FHC’s resurrected blog

In which FHC's manners are being criticized

First I know now why I haven’t a social life: because it is such a nightmare to decline an intimate dinner invitation without a good excuse. In the words of Jules Renard “The only man who is really free is the one who can turn down an invitation to dinner without giving an excuse.” Clearly I am not free, and to be able to eat cold rice by myself tonight, I will have had to battle during two days with Sergio P (try to tell to such a Goyim that tonight is my seder… and that we will hide a piece of matza and Kevin D. will sing songs in Hebrew such as evenou shalom which is my all time favorite). Please send all your dinner declining formula to [email protected]. The best one wins a diner for two with Sergio P.

As Kevin D. put it on the evite for tonight’s seder“Come feast and fete with us as our favorite frog bids farewell for the fair island of Corsica! We shall reminisce about what marvellous times we've all shared and join in a raising of glasses to toast to the health and safe return of our wayfaring compadre. We love you, FHC, and as you sojourn we really hope you don't contract H5n1 and DIE, or become lost at sea and DIE, or be ridiculed by your family for being fat AND a fag and KILL YOURSELF, or just decide to NEVER RETURN. That would be just plain awful. But these things happen...”

How come homeless people get mortgages and I don’t ? also I have had a Myspace account for months for some underground cruising, how come no sexual predator has ever contacted me ?

The only thing that warmed my little heart today is the fact that both vividblurry and Frenchbenj are throwing stuff at the unbearable bratboy. This being said I have to perfect my tan now so ciao ciao.

In which FHC learns why he hasn't any friend

Have you ever been in a meeting seating in front of a delicious yet untouched tray full of fruits dying to open it but thinking that maybe it will reflect badly on your [already damaged] reputation ? Welcome to my life. I only resisted for 20 minutes and then ate half of the platter by myself 9even after LL sent me a TM telling me the fruit might contain rat poison). It was particularly traumatic because my brain functions strangely lately mostly because I decreased my sleep time by half since I now devote my evenings to hunt podcasts and surf porn on my new computer.

I had diner with Kevin D., his giggling almost faithful fundamentalist Christian sidekick of the month as well as Ari S., and Mike D. Sometimes I wonder if the reason why I haven’t made any progress in English for the last five years is not just so that these cheeky f*ckers can make jokes about it at Health Bar on Monday night.

An anonymous source, which or might no be somewhat close to us, sent us the following Department of Defense’s brief describing outlaw students who were protesting the JAG recruiters on campus at some New York law schools as “Specifically, the term ‘Outlaws’ is a backhanded way of saying it’s alright to commit possible violence and serve as ‘vigilantes’ during the symposium.”. [p 12. 13] and me who thought it just meant “little nerdish gay punk”.

In which FHC discovers that he is falling into darkness and decay

Following LL’s advice, I watched yesterday evening a little of deal or no deal, a new show targeting the young half jewish (link provided by Kevin D.’s insomnia related web browsing) undeserving law students population whose life is just an uninterrupted birthday party, and found the whole show not only dull but also felt that the contestant and her witty grandmother were both awfully excited vile and superficial douche bags. I almost missed Europe (supposedly 3 millions of my compadres demonstrated today – can you believe that ? on a Tuesday afternoon and we do not even have troops in Iraq) and I will make sure to stop on my way back from Cyprus for two days to see if I can enroll myself in the urban guerilla. In other news, Kevin was slightly sick yesterday (I suspect he had a nasty mental breakdown) and was really not a good sport about it. However he did come up with very interesting blasphemes from his internet surfing (I guess he got bored with Craig’s list or is just less horny when he gets sick).

Tuesday is also Gym Day (there is one of those every week now). You see I have a goal in mind: I want to lose 80 percent of my body fat by April 13. As dearest Caroline V. told me at lunch time “perhaps you should start going to the gym again”…. what a b*tch ! I have been going to this awful place full of posters about health and well-being and crackheads continuously for years and the only results is that I am falling apart…or is that due to drugs and alcohol?. See you at Results.

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 !

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 scoops his own poop and more

What an amazing Monday. First I discovered I had forgotten to pick up the shitzus shitbags (also called poop bags) during their morning walk. Of course Loulboom decided to defecate in some wild area in front of another glass gay building of Champlain street. I found myself pretty embarrassed as there weren’t any plastic bags in sight and it was clear that the entire Adam's Morgan bourgeois bohemian crowd (including a woman walking some canine-friend of Loulboom and Loul Jr. ridiculously called Charles who had asked me earlier “how many men exactly own these two dogs?”) had stopped to check that I was going to make the environmentally conscious and courteous gesture of picking up feces WITH MY HANDS as my first daily activity. I waited a little as LL suspects the shitzus to be coprophagiac (what’s the right word?) but ended up courageously using some paper. There was a time I believed I would never be one of these guys but you see… At that point, I knew it was going to be a crappy day.

30 minutes later, I arrived at work with a flat tire on my bike. My tire had caught a huge piece of glass. LL thinks it might have been Melissa from Zipcar who sabotaged my bike but I doubt this is the case. Typical Monday. Therefore I had to get all the way back on a flat tire to Citybike during lunch break to have the tire replaced ($14.99 – I also bought a little bell to feel better – only $10.99). I took advantage of this forced excursion in the excruciating cold to stop at 1624 to check on Olliver who was fine and hadn’t overdosed (and of course I cleaned the litter box as if I hadn’t seen enough feces for the day).

