It’s hump day. Again. But not for me. Again. I don’t understand it.
I cook and keep house like June Cleaver. I talk about writing all the time and rarely produce anything anyone wants to read, offend lots of friends in the process, and am always available for parties, dinners and the theatre like Truman Capote. I can toss back a cocktail and toss off an insult like Karen Walker. I can judge you and cane your ass, keep silent about my dark, mysterious, debauched and depraved Catholic, cocktail-lounge-singing past, and pray for death like Sister Jude.
What’s not to like?
My life is one after another adventure in being invisible or “the wrong one” – which is, no doubt, why I am so obsessed with the Kyle and Jimmy storyline on “SMASH.” The number of times I have been Kyle – alas, without the relief of the liaison with the headlights – is ridiculously high.
So, what’s a fellow to do? I guess, like I said before, obsess on Kyle’s death (P.S. how has this post about Kyle dying on SMASH gotten so many thousands of hits?) and listen to my own personal gurus. Right? Whatever. In the meantime, I troll the web looking for laughs. Like this one from The Discipline Committee called “No Hetero.”
Happy hump day. Or, in my case, no hump day.