Summer of my corruption, indeed

[Disclaimer: this could make for awkward reading for those of you who actually know me.]

You know that you've been blogging too much when you're lying awake next to a man after one of the most amazing nights of your life and you're thinking: What should my first sentence be?

This is going to make for a really good entry.

One thing to keep in mind while reading: the fact that I am one of the most reserved people to walk the earth. And, the events about to unfold may not be that exciting to most of you, bear in mind that my constant state of mild prudery makes this big news for me. I am no longer milquetoast.

I'll just start by saying that I didn't have sex (and I feel like I'm disapointing NDC somewhat by that fact).

The initial surprise of a very interesting evening came when I found myself on my neighbor's bathroom floor being thoroughly (and quite pleasantly) kissed and fondled by the brother of said neighbor, whom I had only met 2 days previous (the brother, not the neighbor). This man, henceforth known as NCSA, is one of the most amazing people I've ever met (i.e. talented, intelligent, funny, and absolutely gorgeous). However this does not excuse the fact that I'd only known him for 2 days and I was already allowing his hand to make a merry journey up my shirt.

Is there a reason that I've never let myself do any of this before?

Being discovered half naked in a bathroom is not an experience one will live down quickly.
After hastily dressing, I was accosted by Red, who grabbed my aside and asserted (in a voice that left no room for argument), "I'm staying the night at Zack's. You'd better bring [him] back to the apartment." And proceeded to threaten me in no uncertain terms that I was not to return without a disgusting amount of details. The Columbian had similar sentiments.
"You should let him touch your vagina," said she, adding later (with a humorous glint), "let him stick his man-meat in your cave."
These are the people I hang out with.

Pause for one trip to my apartment where I hastily cleaned up and changed into more suitable unmentionables.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch (and by ranch, I mean my apartment) things........progressed quite nicely. However. Just about anything that could possibly have gone wrong, did. My bed broke. As in collapsed. As in oh my god is this really happening why didn't I attach the footboard yet. I realized that I hadn't shaved my legs in three days (not that he seemed to mind). And in the middle of some serious activities my cat decides that our proceedings have been very interesting and wanted a closer look from the viewpoint of NCSA's back. Despite all this, we both highly enjoyed ourselves.

Mild feelings of guilt followed by thoughts of "you've gone and done something a bit slutty, Sparks" commensed soon after he left (and have since been at the back of my mind). He left this morning for back home (he was just visiting), which I've got mixed feelings about. Him leaving almost makes it seem like it didn't happen.

If you'd have told me that morning that by midnight I would get as close to sex as is humanly possible, I'd never have believed you.

The other end

I've had a lot of experience with hearing the ends of interesting (oft disturbing phone calls). What's worse is when you know some of the people involved, which makes things much more interesting (and disturbing), bringing confusion to a boiling point.

Red was on the phone the other night while a few of us were hanging out at the Jedi Temple, and this is what I heard:

"How's your girlfriend?"
"You slept with WHO???"
"Wait, as in ballerina, or as in stripper?"
"What about Natalia? You can't have a figure skater and a ballerina. Does she know?"
"SHE has a girlfriend?!"
".................."
"......like, a fourway?"

(here we get an interjection from deltacham of "wait, are we talking about golf?")

"You're a terrible person and I'm judging you."
"Nuh uh. Fuck that, don't even go there. You can't say that (etc.)"
"I said shut up!"
"Fine, you know what? When you were in town I fucked Zach in the other room. TWICE. Bye."

All conversations should end like that.

To die. Alone. In the rain.

I've spent 2.25 hours watching my cat stare at things today.

This is why I am a work-a-holic. I need to occupy myself. Otherwise I'm stuck at home with no TV, internet, or friends, and sans roommate, while everyone is at rehearsal. At this point I'm contemplating just showing up at load-in and offering to work, which, FYI, is on par with insanity.

I've been cleaning. As in obsessively, as in Lady MacBeth "out, damned spot, out!" (Matt, I'm using it again, it sounded good).

I need something to do. And what's worse is: I'm lonely. It's terrible being stuck at home on your days off, while everyone else is having a "day on." This is why I need friends who aren't in the theatre.

And I also dont' have anything even mildly interesting to write about. So, how about another Spark of Life Total Request Live? Send in your reqests, guys. I'm bored as hell.

