Nothing Like the Holidays

I’ve decided to develop a new hobby: closing bathtub drains during cocktail parties. You know, most bathtubs have a knob or a handle to close the drain so you can take a bath. But no one I know takes baths regularly, and certainly not in the morning when they’re hung over. Who checks if the drain is closed when they stumble into the shower in the morning? And who can remember which direction to turn the knob to open the drain once the water starts to creep up the ankles? We’re used to the drain remaining open, and just turning on the shower and trying to come to life after yet another long, drunken evening. Sometimes I can barely remember which direction to turn the hot and cold water knobs, let alone check to see if the drain is closed or try to remember which way to turn it to open. I can just picture the groggy confusion as my friends stand ankle-deep in a filling tub, trying to blearily figure out how to switch open the drain. This will be fun.

My new, slightly geeky hobby is a symptom of a much larger problem: I am bored. And it’s boredom of the worst kind; I’m not bored because I have nothing to do, I’m bored with the things I should do. You know: work, chores at home, and the home improvements that (as you all know) I’ve so unwisely undertaken. Lately I want to either go to bars and drink, or sit at home and watch TV. And not even watch TV with Carlos; I’m more than happy to let him watch Amore Real or whatever is on Univision in the living room while I sprawl out in the bed and watch Stargate, or sneak in a bit of porn when he’s not listening. Tonight I plan to leave work at 5 pm, go to a homosexual drinking establishment (I’m actually considering the Crescent) and drinking until it’s time to go to Spanish class. Afterward, I’m going to R Place to continue drinking until either I can’t stand up, or I hear a BOOM that is Carlos blowing up my building.

Apparently yesterday’s entry (a series of interesting emails) hit a bit of a nerve. I understand and respect privacy, but I fail to see that any reasonable expectation of privacy attaches to a public act performed on a free, public website. Ergo, people are within their rights to discuss said act amongst themselves. Of course, anyone who wishes to make any general or specific comments on the blog are encouraged to do so, and if you’d like to refute my logic on this or anything else, I am eager to hear your arguments.

There’s still silence from Issaquah; perhaps JPK and D4L are having difficulty assembling the Matthew Phillips Memorial Diningroom Set. Actually, I’m sure it takes a few days to get unpacked, get the internet turned on, and attach the shower douche. While we all eagerly await a new blog entry and invitations to the housewarming, I understand that appropriate gifts for the happy couple are in short supply. Not to give anything away, but if you know where to get a marble statue of monogamy or a front page story on Jason’s HIV test (suitable for framing), let me know.

Tomorrow Matty returns to that apocryphal pit of toxicity, LA. It’s only for a few days this time; he has to be back to host his Thanksgiving dinner. This year Adam has promised to lay off the ganja long enough to make stuffing, but we will let him smoke up before he puts on his Puritan gown for the traditional corn-stalk flogging. Flogging Adam in festive holiday garb has been a tradition at Matty’s since Easter, when we threatened to dress Adam in a bunny suit and whip him. This tradition was inspired by a church in Indiana, which hosted an Easter pageant with a guy in a bunny suit being whipped for Jesus. Johnny immediately coined the phrase Christian Fundamentalist Sadomasochistic Furries, and we decided this had to be incorporated into a festive celebration of the holidays. You gotta be inclusive.