In my stead

I keep postponing my return, I know. I've got a photo spectacular lined up for later on this week, which I've tentatively scheduled to go live right about the time when I start giving a shit about anything again and crawl out of the bell jar.

In the meantime, however, you should go and read omg blog. It belongs to Frank, whom I had the absolute pleasure of meeting at Metropolitan on New Year's Eve, where he and his friend J (who had the coolest basketball jersey ever, emblazoned with SODOMITES in big letters) promised me that there was a straight guy in the next room. They were wrong, which was fine of course, and we had a nice time doing the Tootsie Roll and discussing L'Trimm.

Speaking of New Years. A long night. Lake. Big lake.

C, a friend of mine whom I hadn't seen since high school, came down to visit. I promised him a low-key New Years, maybe go out to eat, go to a bar, get home at a reasonable hour.

This did not happen, of course. Things that did happen: I broke two drink glasses. I (with the help of my friend S) implored the boys in our party to make out because, as Nicole Ritchie says, "It's a known thing" that two boys making out is HOTT. We teetered home around 3:30. The next morning, I woke up to find C completely rolled up in the comforter on the couch, as though he was auditioning for the summer stock version of I like America and America likes me. (Turns out, this wasn't too far from the truth, as Gordon had decided to focus all his manic kitty hatred on C's extremities during the night.) I wandered down to Graham Ave. in search of coffee and maybe some breakfast fixins, where I ran into my friend J (not to be confused with the J from Metropolitan) and his two kids. We chatted amiably about Batman. "Watch out for the puke behind you, mate," J warned his older child.

On my way back from the deli I realized that I had a voicemail on my cellphone. It was from C. There was a lot of background noise. "Dana," he breathed lifelessly into the phone, "I'm at Metropolitan. You're in the next room. Dancing. It's 3:30. Why won't you answer your phone. When can we leave. Please. It's C."