Ready for anything

During most of the dull and monotonous morning shifts at the restaurant, I spend much of my time not checking on tables, but leaning against the hostess stand and letting my mind wander (often to thoughts of David Hyde Pierce). But every once in a while something interesting happens which spurs immediate action, or the wheels in my mind start to turn. Take yesterday, for example. One of the managers is explaining to the staff how busy we expect to be for the rest of the day.

"Yesterday was fast, but then it slowed down. We're just not sure what's going to happen. Be ready for anything, guys. " (this is said with the utmost seriousness, as if the fate of the world rested on our 1 - 3 p.m. intake)

My brain starts springing into action in order to save myself from certain boredom. "Anything?" Immediately thoughts come of mind of: ninjas coming through the windows, a plague of locusts, 48 vomitting children (or just regular children, actually, they're all nightmares), alien invasion, a sudden epidemic of tuberculosis, a flood of banana pudding, a tornado, Mr. T (I've heard he's very demanding), the resurgence of Communism beginning with our little restaurant......Anything. And then I spent the rest of my shift planning. This is why I'm a good employee.

The Onion

For the past 4 weeks Red and I have lived on Ramen and Lipton noodles. Bruises have been appearing on my legs more and more easily as I slowly become anemic. I spend my days sitting on a papasan chair, thinking of what real food tastes like; the past two nights I've had dreams about fast food (and James Spader, but that's to be expected). And then I go to work at an Italian restaurant where all I can do is lust after the Chicken Tilapia as it passes me on its way to an eager customer.

But.

There is hope. Oh, yes. The onion rings in the restaurant on the other side of the building. Everyday I wait for those few precious seconds that I can steal away into the kitchen and grab a greasy, fattening, steaming piece of fried heaven. I get lost in the unfathomable infinities of those divine circles of goodness. Let me take a second to talk about just how insanely amazing these particular onion rings are. I'll start by stating that they are the biggest fucking onions on the face of the planet. And the batter. Oooohhhh, the batter. It must have been created by some otherworldly power; they end up being so crunchy when they come out of that deep fryer. Youd think that would make them dry, wouldn't you? But they aren't, my friend! Once the outer layer of crispy goodness is stipped away, a core of lush, moist, and delicate onion is left for feasting. Oh, glorious rapture. I live for those few seconds of complete bliss, for the sound of the crunch in my mouth, the smell, the taste that makes my tongue dance with joy. Orgasm. No. Mouthgasm.

And then I return to the restaurant where I again think of offering a customer sexual favors in return for just a bite of their lasagna.

June is for Jews

Things I have done recently that are really starting to make this summer really interesting:

Had shots of alcohol
Watched porn
Eaten nothing but Ramen
Had sex with 3 midgets*
Played spin the bottle for the first time
Been propositioned by a customer
Slept in a professor's bed**
Made out with a woman
Converted to Judaism***
Broken my bed
Drowned another girl in a fountain^
Been promised the gift of lingerie

*This is a lie.
**Strangely enough, this is true
***This is also a lie. Of course, I'm already Jewish.
^But she deserved it. They all do.

Ms. Holloway, meet me in my office. And bring your typing scores.

I have discovered the movie Secretary.

Oh, my.

In affirmation that I probably am a closet kink, and not the innocent prude in Mary Jane's that I appear to be, I have fallen completely in love with this film. The urge to have my typing corrected with a red Sharpie, and then spanked over a desk (preferably by James Spader) has become overwhelming. After I'm finished typing this entry, you can expect me to be looking through the classifieds for a lawyer in need of a secretary. In fact, I'll be abandoning all ambition of becoming an actor/writer in hoped of fufilling this ridiculous notion. All you lawyers out there (or future ones - NDC, I hope you're listening) had better watch out.

You have reached the office of Mr. E. Edward Grey.....

I want to be your secretary.

Fashnitzeled in my genecktagazoink

I have discovered the drawback of working at Auntie Pasta's. Due to the majority of our clientel being older, southern gentelemen, my Yankee sensibilities are constantly being assaulted by their calls of "dahrlin" "sugar" "dumplin" and the worst of all those southern monickers: "ma'am." Sir, I am not a 40 year old matron, thank you. Excuse me while I dump this talapia in your lap.

I should say that I'm Jewish.

Oh, and it has been brought to my attention that a lot of people are still confused as to whether or not I'm really Jewish. Isn't that interesting?