FHC’s resurrected blog

In which FHC discovers the peapod effect

I weight myself at Results: partly, because I like to convey a message to fellow Results members that I too am serious about this whole “working out” thing. Additionally I trust the gays, above all other human creatures, to make sure Results’s scale does not lie.

I historically oscillated between 145 and 148 pounds (to be compared with an “official” 5 ft 7 in height) for the last 2,5 years depending on the amount of sex I was getting (directly correlated to the amount I drink as I don’t hook up sober. Period). Three weeks ago, my weight suddenly snapped out of its sluggish pattern and increased at a faster-than-expected 2/3 lbs/week pace. At first, I did not pay attention to it blaming the increasing number of Enrique Iglesias songs in my ipod. However, I eventually reached an unheard-of 155 pounds on Sunday evening. I gasped of horror and started kicking the electronic scale before retreating hastily to the locker room. I found this sudden weight gain to be even more worrying considering the fact that I had been sober (….ok…more sober than usual) during the same period for the sad reasons we all know.

When I shared this tragic story with my friend Juan V., he blamed it on the ineluctable hormonal changes and slower metabolism associated to being in my late twenties. I hated the glandular explanation. Look at Mark H.! he is in his early forties and he only is vaguely overweight while his sex drive is clearly not waning. I finally isolated the peapod effect as the explanation. I have joined this grocery home delivery service upon my return from the unnamed destination. Practically, for the first time in my life I regularly fill my fridge with two weeks worth of groceries, which I end up eating in the two following days. In the Kevin D.’s era [circa 2003-2006], I was living on sporadic food supplies relying exclusively on pasta and tuna cans. Prosperity and convenience are threatening my delicate figures. LL, always wise, also indicated to me yesterday that cranberry juice and protein bars are fattening which I was of course completely unaware of.

In which FHC has a truly exotic journey to Bebar

As a first healthy step out of rehab on Friday evening, I went to Bebar for some “rising ocean levels is bad” party. I am not sure how exactly I ended up there: mostly the combination of Mark H. and Kevin W.’s awful influences. One minute we were dancing on “Big In Japan” in my living room with underage drinker Sushi and the next minute Mark H. was scavenging on twinks under Bebar awful lighting trying to drop ruffies in their drinks.

The number of new gays in the Bar amazed me. I had that vague impression from my trips to Results lately but it confirmed it: there are many new gays in the district and worse, they are all good looking, reckless and come from a smoke-free household. Just when I thought, it would not get any better. I am not sure from where they moved. Josh hinted on Sunday morning that surrounding states have a gay “catch and release in the district program” but I think it is a lie. More rationale explanations are a change in the House and Senate Leadership, the new school year and Fagat’s international gay recruitment drive (who incidentally is sleeping with Frenchbenj as if our little lives were not incestuous enough). I barely knew anyone there. Of course, there were also a few "regulars" drinking Shirley Temples in complete oblivion to the threat they are facing like Carlos U., Clint M., and Ryan P. (who was 27 in 2004).

The old gays still frighten me and I did not feel more at ease after a 2-week rehab facility stay. I compulsively tried to flirt but as usual, I sounded arrogant, self-absorbed and somewhat gay. Thank god, Jim M., who is some kind of a local Santa Claus, appeared and drove back Kevin W. and me on his magic sleigh to Kalorama. Overall, this little journey to Bebar made me feel a little overwhelmed: so little time and so much stalking on friendster to do.

In Which LL Visits FHC in Rehab

We've received a lot of concerned email recently about FHC's Rehab Entries.  Ok actually no one wrote to us about FHC this week.  Apparently many of you thought these posts were jokes; those of you that did obviously don't know FHC or his desperate need in the past few months for medical placement.  Our visit was brief - the doctors let us sit with him for about 15 minutes.  FHC muttered "4 8 15 16 23 42" over and over, but otherwise seemed to be in good shape (for someone nearly 30).  Many of you have had questions, and we wanted to take this chance to answer them.  (NDLR: All answers have been approved by FHC's publicist and style manager.)

