizer. When it came time to order my entree, Angie looks at me and says "You will be getting the barbequed beef tacos with rice and black beans". I retort with "How do YOU know what I want?" Angie says "I just know". And YOU know what? She was totally right! That IS what I wanted. Angie and I got the same meal and Carolhot got the fish tacos AKA "sick", but I didn't tell her that as I didn't want to hurt her fish loving feelings. We talked and talked and the waiter screwed up our order by only bringing one plate of barbequed beef tacos for Angie and me to split. We were polite about the mix-up and our reward for reacting that way was three shots of some sort of frozen alcohol awesomeness. I slurped it down and finished the last of my dinner. I got home around 10:30pm and had one more glass of wine while I waited for Paul to come home. He walked in the door around 12:30am and I had a dozen roses and a box of chocolates waiting for him. He was so happy that I was there to welcome him. He made us BLT's (as though I needed to eat anything else after the tacos of love, but I did anyway). We talked about our days and went to bed around 2am, the birthday boy spooning me with a smile on his face. At no point during the night did I feel like a third wheel with Angie and Carolhot. At no point during the night did I feel weird that my boyfriend couldn't join me for a Valendizzle dinner. In fact, I was almost happier to have been with Angie and Carolhot than I would have been if just Paul and I went to dinner. Those two ladies sure are entertaining. And so nice to me. I felt so special and happy yesterday; like I made the right decision by getting out of the house. I'm trying very hard to keep my depression at bay and one of the best things I can do for that is to get out and be a part of the city that surrounds me. Angie and Carolhot gave me that opportunity and for that I'm ever so grateful. They are two very special people. This year's Valendizzle Dayzel was just about the best I've ever had. |
Wednesday, February 09, 2005
| This Thing Called Depression
As many of you know, I’ve been going through quite an up-hill battle lately. If you’re a long time reader of this journal, you know that I deal with depression. I was first diagnosed with this illness during my junior year of college and ever since then it’s been quite a rollercoaster ride. I’ve been in and out of therapy and I’ve done a year on both St. John’s Wart and Prozac. I had a very difficult time on Prozac and the organic St. John’s Wart did nothing but piss me off at its lack of effectiveness. Without any further medication my depression seemed to go into remission and I made the decision to pull myself from therapy as well. Since graduating college, I’ve seen a slow, but steady decline in my emotional state. I have extreme highs and extreme lows and with time, I have found that my anxiety level has exploded. It wasn’t until I got back from Europe that the shit really hit the fan. The thing with depression is that those who suffer from it often hide it very well. The last thing I ever wanted my friends or family to think is that I can’t handle my own life. Through some pretty dismal discoveries, I was confronted with the truth that I had spent so long hiding. While I was pretty upset with my secret being exposed, I can look back on it now and be grateful that someone stepped in when they did. The hardest part about this disease is that many people don’t believe it really exists. I have heard many times that I’m “lazy” or “faking” or that I’m just “unmotivated to change my life”. That couldn’t be farther from the truth. It’s very hard for me to explain what it feels like to be me. I’m a good looking, funny, smart, and talented individual. Yet, every day I look in the mirror and I see someone who is fat, ugly, a loser, and someone who will never amount to anything. I’ll get up to go to work and find myself showered and sitting on the couch, panic stricken about getting on the subway. I’ll spend an entire Saturday afternoon with the TV off, just staring at the wall, worrying about the most inconsequential thing. Rather than go out with my friends to brunch or a movie, I will tell them that I’m busy, just so I don’t have to leave the apartment, nor deal with the guilt trip I feel will accompany my response. It became so out of control that I started to entertain some very ugly and destructive thoughts. Through conversations with my parents and friends, I decided that it was time for me to start going back to therapy. I also decided that it was time for me to begin a new cycle of medication. That’s how bad things got in my world. Last week I went to see my doctor. He knows all about my history with depression and I figured that it was time to confront this issue head on. At first my doctor told me that he wanted me to begin therapy before starting on any new medication. I explained that I didn’t want to leave his office without a prescription because I felt like I had hit rock bottom and needed some outside help, other than talking to someone once a week. It was at that point that I pulled out a list of items detailing the thoughts that have been running through my head. I had also taken some online quizzes to gauge where I was at as far as the severity of the depression and I showed them to him as well. Once I handed over this material, my doctor told me that he was “extremely concerned” with my current status and immediately wrote me a prescription for Lexapro, which is a derivative of Celexa. We talked for 45 minutes about positive life changes I could make and he gave me his cell phone number just in case I ever needed someone objective to talk to. He was amazing and when I left the office, I truly felt as though my life was starting to turn around for the better. I’ve since attended two therapy sessions and I must admit that it is going rather well. I haven’t gotten to the point yet where I can open up about how I truly feel about things, but it will come in time. For now, I have to consistently remind myself that this illness is very real and I must spend every day trying to get better. I haven’t noticed much of a difference with the Lexapro, but I was told that it would take between 2-4 weeks before I saw any major change in my emotional control. I am a very blessed individual. I have a great life and I have wonderful people surrounding me. My problem is that I can’t understand why I deserve any of it. I have major guilt issues and I feel unbelievable pressure to be perfect; to say the right thing, do the right thing, live up to the expectations of everyone around me. Truth is, no one expects me to be anything but myself. Yet my brain doesn’t see it that way. My absence from this journal is relative to my emotional state as of late. It’s hard to find the energy to write about anything when deep down I just feel so sad and helpless all the time. I think my reasoning for getting into this today is because I am starting to feel a little bit more in control of my actions and my feelings. By writing this all down, I can see this situation for the reality that it is. If you are someone who deals with feelings of anxiety, overwhelming sadness, or long periods of deep frustration, you may have a form of depression as well. I’m more than willing to answer any questions that you may have and I will do my best to understand how you feel. The part of this whole thing that upsets me most is that I always feel as though no one understands what it really feels like inside of my body. Unless I’m hysterically crying, no one can see how truly sad I feel. And then the minute I smile, they think that I’m all better and don’t require the same type of sensitivity and attention. So when assholes write comments in my journal that say “god, you are a fag”...they may think it’s funny and bold, but really it affects me much deeper than they will ever know. It’s not something that casually rolls off my back. My skin may be thick, but underneath it is a swirl of undeniable fear, sadness, and frustration. I do my best to get out of bed every morning and I do my best to complete the daily tasks that lay before me. And really, at this point, the only thing that gives me hope is that I am indeed doing my best. (For more information on Prozac, Lexapro, or St. John's Wort, click on the appropriate link on the right) |
Tuesday, February 08, 2005
| The Deal
If I don't write an entry tomorrow, I promise to post a picture of myself on this website. If I DO post tomorrow...then well...no picture. Deal? |
Friday, February 04, 2005
| TGIMOTHERFUCKINGF
Have an absolutely incredible weekend everyone! I appreciate all of the comments and emails I’ve been receiving. I’ve been doing my best to get back to everyone. Your support has been so heart warming. I’ll be back on Monday with a full post about all that’s been going on with me lately. Until then…do something unique and fun this weekend. I shall do the same! Hugs your way! |
