FHC’s resurrected blog

In which FHC gets in trouble on the highway

Let me tell you that I am quite sorry I only get to blog so late. You need to know, though, that I have a cute excuse: on my way to Annopolis the brakes of the car (a dodge) went in pretty flames while we were on the highway. Afterwards I ran into a few difficulties such as calling 411 instead of 911 and explaining to an incompetent operator that my tires went in fire - she politely replied “yes but what address do you want me to find?”. A fun conversation which not only cost me $2.49 but did not solve my burning issue. I ended up spending the evening in the middle of nowhere at Bowie Automotive Part (which was closed at that time unfortunately and populated mostly by illegal Mexican immigrants) until I finally found a ride to my final destination. The most amazing part of the whole adventure being that I found a wireless connection while in Bowie.

In other news, I am fat. I have two weeks before Cyprus and have no idea what to do to avoid h aving my mother commenting five days straight about my obesity and how I drink too much soda and how everybody in my father’s family turn into a fat ass at 30 years old etc… etc… I have two weeks to starve myself to death. Also to whom belongs the 202 669 7923 number ?

A little blog on my way to the Country side

I was forced to take the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator today and it appears that I am an ENTJ which basically means that I am a stuck up asshole who very moderately enjoys life and hates change. Believe it or not.

Also I know that you are all dying to know the details of my diner party at Alex A. yesterday. I won’t say a word because anyway I don’t remember much besides the fact that almost all the guests gladly volunteered at one point to admit that they frequent manhunt.net, that Sergio P. felt he had to sing, and that I got to pay a $40 bill at Halo because Nicholas V. and Rick H. (both middle-aged and desperately horny) “invited me to get Claudettes at halo”. Like usual, I was a push over and Alex A. (who is not content anymore with guests bringing all the food, wine and conversation to his diner parties) tricked me into accepting to organize diner at my place next wednesday, I imagine that it only means that for once Alex will carry my grocery shopping bags. I ended up drinking a little bit more at home and cruising Criag’s list with Kevin D.

I have to leave for Annapolis. Kisses.

The ipod conspiracy and other annoying little things

Finally itunes showed its true nature this morning. The little f***er had been creating a .m4a copy of each .wma file I had in my computer (we are talking about 2,000 out of 7,000 songs here) sabotaging my brand new machine memory which had its first crash (can you imagine crashing while it’s less than a week old - HATE COMPUTERS – HAVE ALWAYS HATED THEM…pshuit). Seconds later it is the ipod that turned his back on us refusing to be switched on and showing a weird icon that could either mean “my internal circuits burnt down” or “there was a nuclear attack on the United States” or “cover me in chocolate and throw me to the lesbians !”. My ipod’s behavior was cute and funny two days ago… but now it's really getting old. I ended up resetting it without knowing it and now it refuses to talk to my computer. I would throw my iPod out the window if only LL wasn’t dirt poor. As a consequence I arrived at work at 9:30 a.m. looking extremely tired and my brain still hurts when I move. This is extremely annoying. I wish I could spend my life in walmart like everybody else or at least that I would be your average naked french punk.

In other news, Olliver D.’s brother ends up in jail, MW’s coverboy scares me out, terrorism might be the reason why your Viagra is counterfeit, the cord on my phone is all entangled, lifthansa offers access to the web on its flights, Kevin W. met a cute (Jewish) Columbia Law student at a wedding last weekend and I am late for a dinner at Alex A.’s (there is still a little hope to end up the day trashed). Oh ...an L this is not a car...this a gogo cart and I look ridiculous !

Allons enfants de la patrie....