What was FHC permitted to bring with him?  Can we have the polo shirts and antique sports gear he left behind?

FHC was only permitted to pack a few limited items - he wears a uniform daily.  We brought him some of the things he forgot: a tweed jacket, iPod speakers (they don't let him listen to music but since it was a birthday gift we gave him, he wanted it for the memories), Kiehl's abyssine eye cream, Zirh astringent, and his plastic vilebrequin pouch.  FHC smiled wide when he saw us; yet his eyes told us all we needed to know about his current anguish and years of suffering. 

What is FHC being treated for?  When will he be released?

Unfortunately, the answer to the first question is confidential and the latter too uncertain to speculate.  His public statement is that he's undergoing treatment for a "social conditioning disorder," but faithful readers will know that that's only one of many problems. 

Are any celebrities in the treatment program with him?

Obviously we're not allowed to answer that, but let's just say one of the patient's nicknames in the facility is Fire Crotch, and we're not talking about Carrot Top.

Can we visit FHC?  Does he have a mailing address?

No, you can't.  Especially Kevin W., and particularly not at 5am.  He can receive mail, but unfortunately the facility opens it all first to make sure its content isn't too upsetting, so we recommend against reaching out to him in any way. Please hesitate before contacting FHC.

What will the New & Improved FHC be like once treatment is complete?

Again, difficult to speculate.  But we have a few guesses.  First, the new FHC will enjoy listening to people discuss real estate, and he will be genuinely happy for his genuinely happy friends.  He will have learned to marinate chicken before grilling it.    He will take public transportation.  Finally, he will make frequent charitable contributions and fewer uncharitable jokes.

Will FHC continue to blog?

Only time will tell.  FHC is in discussions to sell his bio-pic (working title: "La Candeur Infernale de Ma Jeunesse"), and it is unclear whether the production schedule will leave time for blogging.

In which FHC says really mean things about his own friends

With all this little rehab incident, I never ended up telling you about my trip to Baltimore. I will summarize it by saying that most of my friends have become nest building f***cks. They were turned into a bunch of gender-confused pastel-tones-painting Martha-Stewartesque f***ers. All conversations during the week-end were devoted to topics such as paint blistering and peeling, original features (of contemporary houses: see the irony) and bird wreath chandeliers. Nobody ever mentioned war, sodomy and the economy for the entire two days. I actually did not speak at all because I was either too busy reacting with derisive snorts or suffocating because of some domesticity overdose. Our activities included going to an open house without the slightest intention of buying it and visiting a local tacky arts-and-crafts exhibition at a neighborhood Pentecostal church. I always thought it was a joke people going to open-house to gather decorating tips but no it’s all very true. Hearing my ex-roommate saying: “yes we are really concerned with keeping as much as possible of its unique character” and “we are thinking of revealing the original wood pattern on this door” cured forever my [mild] crave for a stable relationship. I mean these kids, which were cool whorish alcoholic Trotskyite kids at one point (Drew excluded…at least for the cool part… btw I still have no internet access until next thursday), are now exclusively sleeping, breathing and masturbating about house decoration and renovation. Is that what love does? turning revolutionary faggots into homemakers crazily obsessed with domestic matters. Are there other options than settling our sexual frustrations in a perfectly decorated nest, which we will decorate and re-decorate for eternity? Hint: yes there is, undergear parties as an example. I almost feel closer to my straight friends with babies: at least they are obsessed with human beings. Many people blame me for spending time with Mark H. these days but is it my fault if all the decent gays of my generation are too busy fixing their giant gingerbread houses with their partner?

