Monthly Archives: October 2002

There is somebody whose blog I like. He also likes my blog. We e-mailed back and forth a couple times, and I eventually decided I wanted to ask him out on a date.

However, I was plagued by the pressure that the blind-dateness of it would create if he accepted. What if we met and he picked his nose? What if I picked my nose? What if it was just the worst evening anybody had ever spent in living memory?

I spent days pondering this dilemma before deciding to try to meet him but not actually on a date—just on a friends hanging-out kind of thing. That way nobody would feel any pressure and then if there was chemistry I could ask him out on an actual date.

The problem was that I had worked myself up into such a state over the whole thing that the e-mail I sent was the most graceless, insulting invitation anyone has ever tendered in the history of the world. Unsurprisingly, I have not heard from him since.

So then I spent days pondering this dilemma. I had to do something, because every time I thought of what he must think of me after my incredible rudeness, I started to twitch involuntarily in strange places. But I couldn’t e-mail him, because if he wants nothing to do with me ever again (totally understandable under the circumstances), that would be intruding on him in an unwelcome and impolite way.

So I decided to blog about it.

If he is reading this, he doesn’t have to e-mail me or anything. He should just know that I’m not the boorish, arrogant prick my e-mail made me seem.

A total NEUROTIC FREAK, yes.

But not a boorish, arrogant prick.

I’m sorry.

Of course, there is also the possibility that he was so offended he stopped reading my blog and will never read this, in which case I am totally fucked.

And not in a good way.

I think my hairline is receding.

Excuse me while I leap out of my window.

Too bad it’s only on the second floor.

I was dismayed to find that American gaydar doesn’t work in Europe. At least mine doesn’t. About every third man I passed (starting with the very cute hotel clerk who checked us in) set off my gaydar, which makes no statistical sense. I realized I had no idea if these men were gay or just Czech.

I think that, for the benefit of Americans on the prowl, gay Europeans should have to do something to identify themselves. Like wear armbands with pink triangles on them or something.

Oh, wait.

Crap.

I got back from Prague yesterday.

Terezin, the concentration camp I was there to research, is now a town, population 1,200 and growing. According to our tour guide, the people who live there know little and care less about what the place used to be.

There are two hotels there. One is a two minute walk from the crematorium. The other is in the old SS barracks. I spent about five minutes in the latter and it was the most terrifying place I’ve ever been in my life.

Tomorrow I’ll be amusing, I promise. Today I just don’t quite have it in me.

You will no doubt be delighted to learn that Faustus is coming home today. I am sure he will have many exciting tales of Prague, or wherever he went. Whatever he chooses to reveal, he will want his blog back.

I am not certain I am ready to surrender it. Blog whore that he is, he has managed to build up a readership by means I am too lazy to duplicate. Now, his audience is mine, mine, mine!

Goblin: Gee, Daddy, what do you want to do tonight, then?

BWAH-HA-HA-HA-HA!

Ahem.

I need to go take Goblin for a walk now. You all must promise to visit us at http://upsidedownhippo.blogspot.com.

Before he left on his trip, Faustus mentioned that he was having his bedroom painted. Actually, he is having his entire apartment redone. I have decided to surprise him by sneaking in and redesigning it myself, and I know just the model upon which to base it. I have recently become enamored of “Trading Spaces” (I know, I know . . . I am always slightly behind the trend curve, but I just got cable), and this past week, they revealed the most astonishingly grotesque room ever conceived: yellow walls, pink carpet, a garden swing with gravel underneath, a sickly looking dollhouse, and many other atrocities, the most malevolent of which was a bed covered with Astroturf with garlands of flowers wired on. The designer, Kia, was so proud of what she had unleashed upon the world that I have decided to recreate it as faithfully as possible for my dear friend. It actually could not be much worse than what the previous owners had done with the place, and there is always the welcome possibility that Faustus will utilize the garden swing for purposes completely unimagined by its creator.

I will let my dog take over the writing as I start making up my “to do” list.

Goblin Foo Uvula speaks:

Yay yay yay!

Daddy said I could write again. He’s happy I remembered how to shake hands after a year of not doing it. It’s not that hard. I’m smart smart smart!