The only lighthearted moment today was to read the following quotation on someone’s wall: “Half an hour's meditation each day is essential, except when you are busy. Then a full hour is needed. St. Francis de Sales”

The heavy sunday gay agenda

I never really understood that you could be afraid of the so-called gay agenda. Honestly, this lifestyle does not leave room for any kind of political battle. We are powerless. The day you have your Shitzus, your loft, some DVDs and a 30 GB Video I-pod, there is no room for social life, let alone activism. LL and I woke up exhausted this morning after a very disrupted sleep, disrupted both by the few beers we had drunk at dearest Jim’s party (since when a 27 years old gay male digestive system considers four beers to be too many?) and the fact that both Loulboom and Loul Jr. demonstrated all night their opposition to the new closed doors policy in Champlain street (they finally ended up being victorious around 3 a.m. after having munched one l’Officiel Hommes and a Singaporian Men’s Health and shook our bed as if it was a coconut tree). Before I forget, dearest Jim’s party was plain charming, open bar and included the presence of mystery guest Ryan L., the delicious David D. along with half a dozen of Jim M. 2005 ex-boyfriends. Yet we managed to walk the rebellious shitzus, have a tire replaced on the Miata convertible after a 30 minutes argument with Melissa at Zipcar (whom I suspect to be the sister of Sarah at  Zipcar), have lunch in Alexandria, buy my new I-pod, get some ugly T-shirts at Target as well as catnip for Olliver, deliver the stuff to Olliver, take a nap, jogg to the Vice President house, walk the rebellious shitzus for the second time, visit Caroline V. and watch a little bit of “Entourage”. It’s 8:49 pm and I haven’t had dinner.

Lunch with a neglected friend

I had lunch with Rodolphe B. today at some Asian joint downtown (applause). … or at least someone with crow feets and broken bones who really looked like the Rodolphe B. I knew in the late 60's. The whole thing felt like a miniature Badlands Alumni meeting (I graduated) and I was under the impression that Cookie Buffet was eventually going to show up (thank god she didn’t). I don’t remember who said that old friendships were like “meats served up repeatedly, cold, comfortless, and distasteful”, but it definitely is not the case for ours. Even if Rodolphe conducted the meeting in a very professional manner, we had a charming moment. We shared fond and spicy memories of closer times when Ben T. was slimmer, Daniel B. was naive, Kevin W. did not even exist, Rodolphe B. was a sex symbol and maybe I was….. a little promiscuous. We spent a good 45 minutes acting as if we could not remember the exact reason why our social interaction had decreased significantly in the recent months (hint: he is dating some kind of a real estate queen and I got Netflix). He asked the reasons why I had dragged his name through the mud and I acted as if I hadn’t heard. I did not mention to him that the glasses he had offered to me as a break-up gift were kaput. He also implied a few times that he thought I was happy (read: fat) and I looked really contrite. As Kevin D. would say: if we are going to tell the truth around here, I am going to bed. The guy must be in his mid-thirties now and yet he is still fresh, full of energy and was returning from Jackson Hole. He invited us for diner on Friday but I told him that we had begun to observe Shabbat and couldn’t make it. That’s what is sweet about old friendship you can be straightforward.

What's so happy about cheap booze ?

I hate Happy hours. This somewhat coworker of mine trapped me into accepting to have a drink with him and his partner after work. I hate mandatory socializing. After a while you just can’t say no. You might decline with silly lame excuses for a while such as an early meeting the next day, not being authorized to leave your house after dusk, volunteer firemen training, the need to discuss family matters with your boyfriend or that you psychic suggested you stay put but in the end you have to say yes. I hate people who are insisting. The whole midweek binge drinking for less money with loud colleagues to talk about soccer thing sounds so awfully Japanese (or awfully British) and straight: I wonder how we ended up adopting it. I don't dislike alcohol but what is wrong with drinking at a decent hour with good company or even drinking by yourself in front of a Netflix? I suspect it is another retail queen/real estate agent strategy to hit the bar, get wild, try to escape their loneliness and desperation and return to their caves before the cute yuppies stroll in for 70’s night. I just only like to start drinking if I am not going to stop until I go to bed; getting wasted and having to sober up afterwards to cook diner is just too painful. I am a lightweight and, as we noticed on Saturday night, I never know when to stop. Anyway drinking with colleagues can be so uncomfortable and even destructive to your career (just ask LL who has been trashed at most of his law events since the beginning of the year – his friends called me to set up an intervention): you always end up sharing stories you did not want to, running into some old trick you are ashamed of (one from the time you were a as “young, innocent, naive homosexual”), picking fights with South Americans, bleeding, ending up at the massage parlor next door, bleeding again and/or waking up in the wrong bed (if there is such a thing… which is disputable). Just remember the last Office Christmas party. I think I’ll order Shirley Temples and claim that I am a recovering alcoholic.

I read the most amazing article on Tribal Workers published by the Financial Time… as you could expect it is not about underpaid natives but more about the affluent urban ivy-league blog-reading overpaid over-achiever spoilt brats kind of Tribal Workers (approximately 90% of my readership because Kevin W. did not graduate from High School). It depicts so well the opportunities angst of our generation as well as its quest for validation and its false belief that everybody should be “actor of their life”: I hate to say that but I had briefly alluded to it in an earlier post (yes I am linking to myself today).

Why was I sent twice today the poorly documented Washington Post article on the decline and fall of Europe ? Wait, soon the Chinese will take over the States and you’ll be the ones crying.

And finally, dearest Kevin W. sent us the enclosed link: if you load a picture into this website, its facial recognition software tells you who you look the most like.  I look the most like Benicio Del Toro L or Thierry Henry, LL like Engelbert Humperdink and Kevin W. looks like he got kicked out from Cobalt on Saturday night.