In which FHC writes a follow-up note

Dear M,

I was quite sad not to find any e-mail from you today when they let us access our e-mail besides some junk that you had sent out. I felt a little abandoned. I mean nobody writes to me besides Russ and my landlord these days. The curricular is so long and painful particularly as I am now experiencing severe withdrawal symptoms and have to do stupid group exercise with other patients. The road to recovery is just so f***ing boring and full of unberabble and akward social interraction. No wonder anybody takes it willingly. I really preferred the whole “I am a drunk” thing: at least I did not have to hug strangers. One of the game today consisted in filling in the blank in the sentence: "FHC was drunk at ______”: I definitely won on the spatial scope of my drunkenness. Of course I am on my best behavior now that DC police accepted to drop the charges for the whole “drunken rampage” thingy even if I am told I kicked a deputy in the groin [I highly doubt that because I did not even know the word “groin” before I was checked in here]. At least I did not say anything anti-semitic, LL wouldn't have forgiven me. Anyway, I have to be careful because any sign that I am pissed off might be misinterpreted. I started to smile a lot even if it hurts and makes cheerful little signs with my hands when I see other patients. I have to swallow benzodiazepine pills the size of peanuts with green tea constantly (as if I was not sufficiently dependent on prescription drugs already) and had terrible nightmares about my mother last night. I have also started to gain weight. A nurse told me that Aaron Carter gained even more the first few days he was here so I felt better. I was also told that eventually I should practice hooking up sober, something I never did in my life therefore I think we should keep in touch.

Your sedated friend

PS: could you check that there is not more Waldorf Astoria silverware going on sale on ebay during my “absence”

In which FHC writes from rehab

Dear M.,

Thank you very much for your message. This is the first day we are allowed to read our e-mails and it was really a treat for me to read your kind message. Please thank everybody in DC for their continued support, prayers as well as of course their intense intervention last week. Our internet access is also very limited here and I probably won’t be able to thank them personally. The facility is very nice and people have been extremely courteous so far. They roughened me up a little at first because I had “spiraled out of control” but now I keep a really low profile. The first night I apparently tried to take the eyes out of the late night nurse like in Kill Bill. They also finally acknowledged that I really have a French accent and called my primary physician. I still had to get three stitches on the side of my head and it really looks awful. I guess I really wanted to go home but now I feel really fine. I am just glad I did not end up in jail for manslaughter. I also spotted some minor celebrities among the other patients… not anything like Cher but a local gay anchor, David B. and some Japanese artsy guy. I noticed also a few cute teenagers which apparently stay in a different unconnected pavilion across the Park. I did not talk to anybody besides the personnel (if you can call this talking!) yet because I was confined all week-end. Anyway try flirting with a straightjacket and a purple scar on your head! The nurses are telling me that I am making impressive progress in acknowledging my alcohol problem and might be able to be in home-therapy sooner than expected if I keep this positive attitude. I find the whole thing with the dozen steps and the non-alcoholic cocktails recipes really inspirational and fun (Ari would love it here, they are so creative), and this Betty was really a candid and courageous lady. I am not even talking about the Higher Power. Thanks for all of your financial and moral support. Please get in touch with LL to tell him how sorry I am that I beat on him like a piñata when we were together for not cleaning enough. Tell him I changed a lot in the last few hours. Be sure that I'll communicate you a progress report as soon as I have an opportunity. I have decided that when I am done here, I’ll also properly handle my LSD/mescaline/weed/ /blogging and even homosexuality issues. I am really motivated this time and feel this is a true spiritual journey. No kidding.

Your friend in Christ, FHC

PS: can you send me some music; I have been listening all day to “it’s not easy” by Helen Reddy.

In Which LL Blogs because Drew W. Ruined* FHC's Life

Whenever someone asks us "Should I go to law school," we have an answer ready: "Do you want to be a lawyer?"  This is not a question we asked ourself before we tried to become the next LL Woods.  Our Miranda Priestly-like boss said, "LL we got you accepted to law school.  Go."  And now we know that slander is a tort and can also help you out if someone steals your kill during a fox hunt. 

Since we didn't consider what we would do other than being a lawyer before starting law school, we thought that the halfway point (we're done with three of six semesters) would be a good time to think about what we would have done if we didn't become a lawyer.  Here are some possibilities:

- Chef:  Pros - love eating; extremely good focus on cutting things into tiny pieces; don't tear when cutting onions.  Cons - general lack of talent; enjoy only salty things with a lot of butter; own only one (blunt) knife.