*lick lick lick lick*

Daddy said I could do something new with my writing and I’ve decided to do a horoscope for dogs. Dogs dogs dogs! If you’re not a dog you can read it but it might not come true. Daddy said it might not come true anyway. Daddy doesn’t have a lot of faith in my abilities. I’m a dog and I’m a Leo so I will only do Leo for now.

*snork*

Goblin’s “Hound-o-Scope” for Leo
Expect a lot of pooping today (poop poop poop!) and a craving for carrots. Watch out that you don’t pee on your own feet in your haste to come in out of the rain. Strange smells seem enticing but should be avoided at all costs. A tall stranger who wants to smell your genitals may come on too strong but don’t let him get you agitated.

I never linked to this blog from my own because Faustus’s entries tend to be a tad bit more, shall we say, risqué than mine, and my mother reads my blog. I know, I know . . . what kind of nutjob starts a journal of his activities and lets his mother read it? This is the sort of thing I will have to bring up in therapy, but for now, suffice it to say that I do not want have to explain to my mother why, among other things, my very dear friend got in trouble with his not-boyfriend for having someone else’s bite marks on his ass.

So it occurs to me that I can use some of my time in this space to talk about things that I would not like my mother to know.

Today, for example, as I went into the locker room after working out at the gym, a man in there gave me a funny look. He, himself, was almost dressed, and I still had to strip out of my workout clothes, go into the steam room for a few minutes, and then take a shower (the first step of which he watched with avid eyes). When I returned to my locker ten minutes later, he was still there. I have no idea how he contrived to delay his progress for that long, but I pretended not to see him or the notice he was paying me. When I was ready, I grabbed my things and breezed out of the room, up the stairs, and into the lobby with him on my heels. Only when I greeted my waiting female friend with a great hug did he veer off . . . although not without one last, lingering look.

I will not pretend that all of this did not thrill me to no end. I have a boyfriend, and the gentleman in question was so not my type, but my shaky confidence in my physical appearance was certainly augmented a notch or two by having someone select me out of a room full of handsome gym gods and go through such obvious lengths in pursuit.

I think I will keep going to that gym because I am obviously doing something right.

Anyway, enough about me. Maybe I will hand the forum over to Goblin again next time. She knows some card tricks.

Yes, that was my dog who blogged yesterday. I, Faustus’s guest blogger, was in Baltimore putting together Ikea furniture for my best friend, who required a homosexual’s decorating touch. Faustus may be darting from Jewish ghetto to concentration camp in Eastern Europe, but I now have enough hex tools to festoon a chandelier. Who has the better deal?

I am not sure I should let Goblin stand in for me again. She might get on her high horse, and a Boston terrier on a high horse, while a sight to behold, is a terrible thing indeed.

Does anyone need any advice? We are good at that.

The world according to Goblin Foo Uvula.

Me me me! It’s me!

*lick lick lick lick lick lick*

Uncle Faustus is taking a break from his search for love in Manhattan and said I could write in his blog. Me me me! He said I’m searching for love in Manhattan too. But I kinda found it because his dog A. is my lesbian lover. She’s bi.

*snork*

Uncle Faustus never mentions A. but he knit her a sweater in the shape of a dinosaur. My daddy never knits me sweaters. Daddy sometimes takes me to the park but not today because he hurt his foot. Daddy says that Uncle Faustus is a bossy bottom even though he only knows because Uncle Faustus told him and not from real life. Daddy sleeps with Uncle Bobby. Sometimes he makes me go in my crate and all kinds of noise happens outside and I don’t know what’s going on.

What’s a bossy bottom?

A. says she knows but she won’t tell me so I don’t think she really knows. A. doesn’t have a crate but she has a bag.

*yawn snork growl*

I know all kinds of secrets people don’t think I know but I know them. I have my own blog with my daddy but he almost never lets me write even though he named it after me. I’m the only Boston terrier with an advice column but I’d trade it all for a sweater shaped like a dinosaur.

*whine*

With the help of the contractor, I have chosen paint colors for my room.

When I get back from Prague, one of my walls will be blue seafoam. The other three walls will be—I’m not making this up—icy moon drops.

I think icy moon drops must be the gayest color ever.

And on that note, goodbye for a few days. You’ll be in good hands with these two guest blogging.