I would have blogged about the French demonstrations but I already did that earlier this year when you reported on yet another French revolution brewing in the Banlieues, so please refer to my previous entry. On CNN.com, France always appear to be going through a civil war, it’s just amazing. It’s as if the guy who made “Le Divorce” was also in charge of all news relating to the French social “situation”. Nothing like French bashing by French people to make you happy… you sneaky little conformist bastards. Okay, so French people are always demonstrating their discontentment towards their government and that pisses you off because you wish you would live in a real democracy too. After all isn’t it the ultimate freedom than to rebel against your own government. You probably suspect by now that there is a little “je-ne-sais-quoi” which is sexually exciting about revolution, contestation, strong emotions, tight stomachs and pretty clothes. Admit it. That’s ok. And get over it now, you are in the US and it is all about healthy food, sweat pants, the apprentice and bringing freedom to the universe. And I am proud to be a French man where at least I can be unhappy And I am proud of the Frenchmen who demonstrate for me…

In which LL buys a shredder and recovers his damaged identity

We are very unlucky with credit cards lately. Some stranger (or at least that is what LL pretends) has been charging LL’s card in Niagara Falls over the week-end. This is kind of strange because if you are going to steal someone’s identity, LL’s identity seems really not that interesting. I mean the poor guy is broke, he is young and jewish, he probably has a very average credit, his boyfriend is lousy and we all know he is becoming some kind of a law freak. I suspect he made up the whole story to make sure I would pay dinner during my next trip to NYC and to justify weird expenses on raunchy websites. Though we should all note that having your identity stolen is very trendy, everybody in NYC tries to have his identity stolen lately. I have personally been charging my own identity heavily over the last few weeks. My monthly bill has reached an all time high at mid-month of $3,200 and I haven’t even received a word of congratulations from my Bank. I should have known better as I have always been told that Credit Cards, a symbol of the American way of life to us poor immigrants, are like venereal diseases, liquor, crack-cocaine, a loaded gun and mosquitoes. Sadly enough I only discovered them too late in life, after college an was informed a few months after having started to use them (for trips to Miami and Los Angeles) by my ex George that eventually you are forced to pay for the superfluous things you charge onto them (like a $165 Villebrequin pair of swim trunks as an example).

Killing myself one birthday party at a time

I guess that’s what happens when people start throwing birthday dinners at 6 pm (I always thought afternoon parties were for underprivileged pre-schoolers). You end up leaving trashed and ridiculed at 1 a.m. (instead of slightly tipsy and charmed at 4 a.m.) and wake up in an advanced stage of decomposition. Ah the lonely Sunday mornings of the alcoholics.

From the little I can recall, Fagat’s birthday party was all the rage yesterday. The glamorous décor reminded me of an Austrian brothel I once frequented and the guests list included a mix of human beings, Ivy League graduates (the kind that cannot help but tell you about the time they backpacked across East Africa even if it does not fit into the conversation), heavy hitters in NYC sodomites’ community, at least one Afghan warlord and a myriad of anonymous girls. I am asked to believe that I unsuccessfully pushed LL to commit adultery with some fellow Jew who apparently spent both time and energy picking his friendster pictures. Everybody was badmouthing Alex S. and commenting on Cub’s friendliness. Nobody was wearing a stripped shirt besides perhaps Chirag. I was so wasted by 11 p.m. that I ended touching a pair of breasts (incidentally the generous one of Alex R.) and smoking from some cigarette – two bad habits I had quit for a long time - as a consequence I turned completely green and we had to leave just before they brought large crystal fruit cocktail bowl filled with cocaine and Jimmy was getting in. That's the last thing I remember of that evening… and the fact that I concentrated really hard not to puke in the cab.

As a consequence today was really painful: I woke up with an intense headache which did not get better and dragged myself around LL’s apartment crying about the fact that this binge drinking was totally uncalled for. I am sure we missed the best part of the evening (usually when the male models take off their clothes) and that we made comments to people we will regret…once again. As LL put it so well at 3:21 p.m. today "Do you think our lives are really depressing FHC?"

One last piece of information: I was told that Emile, the shitzu, did not have a cold but a good old rhynitis. He'll survive.

Ill-gotten gains seldom prosper.

