Gay doctor of the year

One of the things that I love about New York is the general attitude of its populace, particularly the younger set. And really what I mean by that is that most people I meet under the age of 35 work a wide range of jobs, but all have one thing in common: They love slacking off, being lazy, and drinking. A lot. And they work mostly to support their drinking.

Case in point: On Friday after work, I met Benjie for dinner and drinks at Vynl in Chelsea, and over the course of some terrible mojitos and some pretty good margaritas, he mentioned that he had been chatting online with some new guy.

"Yeah, he's Indian. He's a doctor."

"Oh, really? Cool."

"He's an intern or a resident or something. I don't remember. But he said he's the worst doctor ever."

"Ha! The ones you meet always say they're the worst at their jobs - like the worst waiter ever."

"No, really - he told me that he had to give a woman a gynecological exam and he put the speculum in her ass instead."

"Umm - no. No, he didn't."

"Yup. The woman was like, 'Uh, that's my asshole.'"

"Oh my GOD."

"I even asked him if he was lying, and he was like, 'No, I really did that.'"

It's a nice day for a white wedding

College Friend Keebler's fiancee, Meg, was in the city today for a job interview, so I met her for lunch afterward at the Chelsea Grill in Hell's Kitchen.

During the course of catching up, she mentioned that she and Keebler had recently attended the wedding of one of our college housemates, a guy who now lives in Oregon. Although he and I were never close, just friendly, he and Keebler were very good friends - so much so that Keebler had been his best man.

I asked how the wedding was.

"It was very...them," she said, and sort of grinned at me. "Ceremony outside, reception outside in a tent - and very small, only about 50 people total."

I nodded.

"It was vegetarian," she continued. A beat, and then:

"And non-alcoholic."

I raised an eyebrow and met her eyes.

"Wow, you just described my personal hell," I said slowly as she dissolved into giggles at the expression on my face.

No press! No crease! Clean only!

I bought a pair of these chinos (in white) a couple of weekends ago. I was in Boston all last week for the annual customer conference that I'm in charge of organizing, and our Thursday night activity was a Boston Harbor cruise aboard the Odyssey. And since I'm a slow-mosexual who loves a good theme, I decided to pair the white pants with a light blue polo, a summer sweater, and a seersucker blazer.

Needless to say, the bottoms of the white pants got a little dirty during the course of the evening. I dropped off a bunch of dry-cleaning a little while ago at place around the corner, and honestly? The husband and wife team who run it could not, for the life of them, understand what I wanted.

"Just clean these," I instructed as I pointed out the stains on the cuffs. "I don't want them pressed."

(They're light, casual summer pants. They're not supposed to be ironed.)

"No crease?" the wife asked, brow furrowed.

"No, I don't want them ironed at all. Please just clean them."

This is apparently akin to blasphemy in the incredibly complicated world of dry cleaning, as my request led to a heated conversation in Korean between husband and wife, both of whom were so confused.

Finally, the husband turned to me and asked me again if I wanted a crease.

"I want them wrinkled," I said. "No iron!"

"You like them wrinkled?" he asked. "You like wrinkled pants?"

"Just these," I nodded, and he shrugged in resignation.

Five bucks says I get them back ironed.

Facebook thinks I'm fat

I'm going to write about last week's little trip to hell, but first I wanted to share something that greeted me in the left column when I logged into Facebook this morning.

Can you believe that shit? Facebook ads can just fuck right off.

Today's topic: Funny gays and hateful lesbians

I was in Boston Monday through Wednesday this week, and Benjie left for a long weekend in LA this morning. On Sunday, I leave for Boston for another week and won't be back until Saturday afternoon...so last night was really the only time we had to hang out for another week.

I made dinner and we watched some good ol' reality TV, including this week's "Top Chef" and "So You Think You Can Dance," both of which are some of the best reality TV around.

This week's "Top Chef" infuriated me, though, and that's because of that hateful lesbian Lisa. The words Debbie Downer don't even begin to cover just how rotten she really is...as her fellow contestant Richard put it: "She's like a black cloud in the kitchen." Yeah, a black cloud of fucking bitch! At the end, after Antonia had been sent home and Richard and Stephanie were just sitting there trying to absorb it, Lisa actually confronted them because they hadn't fucking CONGRATULATED her for not being sent home - even though their friend had been. I would have hissed, "Congratulations, you fucking cunt," and stormed off, but those two are classier ladies than I am.

Speaking of classy ladies - how funny is Season 2 finalist Travis Wall on SYTYCD? The minute the cameras started following the mystery drag queen to the stage, I was suspicious - and when he climbed on stage and started dancing with the umbrella, I said to Benjie, "Is that TRAVIS?"

And sure enough, it was. And god, he's good. And so funny too. That's a boy who loves his drag - remember the MySpace photos that came out when he was a contestant of him in a dress?

Love him.

Happy Friday, all.

I'm gonna turn this thing around

I'm trying. I just logged into Blogger, which is in and of itself quite the accomplishment for me. So cut me some slack.

I thought about it for a while and decided that I don't want to delete this thing, even though I know no one reads it...and why should they; it's not like I ever post anything.

But I'm going to really try this time.