I think it’s getting there. I made another banana cream pie the other day. It was delicious. I’m getting better at this one.
I made it for my friend Chris – who is not really a good friend, considering that he never came over to get it. He offered to help me with the HTML code for PIEFOLK. I made the pie for him, as a thank you. He stood me up. And as of yet, he hasn’t explained why. Weird guy.
Maybe it’s February talking. Then very dead of winter. People start acting… strange. Affection starved, but in a sluggish, lethargic way.
It’s not so much that the late winter brings out ugly behavior, but that layer of New York-y inconsiderateness might be a little denser this time of year.
Keep in mind – I’m just complaining – and I don’t really even have too too much to complain about. There are people around me that really care for me, and I’m grateful. I also have the respect of some very talented, very brilliant colleagues in the comedy world. I’m lucky. But I’m tired of people acting weird, in that February sort of way.
I’m a grown-ass man who hangs out with neighborhood gays, baking, scantily clad, at all hours of the night. So where do I get off calling anything weird? I get off right here. It’s my damn blog, after all.
Here’s a list of weird stuff that bugs me:
*Social awkwardness (of the non-charming variety)
*Not returning (or at least acknowledging) compliments
*Trying to impress me by being mean to a retail employee
*Those gauge ear-rings that stretch your ears out, Africa style.
*Deep eye-contact that feels nice until you break it and say ‘WHAT?’ in a tone of voice that sounds like an indictment.
*People that get a macho kick out of being a ‘top only.’
*Olde Timey handlebar mustaches.
*People that put up walls with their sense of humor (except for me and my hilarous friends)
Anyway. Knock it off, Winter. Stop making everyone (myself included) act so weird. I mean, except for the weirdness we exhibit normally, on a summer’s day, after a nice picnic in the park, where me and my weird date wear gay looking speedos, and sing songs with our ukuleles. After eating blueberry pie, and catcalling a nearby soccer practice. I want that kind of weird back.
I want to feel warm, and languid and odd. Like a Rufus Wainwright song recorded in a sauna.
I guess that feeling’s not so far off.
I’ll power through.
Please do the same.
Enjoy the pie, Jerks.