So that’s it I received my computer and my i-pod (we are not yet in NYC as there a little UPS mix-up and we should be on the 5 pm shuttle now). What's left to hope for? Life feels like a bottomless pit and I have never felt that anxious. Not only do these new toys pave the ways for thousands of opportunities to buy other useless accessories (such as a desk as an example) reinforcing my dependence on the corporate world but I am now condemned to live in terror over the idea of losing what represents 10 years of savings for me. What will happen in the plane when my laptop will be in the overhead compartment? Can I trust US airways attendants? What if some S&M gay on its way to the black party bully me into giving him my i-pod? I am awfully nervous. There is so many stories of little gay men being roughed up because of their expensive ipod. This is just so confusing; I wish I could become poor again like in the good old days when I was living at U-street Cardoso (at the time where dealers were still getting shot at the corner every two days) and I had to beg my friends to advance me rent money (R.B. would refuse and Sergio would kindly accept). I think I’ll buy some Vilebrequin swimtrunks to feel better about myself this week-end. Kisses. Fabrice

FHC is NOT a pushover

I ate my way through the day and the FHCgate…mostly Hershey’s bars. Surely I’ll make the trip to Results tonight.

I am on my way to NYC tomorrow morning for a loulboom free WE with LL. It just strike me today that the plane on the way there ( I am on the noon shuttle – no comment) and on the way back will probably be full of drunken DC socialites on their way to the Black party… and maybe Fagat’s 28^th Birthday Memorial Service. I have to pack in a clever fashion a mix of harnesses and polos with huge little ponies on them and incredibly long collars.

This week-end will also be devoted to setting-up my long awaited for computer (which we all plan to pick up at UPS tomorrow morning) and my ipod. Both items will probably lead to amazingly complex and frustrating situations and maybe violent seizures which I will make sure to report in my secret diary over the week-end. Once again FHC will need valium and love and maybe acupuncture and all kinds of little attentions.  

Finally a note to my ex-tricks: the door code of the Corcoran Retirement House will change on April 1^st for the first time in three years, if you’d like to visit me in my sleep for old time’s sake you have exactly a week to do so. You might actually be eligible for boyfriendship once again as LL’s reaction was ”How are we supposed to remember a new number?!  This is terrible.”

In other news, I should never have trusted H51N.

FHC concentrates on his breathing

Hmmm….hmmm… Don’t repeat that to dearest LL[1] [who is he to talk anyway? He is radioactive] but I got slightly wrist-slapped today for being too aggressive at work today. I guess my little Amazon books reading occurred too late and I had three fits of wild rage in the last week which might or might have not included some bitter e-mails a little too ironical for my own good apparently. I was even asked politely if everything was fine at home [how embarrassing!]. I hesitated five minutes to blame it on L or even the shitzus but thought that would probably not fly as it is quite known I also have a domestic abuse problem. Instead I decided to go for the always successful: “My mother is an alcoholic and my father a valium addict. She's passive-aggressive and he's a sociopath. Another question ?”

You see I have this nasty little habit of snapping, exploding into rages, and going into stapler-throwing binges at regular intervals. I have little talent at walking the fine line between too aggressive and stupid. Basically, I lack the charm of Alex A. whose much admired hard core assertiveness obtains him free lunch at Zaytinia upon a little complaint on the quality of service, apologies from the people he runs over in the street when driving his black jag and respect from his team.

As it is quite urgent to find a solution before I am being wisked off to some Anger management classes or shock therapy, I promised I would try to deal with my feelings in a more positive way than *SNAP!!!* ….“Well, what about it, beeeeeeotch?....”. I tried pet therapy this week but as we all know it was a very mild success. I think I am going to start smoking up which was an idea I had quite a while ago but that LL was not very fond of. Sounds more exciting than your average breathing exercise... Up and down. Up and down. Up and down.

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[1] He had even written to me earlier today:” I think you’re handling it well (or at least not throwing staplers against the wall).”

Hard life of FHC

Strange things that every time I promise myself that I'll take it easy, I end up having a crazzy day at work. It is 8:11 pm and I did not blog. Also we can all forecast that the shitzus must have ransacked Champlain street. Stay still kiddos we are on our way back.