Current mood:	awake
Current music:	Michael Jackson "It's the Falling in Love"

You wanna be startin' something? How about a GREAT NEW YEAR?!
Holy shit. Did you know that in 2009 I still write blog updates about nothing? WOAHHH. THAT IS FUCKAN WIERD.

Fine, I'll serve a few items of substance this evening. The substances, of course, are double-fisted Long Island Iced Teas from Boystown, in commemoration of my ladylike New Years festivities. Oh man. So many gay people. So many booty-ups from Elyse and Katie. So few ideas about what to do with the car. Even with the ass-chapping $50 door fee at Hydrate, the night was sufficiently carefree. A spermy surge of redemptive, escapist smut. Though, I mean, I definitely wish I wasn't stalked the whole night by an unblinking, somnambulating robo-homo, and I also wish he didn't drop Elyse's camera after she asked him to take our picture. But Lady Gaga commanded us early on to just dance, and I felt obligated to adhere. You don't mess with the disco stick. Or THE ZOHAN.

I'm still in waiting over sizzling job opportunities that may forcibly overhaul my life in, like, eight minutes. As you know, I am a whore for my comfort zone, so these potential changes got me all asthmatic and horrified, at least initially. My trembling autism face was PRESENT last week. But more recently I've breathed, counted to eleven, compulsively replayed Jane Krakowski clips from 30 Rock, and wormed back into stability. Don't expect that shit to last, though. It never does. I do have to say, it's nice to be worked up over something legitimate. Usually I'm just mentally condemning famous assholes from my life and turning purple over it. This brings me to my next point -- Have you ever sat and ranked the most horrible things anyone's ever said to you? Particularly the ones that are hilarious now? Am I obviously alone here? I live for categorizing crap like this. I also love figuring out what the speakers of those quotes have in common. Cough, personality disorders, cough wheeze cough. I've contrived a decent-sized list of stunners, and I've decided to burden you with it:

"Oh, you have an underbite. That's why you smile like that. I always just thought it was fake." Hahaha, oh!

"He wants to sleep with you? Are you sure he's not just... playing a joke on you?" That was an apropos comment, to be fair, as later that day Peter Funt ran out from behind the man screwing me and announced I was on Candid Camera.

"You... broke something forever yesterday." OK, that one was the legendarily sane Gloria Virtel, a day after I started swearing at the dinner table on Fourth of July. She actually doesn't have a personality disorder. She's actually a wonderful, ultra-loving mommy. She does have 3,400 mouse ornaments though, so hedge your bets accordingly.

"Oh yeah, people ask me all the time if you're gay. All the time." Oooh, talk about a sunshine stomper. This occurred sophomore year, when I was still crushing hard on hetero favorites like Winnie Cooper's hair and the aloof, mannish bitch from drama club with the Valium eyes. Again, devastating then, hilarious now. But how did I cope with this comment at the time? Get ready for it. You better believe... with the aural empathy... of Michael Jackson's "Leave Me Alone." Oh YES. That heterosexual anthem! Those testosterone-laden squeals! The one with the Neverland video, motherfuckers. And the Bubbles cameo! Mmmmm, Michael and me. Thug brothers 'til the end. Just stop dogging me around, Lemont High School class of '04!

"Just sounds like another oversexed homosexual to me." This is an asterisked addition to the list since it wasn't properly stated to me. However, my AWESOME EMPLOYER SAID IT to my FELLOW EMPLOYEE about ME, like an inspiring pillar of professionalism that you ogle in corporate training videos. He was commenting on my "Letters to Louis" column, where I spoke of really oversexy things like Animaniacs nostalgia and uninformed Project Runway opinions. Truly a spicy hotbed of rimjob trivia, indeed. Completely deserving of that demoralizing, derogatory barb. I was straight-up astounded at the time, especially because he wasn't even right. If I was oversexed, I would fucking tell you guys. I would brag more, trust me here. I would probably be really good at it.

Add your own personal mortifying quips at the bottom! Laugh through the unstoppable tears! Handsy Uncle Marty can't find your tickle spot here!

Alright, so ends this week's/month's/century's edition of the deadjournal. 2009's looking promising and aroused from here, so here's to our consumption of its ample tenderloin. Love you guys, and thanks for reading. I'll keep you posted on my potentially catapulted life in the meantime. That is, if I don't eat a buffet of my feelings and suddenly can't type with my tubby new Stay-Puft fingers. I wouldn't not count on it.

Xoxo,
Louis