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A Hollywood Ending
Written on 2002-06-18, at 1:48 p.m.
dizboy's disturbing daily diet...

1 Sausage McMuffin

2 Large Hash Browns

1 Large Orange Juice

1 Peanut Butter, Banana, and Honey Smoothie

4 Slices Josie's Pizza

1 Liter Coke

3 More Slices Josie's Pizza


John Live*

Danny and dizboy, the dynamic duo.

He really is cute, I promise...just an evil picture.

That I was happy to post.

*Not at all live


Mmm..."The Bourne Identity"...

I saw the movie on Friday, and loved it.

I'm such a fan of any type of crazy action super spy drama...thing.

I think everyone should go see it.

Of course this has nothing at all to do with the fact that it's yet another quality film brought to you by those fine folks at Universal Pictures.

I went to see it with my friend Michael, who when startled at one point in the movie, jumped, and kicked the man in front of him square in the back of the head.

Like, hard.

And the man did nothing.

He must have been a gay sympathizer. Those few who understand that no matter how relaxed and un-stereotypical one may be, deep down there's a little nelly in all of us.

After the movie, I got it in my head that I was an international spy, and was driving quite like one.

Taking corners at 60, weaving in and out of traffic...

Checking my hair in the vanity mirror.

I tend to do that after an intense shoot-em-up movie.

You should have seen me after "Tomb Raider".

I swear, I thought I looked good in black hotpants.


And Sunday, I saw "Scooby-Doo", with The Cesar.

Ehhh...it was...alright.

Though honestly, I'd have paid twice the price of admission just to see the extended "Chamber of Secrets" trailer.

God, I'm a child.


Sunday evening, we went to "The Parliament House", an infamous gay club here in Orlando.

We had gone to see the drag show, and see some friends. Now, understand, I haven't been out to a gay club in months.

You see, back a few months ago, I decided to realize my lifelong dream of becoming the most boring person on earth, and I stopped smoking, as well as stopped going to clubs.

I figure if I'm going to ever meet anyone, I don't want to meet them at some nightclub.

Not that there should be some negative stigma for people who frequent clubs, but it's just that there is that pre-ordained idea of a club kid.

Not exactly the relationship type...

"Grandpa, tell us how you met Other Grandpa!"

"Well kids, it was during 'Fetish Night' at a quaint little place called 'The Cock'...I saw him in a stall in the bathrooms, with a straw up his nose and a song in his heart."

Romantic.

No, I want my story to be a little bit more entertaining, a little more Hollywood...

Something more Bridget Jones, where I don't realize that there's someone good for me right in front of my face...

Something more Beautiful Thing, where my love is right next door...

Something more Breakfast at Tiffany's, where people buy me things from Tiffanys...

Something more Sunset Boulevard, where I wander about my home in elaborately beaded calftans, and viciously murder those who dare reject me.

Hmm...perhaps not the last one.


For those of you who have been requesting an update as to the status of Nickelodeon boy, as well as other romantic exploits, the update is:

No.

No.

No.

Non.

Having been turned down a record 4 times in one month, I've fled to the sanctity of self-delusion, wherein anyone to whom I show the slightest bit of interest suddenly feels unworthy of me, thus fleeing.

I believe that I've been going at this whole dating thing the wrong way.

I've been looking for someone I like.

Hasn't television taught us that you're supposed to fall in love with someone you hate?

Sam and Diane on Cheers...

David and Maddie on Moonlighting...

Willie Tanner and ALF, on ALF.

I think perhaps it has a lot to do with the fact that I'm insanely picky.

There's this whole gamut of things that I'll see as a red flag, and just discount a person immediately.

And yes, I do fully realize the blatant hypocrisy of not wanting to date anyone who smokes, so go ahead, crucify me.

Here's my theory...

I have what I think to be a finely honed "Gaydar", so I believe that because I have such good perception in that area, I was robbed of almost all "flirting" abilities, as I honestly have no idea when someone is hitting on me or not.

And in that rare case when someone IS, I have no idea how to respond, so I usually end up saying something like...

"Enjoy the bag."

Be well...

-JOHN-

P.S.- I've made a Survey. It's nothing special, but hey, it's my first one.


Your Host and Emcee...dizboy.

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