FHC’s resurrected blog

In which FHC is asked to sober up once again

eaMy primary physician, finally agreed after tough negotiations, which included a mediator, that I could increase my clonazepam dosage to a meager 1 mg twice a day as I declined his kind offer to hook me on Effexor forever (1:15 minutes to ejaculate minimum). On my side of the settlement, I had to accept to reduce my consumption of alcohol I quote from “two drinks a day during the week and 20 on weekends, to two glasses three times a week”. The rationale behind this condition, besides ruining what’s left of my social life, is that mixing alcohol and Klonopin can potentially lead to death.

This of course gets in the way of my trip to NYC this week-end which includes, based on Fagat’s recommendations (who clearly does not welcome all the visiting French people the same way), a circuit through Mr. Black, Vlada and the Ritz on Friday and a Bachelorette party on Saturday at Budha Bar. I hope I can at least order decaf green tea there.

Additionally, there is a strong rumor that I am taking 5 days from the 11^th to May 15^th to join my grandparents (at least I am slimmer this year) in Parrot Cay, Turks and Caicos. Sure, I'll have to connect in Charlotte, NC but then they apparently have Yoga classes. Yet I have never gone through a family event without being smashed before.

In which FHC has some mid-afternoon revelation

Kevin W. who always knows how to cheer me up lent me his copy of “Long Day’s Journey into night”. Of course it reminded me of my youth as much as “Ordinary People” did when I watched it last month. It was sordid. Dean Stockwell, then 26, looked gorgeous though. Aging is such a terrible thing (particularly for us short people).

The soundtrack for my recovery Monday was “Crazy Baby” by Joan Osborne and Crazy by Gnarls Barkley. I don’t have any Genesis in my music collection and there is a good reason: I hate their work. On the other end, I have about 50 different songs by the Cure which all have between three and five stars. The entire Cure is good besides perhaps “The last Day of Summer”, “One hundred years” and “Torture” maybe.

In the afternoon, I ran into Mike W., who was telling me of that Thursday afternoon he decided to quit the "whole thing". He looked as handsome as the day I saw him for the first time emerging naked from a pool at a crack party four years ago. A few minutes later, I briefly exchanged with Andy L. who too is some hardbody. And then it really all made sense and I thought that the solution is to quit the professional thingy and just be rich and slightly idle.

In which FHC returns to his usual domesticated despair

My American existence is mostly about polishing shoes, picking up dry cleaning, ordering groceries, replying to Mark/Ryan H. that “no, we really cannot hang out tonight” (let alone play kickball together) and fighting the natural aging process. It is also about managing multiple online profiles, writing short witty e-mails to people I previously met through my online profiles, and going through the lyrics of thousands of new indie songs that Tim K. forwards my way. Of course, there is the professional thingy that is filling some time too, and the endless time-wasting to-do lists (to neutralize the Klonopin side-effects) and the binge drinking on Friday and Saturday night. I am painfully clueless about the meaning of it all. I am not saying it has anything to do with the US, I am blaming it on being gay, self-centered and uncaring. Maybe I’ll get a puppy in April.

Happy birthday to Russ W. (who already got LL as a present). OH… and Mark H. -- the rich, successful lawyer (and a responsible adult too) who is rumored to have very large, thick feet -- wowed the crowd again last week-end with his charming personality and witty banter.  I really see good things in store for him! See you at the gym.

In which FHC briefly discusses the lies and delusions of Mark H.

Mark H. enrolled me in some DC social activity for Saturday night. I would usually not mind, as the location where I get plastered on Saturdays has become completely insignificant to me as most of my real friends died in the 1990s, but in this case, I actually do mind a little. In yet another desperate bid for popularity among the illusory Washingtonian gay A-listers, Mark blackmailed his closest acquaintances into joining the “Team Dessert and Drinks” of 50-person progressive dinner organized by Joey P (the local Go-Go Mike for your Baltimore-based readers). Our heteroclite team composed of half a dozen middle-aged respectable lawyers with Southern accents, three illegal immigrants and one paid twink will compete against a local toned-down version of the Hot Boy Poss composed of cute paralegals and real estate agents. I did not quite understand the rule but I think that it mostly is about food and sexual favors. Our team’s only motivation being not to get in the way of Mark’s last attempt (the whole youtube thing, mystic tan and pectoral implants thing was a complete fiasco apparently) to graduate from Elk Moutain team to Chicago team and become DC Prom Queen as well as a tiny chance to score a date with members of the opposing teams.

