It's been one month since I moved into the new apartment. Here's what I've been doing:
Watching 30 Rock and Angel on DVD constantly, because Tina Fey is hysterical and David Boreanaz totally makes me want to assault his face with my penis.
Getting all freaked out over little bitty spiders that crawl on my hands (not cool, spiders. NOT COOL).
Subsequently crushing said spiders with my totally rad-ass hamburger phone.
Applying to various porn studios down in the states. Come on Michael Lucas, please hire me! I'll be your bestest friend ever!
Taking care of Cthulhu, who I'm starting to think may actually be the smartest fish ever. Fo' shizz, I caught him storing his food under his rock and everything. Mama Feist thinks he's anorexic, but I think Mama Feist is just being kind of a bitch. Oh chill, I kid, I kid!
Watching the fireworks show at La Ronde from my balcony, while silently making fun of the poor schmucks who had to pay to see it.
Wondering why in God's name not a single one of my dish towels actually, you know, DRY my dishes. Displacing water over my plates is not the same as drying, Dish Towel! Get your shit together!
Putting together Ikea furniture. Oh sure, the weird, block-ey people in the instructions make it LOOK easy, but it never is. Stupid little Ikea Instruction People think they're SOOO great because they have coffee tables that don't violently wobble whenever they set their laptop on them, BUT THEY'RE NOT.
Audibly cursing myself for not getting bigger shower curtains so that I wouldn't have to mop up the tiny lake on the floor created after every shower.
Drinking an entire bottle of Pinot Grigio, drunk tweeting, then sobbing uncontrollably to Matt. TGIF!
Dancing at Campus, where the guys occasionally use me to pick food out of their teeth.
Masturbating. A lot. I need a fucking boyfriend. Or at the very least a Fleshlight.
Doing bad karaoke to Sara Bareilles songs, making sure I am completely off-key when I belt out the ending of Gravity.
Trying to find the origins of that weird cigarette smell that seems to linger around here for no discernible reason.
Trying (unsuccessfully) to shave my head with a beard trimmer, then running down the street with my hair in tatters to pick up an ACTUAL hair clipper.
Mistaking Julien Cox for one of the many latently-homosexual guys I went to high school with. No offense, but the hat through me off a bit.
Eating chicken. Lots and lots of chicken. Enough to wipe out a small farm, really.
Secretly wishing George Clooney would get Syphilis. And Gwyneth Paltrow too. They know what they did.
Trying to write a Top Ten List for modern horror movies, falling asleep at #8, waking up at 12:10, then deciding to just leave it at eight, because I am fucking TIRED.
Hello, I'm Jeremy Feist, and I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing. For now, I'm juggling my family, my life, and my new career as the world's most unlikely gay porn star. It's complicated.
