It's official

I am, absolutely and totally, a gay man. Well, except for these hooters and whatnot, that is.

Let me back up for a moment...

Since this new season of Project Runway started, my old pal Brando and I have been semi-obsessed with designer Robert Best. (Yes, I know that rhymed, and I hate it, but whatever.) Our little Robert is adorable, talented, slightly bitchy, extremely sarcastic, and of course, queer as daisies.

We love Robert. We need Robert. We Friendsterstalked Robert. We desperately wanted him to win, not only because he's a wonderful designer, but also because someday, we wanted him to support us in the manner to which we've grown accustomed. But alas, it was not to be; Robert was (absurdly and unfairly) eliminated in last week's challenge.

Though I was inconsolable, I managed to control my sobbing for just long enough to send our Robert a Friendster note of consolation and support. We were and are there for him, and if he wants, he can make clothes for us. (I like to help. It's what I do.)

Now, I was not expecting a response, people. Robert is a Big Star now, regardless of his ejection. He makes clothes for Barbie, for christssake...surely he's too busy for me...

But this morning, in my Friendster inbox, I found this...

Thanks Helen,
Very sweet of you to send support and nice wishes. I also hope that you will be seeing much more of me. All in all - it was an awesome experience...see you on the reunion show. Much love. You rock.
Robert Best

You better believe that this bitch jumped up and down, squealing like Tom Cruise on an overdose of Ritalin. And of course, I immediately emailed Brando, not in small part due to the knowledge that he would be absofuckinglutely GREEN about it. Which he totally is.

So, yeah, there you go. As well as being a reality TV starfucker, I'm a total fagala. I only hope that in addition to Robert, the Farmboyz will date me now. Wish me luck. And send me condoms!

ps. I think I'm a top.

Helen's terrible twos

Two years ago today, I decided it was time to join the tard party and start this here blog. To be honest, I can't quite remember why. So much has changed since then...my home, my job, my friends, even...shockingly...my drinking habits. Thus, I've begun to wonder lately if it might be about time to hang it up, maybe do some real writing, or, god forbid, get some actual work done while I'm in the office. That'd be different.

But you know, I still miss Mike as much as I ever did. And I'm still basically a completely slacktastic asshole who can't keep my mouth shut.

Some things, not so much with the changing.

This blog thing might be one of them. Or not.

Either way, I'm going to celebrate today by getting crunked with someone cute. Somehow that's always the right answer.

Did you really think my drinking habits had changed? pssssh

We didn't get arrested...

and it really is the best movie ever.

I'd love to write and tell you all about our ridiculous, awesome SOAP experience. But you know, I'm just way too lazy. And I don't want to give anything away. Because, you know, the plot is, like, really deep, or something. Suffice to say that the company was stellar, the crowd was completely out of control, the scotch was like buttah, and I'm having a screening party when the DVD comes out. This movie is the next Rocky Horror Picture Show. Mark my words.

I'm also taking orders for t-shirts printed with the following choice lines:

EDDIE KIM WILL KILL YOU!

FUCK RICK AND HIS HIGH SCORE!

And, of course, the obligatory double-sided tee...

Front: ENOUGH IS ENOUGH!
Back: I don't even need to say it. You know what goes here.

Snakes on my brain

Hey, local NY people...If I don't already have your phone number, howsabout you send it to me, mmmkay?

Thing is, we're going to see what is sure to be the best movie ever tonight, and we're bringing a couple of bottles of booze, as well as some rubber snakes to throw into the crowd at critical moments. Thus, the need for bail money is a very real possibility.

Come on, who's gonna be my one phone call? You know you want to.

"Yeah, hello? My name is Sam Jackson. I'd like to report some muthafuckin' snakes on this muthafuckin' plane! No, I will NOT hold, muthafucka!"

Big news day

Because I lived in Colorado for 20 plus years and grew up 20 minutes from the house where JonBenet Ramsey was murdered, I think I'd be remiss not to acknowledge these crazy developments in the case. I will, however, uncharacteristically refrain from commenting on this whole deal, at least until charges are filed against the suspect. His story is shaky. Weird.

Instead, I refer you to this literally gleaming example of what happens when stupid people have pets and too much money. God but I hope Flavor Flav doesn't have a cat. (Thanks Dr. Crunk.)

For the record...

Whoever the shitbird Gawker commenter with a disturbingly familiar name is, it ain't me.

To the commenter, I say this: Do you remember what used to happen on the Jerry Springer show when some dumbass in the audience would make a sincere, heartfelt comment to one of the show's guests? It was beautiful...the whole crowd would turn on Sweetie McRetard like a pack of wild dogs, chanting "GO TO OPRAH, GO TO OPRAH!" Different version of the same thing here. Gawker is for snarky, sarcastic assholes, much the way that Jerry Springer is for pissed off white trash morons. That's what people, myself included, like about it. Take your drivellously genuine, impotently footstamping indignation over to Gothamist, honey. And don't even think about using my fucking name once you get there.

Hey, maybe Gawker will sponsor a cagematch...

It's written in the stars

Dear Helen,
Here is your horoscope for Friday, August 11...

Sagittarius:
"Some people think you're only about fun and games, but they simply don't realize that all your clowning has a much higher purpose. That includes finding ways to please yourself and help others. "

It's totally true. I know I you feel better knowing that there's someone out there way, WAY more retarded than you. And I laugh while I masturbate.

You're welcome.

I wish I was making this up

At around 11:30 this morning...damn near halfway through the day...I sat down to pee, and happened to notice that my underwear was on backwards.

33 years old, folks. Yep. Thankyewvurymuch.

And yes, I corrected the...uh...issue, although I'm not quite sure why I bothered at that point.

Hi Mom!

sigh

Crank is jank

Please pay rapt attention and excuse her typos, because Hedda Lettuce has some important things to tell you about crystal meth.

Helen Damnation, Uber-Professional

I had an almost overwhelming urge this morning to skip up and down the bleak gray corridors here at work, singing "I MADE A PEE PEE, I MADE A PEE PEE!" at the top of my damaged little lungs.

I'm wearing heels, though, which makes skipping a bad idea.

Damn.

Will fuck for air conditioning

Seriously. It's come to that.

My only stipulations are a) we have to watch Rockstar Supernova before gettin' down to bidness, b) I'm not going to pretend to like it if you're crap in bed, and c) my cat comes with me to your place. (Unlike her mommy, she'll be willing to cuddle with you.)

This has really, really got to stop, post haste.