- Doctor:  Pros - no visceral reaction to blood; watch Nip/Tuck; comfortable around latex (gloves).  Cons - not Jewish enough; cannot choose a restaurant, would probably lack life-or-death decisionmaking ability under pressure

- Prostitute: Pros - tried moonlighting during our period as an assistant at "Runway"; good hours; no requirement to report wages to IRS. Cons - no benefits package; hate asking people for money

- Reality Star: Pros - thrive as the "token" or "only gay in the village"; pitched idea of playing Russell Simmons' white/gay/Jew assistant at Def Jam records; messy drunk.  Cons - rejected by "Survivor: Pearl Islands"; not flamboyant enough

- Travel Guide Contributor: Pros - obvi best job ever.  Cons - cannot travel independently or without adult supervision; lack knowledge of foreign languages; hate sight-seeing

- Writer: Pros - set own hours; attend book parties.  Cons - lack of talent, passion (see also "Chef"); last name not "Foer"

- Master of the Universe: Pros - applied for the position, was declined.  Cons - not Jewish enough (see also "Doctor")

- Philanthropist/Socialite: Trust us, we're working on it (Bettina, call us)

Since we're utterly incapable of doing anything else, we think "lawyer" is a good fit.  Our general lack of passion fits well; instead of having our own views we can easily adopt those of our clients slash the partners who we slave away for.  We always thought having a lack of convictions would be a detriment in our career: now we realize it's a huge asset (particularly when combined with our tendency to produce our best work when terrified by/of our superiors).

*NDLR: By "ruined" we mean shut off his internet, by which we also mean cut off his access to internet porn, le Blog, and, of course, charming emails from his ex.

In which FHC stumbled on a piece of news

Oh, my God! They killed Jonathan H.! Those bastards!"

In which FHC remembers London in the 30s

I recently watched “Bright Young Things” with some Brit-obsessed friend of mine (who insisted that I need to read the caption and adopted a British accent in the middle of the movie). I always love stories like “Requiem for a dream” or “Party Monster” in which it all starts very lightheartedly with bright drugs and enchanting parties and ends up somewhat dramatically and unexpectedly with death, abandonment and children. The wildest partygoers commit suicide, become schizophrenic or paraplegic or at least get an arm amputated, while the others, jaded, marry and procreate. It reminds me a little of my father’s predicament that being carefree (read: gay, smoker or junkie or all of the above) eventually catches up with you in life. He even had an interesting formula to summarize it but I can’t remember it right now. Anyway I gather that life is merciless for those who have too much fun (read: sex, drug and easy money) too early in life. These movies are telling us that it is much wiser to spread it over a longer period of time. Why can’t they just stop right before the pathetic degradation part? I am sure it has something to do with some overall Hollywood religious zealots plot. I also enjoyed watching Stephen Campbell Moore who, at times, looked almost rozvaresque. Finally it reminded me of the sad fact that Evelyn Waugh never even acknowledged my friendster request (what a conceited f***ck).

On another topic, I was a little saddened to see that nobody seemed really interested in knowing the evolution of my gonorrhea case. Only one person on his way to the clinic sent me a worried TM reading “do you really have gonorrhea”? which made me sneer. Also the difference between glucocorticosteroids and anabolic steroids did not go through the translation and my mother sent me a two pages e-mail today telling me that I should really stop taking steroids and that I am fit as it is. This was embarrassing for everybody involved. I also haven’t drunk anything since Sunday evening and plan on continuing to do so during my trip to Baltimore this week-end to visit my ex.

In which FHC sobers up

One of my doctors thought it was a good idea to place me on Augmentin CR for a bad case of clap sinus infection (if you hooked up with me during the past few months or more probably if you hooked up with someone I hooked up with etc.. etc.., please go see your doctor to check if you don’t have a case of “sinus infection” too). This reinforced my physician’s recommendation to stop alcohol for the next two weeks. As I have not blogged sober for the past year and a half, I am sure you perfectly understand what it means for the little relationship we had going on. You can still watch this…courtesy of the late Kevin D.