Of course as the days go by and Mark’s complete inability to lead our group into our looming defeat becomes more apparent, every member of our team has been slowly withdrawing from the competition. Ryan T. for example claimed that his dead grandmother will be in town that very night, even after Mark H. threatened suicide if another of his “friends” let him down. You cannot blame them when his latest suggestions were “some sort of entertainment -- lip syncing, maybe?”, “what about hiring LPs? ” and dressing as teletubies. As I am a little smitten by Mark’s extreme conservative christian background, love lost causes and am terrified of what he could reveal if I decided to resign too, I will be there Saturday but I’ll be heavily medicated on alzolam 0.5 mg. Just so you know. Sometimes I really wish I’d live in Scranton, PA.

Ok I am off to finish putting together my Oompah Loompah costume. TTYL

Posted from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

In which FHC completes his myspace profile

I went a little further in improving my myspace profile using the“edit my friends” and “change my top friends” functions to switch good looking friends for clever one: a terribly deceitful (almost as deceitful as this friendster profile or this one) gesture which I still feel ashamed of. You see there is a terrible misconception in the gay world that if your friends are good looking than maybe you are too. I also included a lesbian to show that I am open minded and eclectic. While I was at it, I also finalized the essential “Who I'd like to meet” section:

I want to meet a woman. I feel that right now what is missing the most in my life is a kind, esthetic and amusing feminine presence. I would like her to be the Romy Schneider type but warmer and a little more laid back (a.k.a not committing suicide on every occasion). Not warm to the point that she’d be up to discuss my bedroom habits or her yeast infection or to be interested in going to strip bars but warm enough to be interested in my boyfriend’s stories. I’d like her to be beautiful in an odd manner, unconsciously well-mannered, with a consistent alcohol abuse history and to have an endless pot of family money available for gifts. I’d like her to have a discreet laugh and be borderline mute. Ideally she’d be part jewish or European but I’ll consider other weird religions if necessary. A medical degree would be a plus, pharmacology or a drug dealer boyfriend would even be better. She’d be my tireless companion who always worships at my altar even when I am the guilty one.

Eventually I would need a boyfriend too. I’d like him to be really interested in cars and boats so I can end all my inconclusive efforts in that domain. I’d like him to have expressions like “it’s all good”. He should be anchored in the artist community because I have enough boring lawyer and civil servants friends for two. He should have a dog…a Labrador maybe. No, no dogs…I’d be jealous. He certainly would not have a picture of himself with a baby, a group of gay guys (or even worse fraternity brothers) or at the beach on his profile. I’d like to have a few very, very badly dressed straight friends though. A little scruffy to make sure he does not shine. A very strong knowledge of american customs, history and language is a requirement. Very light eyes for a change even if LL says that two fair people should not get together. I’d like him to be completely unaware of his own coolness. Being slightly autistic would fit well with some of my defaults. In addition to the above-described bf, I also would like to meet a cheap tailor and some famous intellectual whose name I could drop in conversation when they become serious (which is pretty rare in my circle of friends).

Ok. I agree …clearly I won’t meet those people on myspace. You have a point.

In which FHC goes to Cobalt

Sometimes even really glamorous people like FHC have to stay until 9:57 p.m. to do the Professional Thingy. They too have bills to pay... sometimes expensive ones.

