It has come to my attention that there are people out there reading this who actually KNOW ME. I learned this the other day when my dear old friend from film school, Jen, left a comment for me. Before that, I had pretty much figured that I could write this thing and nobody in my life would need to know about it (Sorry, Maissonneuve, but I didn’t tell anybody) because I didn’t want there to be any crossover between the blog and “real life.” The last thing I need is my friends calling me, pissed off about being mentioned in the last blog and “if that’s how you really felt, why didn’t you just say so… bla bla bla”. God forbid my own family reads this thing. As I’ve mentioned before, I never really read blogs before, let alone wrote one, and I’m beginning to realize that once I put this thing out there, it’s OUT THERE. That’s quite a crazy, amazing idea, and it’s no wonder that some people can become famous that way or just get addicted to blogging all the details of their lives for the world to read (as is mentioned in the latest Maissonneuve issue. I can’t spell Maissonneuve but I do read it). So, if any of you out there are friends of mine, you are forbidden from reading this and must now click the big red X in the right hand corner of your screen.
Like anyone’s going to listen to me.
In other news, I went to Target the other day with my new roommate, D. Pretty exciting stuff. But it was a revelation in certain ways. First off, whenever I go to Target I see a lot of hot women who I discover seconds later have children clinging to their legs and their shopping carts. Which means that either I am getting old or my instincts to start a family are getting stronger or both. Or a hot woman is a hot woman no matter how many kids she’s got stuffed into her station wagon. But my instincts, urges, whatever are definitely there, as I realized later when my roommate D and I spent five minutes trying to decide on a mop. It occurred to me that though we are just friends, we were having a conversation like most of the married couples around us! “Honey, do we need bleach?” “What about this dish soap?” Etc. I have known for quite some time that I am ready for marriage or a marriage-esque relationship, but that moment in Target really reinforced it. In fact, I have been feeling those urges ever since my first day moving in, when I lugged my bachelor furniture into this nice new apartment filled with nice furniture that D already owned. The place was almost… A HOME. My nesting urges suddenly kicked in and I wanted my closet to be organized, I wanted a wine rack, I wanted a nicer laundry hamper, placemats, a cutting board. I even went to IKEA yesterday (the Swedish furniture superstore, in case some of you out there don’t know what that is) and bought a Goliat and an Umlat and a Finkledorger. Okay, I made those names up but you know what I mean. So even though D and I are just friends she is going to benefit from living with a guy who goes out and buys that crap in order to satisfy his nest urge.
As for the coming weekend, we are having a big housewarming Halloween party at the new pad. I have lived here almost three years and never had a place large enough to accommodate more than two people (if I had a party in my studio it would have featured a single file line outside and partygoers entering one at a time) so I’m taking full advantage. Going all out. I’ve already bought a bunch of ridiculous Halloween crap to put all over the house and I think I may even transform my room into a murder/crime scene, complete with a dead body lying on my bed covered in blood. I’m not sure how I’m going to do that. Maybe I can coerce some actor friend of mine to play dead for a few hours. But I have a feeling I’ll just take some old clothes and make a scarecrow-type dummy. And I’m going as “Ali G” from HBO, which will give me an excuse to speak in a stupid accent all night ("Aym heah wif me main man...) and bother people with ridiculous questions.
Appy 'Alloween to youse all.