miss me, miss me, now you've got to kiss me

Jorge, you fool! Not only did you miss me (you poor, poor thing!) but you also missed a 4-0 win.

Rangers fans, you can thank me. I wore the lucky socks and jersey, I had the traditional pre-game cup of coffee and in-game giant beer (and braved the ladies room, as one would have to after consuming that much liquid). I kept my spirits high, watched Matt Cullen's every move (that part was easy — ooh, and click that link to see him biting, just like me!) and even read the dreaded work email during the game — If I read this email, Henrik will hold his shut out.

He did. He rules. I rule. My night was magnificent.

And today at work totally sucked a butt. You can't have it all, kids. This I know for sure.

would you knooooooow MYYYYY naaaaaaaaame?

I've got a new pretend boyfriend at the hockey game. He sits in my section and seems to have the same ticket plan I do. He is cute. I insisted that Dollie pick a name for him (I have to call him something), and she named him Jorge.

"Why Jorge?"

"Well, I told you I thought he was French!"

There was laughing. There was screaming. And that's all there is to say about that.

PS This title is from a Sheila Divine song. (I fixed it so that you know that it isn't Eric Clapton). And speaking of The Sheila Divine, Dear Leader, starring Sheila Divine frontman Aaron Perrino, is playing Friday night. Yay! OH NO! They are not. I just went to the page to link to it, and it's canceled. Now I cry all day forever.

hear the sound of marching, charging feet

Welcome to Lent, believers. I have given up being less than awesome. So far, not so good.

Who is awesome? Sean Avery, who called Martin Brodeur (UGH!) a big whiner. A BIG WHINER! YES!!! And I missed it. Why? Because of a bleeping Knicks game, I had to watch the Rangers/Devils game on the Devils channel (though MSG said "Tune in to MSG2," there was no MSG2 last night). Grr. Still and all, Sean Avery is my new hero. Also, I watched the game, and saw the "goalie interference/roughing" moment in replay 62 times, and Brodeur started it. Whiner. BIG WHINER! Also, they are the Devils. And I am confident that God don't like ugly OR evil, I don't care how much they win.

I started a secret diary. It is invitation only, which I will send out soon, I hope. If you don't get an invitation by Friday and you think you should (this means you don't work with me AND you are either not someone in my real life OR are my BFF), hit me up. I think you have to have a Blogger account for it to really work.

I should be laughing right now

Two huge things are happening that I can't talk about here (well, huge to me. to the rest of the world, not so much. but enough that I can't talk about them here). I think I may have to start the secret spot up again, just for my own sanity — and to have a record. Oh, it's so important to have a record.

But yeah, here's today's question: Do I stay home, be sad about wasting a day and continue to yell through the wall at the noisy workmen next door? Or go out, possibly freeze to death and neglect all the housework (and personal improvements) I really need to do? It's a win-win, I tell you.

Oh wait, I forgot. I have to stay home because I have to work. Now I'm angry again. And crying. Someone will pay, I assure you.

ugh

Why, yes, layoffs do totally fucking suck. I still have a job right now (well, as of 3PM today, at least), but I am stunned, bummed and, well, devastated. And that's a day later! Oh, yesterday. Man, that wasn't good.

the good old days, the honest man

Oh no oh no oh. Dollie was right. I am man crazy. It is not good. The worst part of it is that right now, I am not even just man crazy in general (though I will admit that I do also harbor a teeny mini crush on a very young, very pretty, very inappropriate man -- but that's another story).

BUT for real I am one-man crazy, and it's one man I don't even hardly ever see, one man who I could have previously taken advantage of on any number of occasions. One man who I got similarly (and similarly too late) crazy for like 10 months ago. Ugh! Boo and hiss.

Worst of all, I totally don't even know where he lives or remember his last name or any of those important investigative-type things. I am giving this all a resounding thumbs down.

Also, I am totally obsessed with that Killers song. I listened to it all the way home today. Weirdo.

I got the green light, I got a little fight

I think what's going to happen is that the Killers are going to win me over on the disappointing Sam's Town by putting out every song as a single. I'm three for three with "Oh yeah, I guess I do like that song." Now "Read My Mind" has a video (which I have not seen yet) and it's my new favorite song. Good work changing my mind, Killers.

Last night I went out (to the whitest place I've been since that place on the West Side Highway — and last night I was in Greenpoint. What?!??!)

OK, it's aside time. And yes, I know I am white, very white, in fact. All Northern European ancestry — we kind of have white on lock, in most senses of the word. But not mine. The white that makes me want to leave nightlife establishments, the white that gives me that fright, is a very specific "I'm not from around these parts but I'm certainly not from another country"/ "I always have a trust fund or a job at the family company to fall back on"/ "I'm totally buying a big house back home as soon as I get NYC out of my system"/ "I even use toilet seat covers at home." These things aren't bad, they just aren't me. I prefer slightly grittier company.

Anyway, it was fine but mostly boring. Which was really just as well, as I had to be up and at 'em c. 8AM today. (Thanks again, Grammys!).

Earlier, the Rangers won again (oh thank you thank you, lovelies) thanks in no small part, I'm certain, to my rediscovery of the power of a well-placed "You're ugly!" scream at the other team during the game. It got us the Cup in 1994, I assure you, and calling Pavel Bure ugly wasn't easy. "LeCavalier, you're an ugly bastard and you stink" stuck in my throat on Friday night as well, but it turned into a 5-0 win. Good thing 90 percent of the most beautiful players are on our team.

Last night I had a dream that I was at a fancy party with theater journalist Patrick Pacheco and Seymour Butts. They were both pretty fun.

I can't stand up anymore

So I passed out last night. Twice. I have been dizzy and dropped. I've felt faint and swooned. But I have never ever ever gone down like this.

I'm in the bathroom, after a bath, when the Gay Pimp podcast begins to sound very far away, then underwater. Then I start seeing spots, then blurry spots, then I wake up on the floor. No memory of falling, no recollection of impact. My head hurts, I'm lying on the bathmat, and I don't know how much time has passed.

I feel like my head is asleep, the way that one's foot falls asleep. So I try to shake it off, then I try to stand it off. I'm successfully standing it off by holding on to the towel bar and praying for a clear head and then I wake up in the bathtub. And I went down fighting, apparently. The towel bar is bent and on the floor and everything that was on the side of the tub is on top of me.

Now I'm terrified. I crawl out of the tub, sit up next to the sink and hear Dollie coming in the front door. "I'll just be a minute!" I yell out. But it took me more like 15 to manage to put some clothes on and stand up.

I was in a state and had no idea what to do. And then I went to my #1 medical advisor, Google, and learned that if you don't remember fainting, you fainted. Also, that fainting is often caused by not eating (I meant to, but I couldn't decide what I wanted), not getting enough sleep (two hockey games in a row), working out without proper energy reserves (hey, those triceps are not going to tone themselves), and a sudden change in blood pressure (that hot bath couldn't have helped).

Once it made sense, I felt so much better. But my head's still a little swimmy today, and I was spooked enough to go out of my way to get some breakfast this morning. Let's just hope I can stay vertical from here on out. If I faint at work, I will die of embarrassment. I'm sure of it.