Three uninspired comments because it's Christmas'Eve

• I fixed myself only one objective today: stay sober until Christmas Eve Dinner at Sergio’s (but there I’ll get badly smashed ! Trust me). This is somewhat facilitated by the fact that I served the remainder of my last gin bottle to some stranger (a construction worker or some contractor…maybe a military) two nights ago. It’s now 5:19 p.m. and I am a little edgy but I did not have yet a drop of alcohol.
• Why is CNN.com always posting such awful pictures of the Iranian ambassador to the UN?. It looks like every time the guy has bad posture there is some CNN f**ck right behind him who takes his picture and post it online. This is so American: you guys need to remember that ugly does not always mean evil and vice versa.
• I had a craving for Rupaul Christmas album this morning with good songs like “I Saw Daddy Kissing Santa Claus” and delightful lines such as “all I want for Christmas is a tummy tuck… and my ribs removed”. But of course itune does not carry it and my Christmas is spoilt. If you have the album, please come forward.

In which FHC links to other people's work

First of all, for those of you who only read the blog to keep up-to-date on dearest LL adventures in lawlawland, I’d like to propose a new destination of choice: KMZ’s (yes she has her own domain name…how frenchbenjish of her!). LL (22 friends on friendster, 5 testimonials, 11 toes) has clearly moved on after our bitter divorce. He was telling me yesterday that he even planned to spend Christhanukka in Cozumel (third world) with straight friends not picking on the irony of the fact that last year he spent it in Paris in the best arrondissement with his gay boyfriend. Anyway KMZ has been blogging, mostly on her up-and-coming acting career, for now two months and yet she managed not to use the name“FHC” once. As Ben T. would say, her name is mud.

Also when I was to Italy I ran into free hugs people. Yesterday I attempted to watch Pink Flamingos (1972) of John Waters and had to abandon: I guess I would have been cooler in the 70’s. Finally, I recommend for you people to watch Mark H’s myspace “video” (cute guy at 3:27) which subtly avoids the subject of how he got dumped by Kevin D. who eventually moved to Baltimore with another man after that. Note some nice shots of his family trailer back in South Carolina.

We wish you a good evening.

In which FHC does not have the coverage he desserves

My new apartment would be great if it wasn’t for a little phone coverage issue which is threatening to get in the way of my sexual life in the short to medium term. My phone works occasionally when I stand on one leg by the living room window with my arm extended towards the sky in a Sorya Bonali kind of way. I am afraid staying in this posture for a long period of time could cause internal bleeding. The worst part is that it is inconsistent: sometimes (usually at crucial times) it drops a call and refuse to dial it again. That’s the problem when one decides to live in a cement block with no windows in order to feel closer to God. In most cases this could be an asset as I can now use the coverage excuses to justify not picking up calls of older Results members as well as friends who have recently gone through a tough break-up. But on the other hand I fear I cannot afford to spend all of my evenings standing in the middle of the street with a blanket on my shoulders waiting for a trick to return my calls without acquiring a bad reputation in the neighborhood. My friends recommend I switch to AT&T, I think I’ll just see if I can do more social interacting online and less on my cell.

In which FHC hears about cow tipping, gets really excited and then a little less

I really did not have time to make an entry as I was very busy doing the professional thingy. The highlight of my day was when, at lunch time, someone from Ohio or something told me about cow tipping. I was having lunch with Juan V., who was hiding his desperation behind a huge pair of sunglasses, and Stefan R., who was hiding his desperation behind a thick accent. We were all very busy not having any decent conversation about my move or my recent divorce until I noticed that some handsome straight guy was there. I have no idea how a straight guy appeared at my workplace but anyway he was the one who told me about cow tipping which is defined as “a hypothetical recreational activity in which a person or group of people sneak up on a standing, sleeping cow and push it over”. This is just unbelievable material. Firstly I had no idea that cows could not get up when they tip over and I had no idea there were such creative and mean little creatures in rural areas. I got quite excited about the whole concept until Jim M. wrote to me: “oh, fabrice, i hate you for so many other things already, this is nothing…another time” in response to my fake excuse to flake out on him this evening.