I HAD SHIT TO DO TONIGHT

But this morning’s awesomely brutal Hello, Dolly! choreography rehearsal literally sent me home into to a three-hour coma. AND LOTS OF CREAKY JOINTS. So instead of doing active shit tonight, I passively sent some photos from my phone to be printed at Walgreens as possibilities for the dramatic Jake-stars-in-the-theater wall I’m curating for my bedroom. My verdict: meh. The cropping feature on the app isn’t entirely accurate, and the cropping feature on the app isn’t accurate at all. Neither is the cropping feature:

And did I mention passive? Because I also bought two pints of Ben & Jerry’s when I picked up the photos and headed right home to binge on Lifetime Intimate Portraits of Bea Arthur, Rue McClanahan, Betty White and Estelle Getty. WHICH. IS. SO. NOT. GAY. NO. NOT. AT. ALL. SHUT. UP. SHEESH.

Rude.

Flexinations!

1. I just had my annual physical.
2. It turns out I am NOT—despite physical appearances to the contrary—pregnant.
3. Those of you who decided I was pregnant—even silently to yourselves—are just rude.
4. RUDE.
5. I’ve known my doctor since we were in middle school.
6. He just touched my bits.
7. It wasn’t awkward.
8. Not at all.
9. NOT. AT. ALL.
10. HE. TOUCHED. MY. BITS.
11. But I didn’t get pregnant.
12. It’s already flu-shot season.
13. Seriously.
14. VACCINES CAUSE NOT DYING.
15. So my body is now coursing with flu germs.
16. HE TOUCHED MY BITS.
17. Not awkward.
18. As the flu-shot nurse was setting out her supplies before injecting me with flu germs, I asked if instead of her boring Band-Aid she might have a Superman Band-Aid.
19. I was just being silly.
20. BUT SHE HAD ONE.
21. So now my flu-germy arm is also a flu-germy bird and a flu-germy plane.
22. And it can leap tall buildings in a single bound.
23. Of course I needed to take a picture of it.
24. The flexing was totally accidental.
25. Because I would NEVER do that on purpose.
26. 🙄
27. That’s my favorite emoji!
28. HE TOUCHED MY BITS.

HAPPY GAY UNCLES DAY TO ME FROM ME since my ungrateful niece and nephew have clearly forgotten

Rude. (Snap!)

Rude.

OK, first of all—FIRST! OF! ALL!—how come nobody told me about Seth Rudetsky’s “Deconstructs” series?

It’s so awesome it makes me weep and YOU ALL HAVE BEEN HIDING IT FROM ME. Rude.

Second of all, GET OUT OF MY HEAD, SETH! The stuff he talks about here—the historical trivia, the cultural references, the musical structures, the artistic themes—is all stuff I’ve been collecting and obsessing about and devouring in my head—and sharing with everyone who’ll listen—for decades. Each episode is a master class in cultural literacy and music theory and poetic construction, all told through the tiny details I thought I was the only person who noticed. Except Seth approaches it with far more musical training and worshipful obsession than I’ve ever mustered. This stuff is total catnip to me, and I’m about to disappear from public life for decades as I get caught up on—and memorize every detail of—every episode in this series.

Thirdly, SETH IS SO FREAKING ADORABLE. His rapid-fire train of thought, his bubbling excitement over everything he wants to share, his boundless knowledge, his goofy asides ... I’m now totally, 100% crushing on him.

Finally, THIS SONG. Pamela Myers’ clarion voice. Jonathan Tunick’s layered orchestrations. Stephen Sondheim’s boundless genius. I COULD NOT LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS VIDEO EVEN A TINY BIT MORE.

When you have an inordinate amount of broken Christmas cookies and you overestimated how much frosting you’d need to decorate them, it’s a crime to waste it all

And while it’s not technically a crime to ugly-shame the Frankenstein frosted cookies you creatively—and heroically, imho—salvage from the carnage, it’s still terribly rude.

New haircut. But Belle’s not even giving me a cursory glance to check it out. Rude.

Our My Fair Lady shirts are here!

And they’re laid out in regiments of resplendent ruby rosé at our dressing mirrors. Which is by far NOT the gayest thing I’ve written today.

Also: My post-Edwardian hair part is so on point that it’s almost rude. Because it’s not polite to point. Not even at the gay guy who says resplendent ruby rosé.

I would have called this download Sleep APPnea

but nobody asked for MY freely offered marketing expertise. Rude.

Anyway.

In the absence of a patient but long-suffering boyfriend to keep awake with my woodchopper snoring, I’m forced to sleep—IN SIN!—with this not-creepy app running in the background to record and chart my snoring so my doctor can monitor the efficacy of my super-expensive anti-APPnea (SEE HOW CLEVER THAT IS?) custom dental appliance.

So I’ll be sleeping with a mouthful of jaw-realigning plastic while my phone secretly records every noise in my bedroom. WHICH ARE THE EXACT OPPOSITE OF ALL LEADING WHAT-ARE-YOU-LOOKING-FOR-IN-A-PARTNER CRITERIA ON EVERY DATING SITE ON THIS AND ALL OTHER LONELYHEARTS-COLONIZED PLANETS EVER.

Indignities. They never end.

When you go up in weight for your dumbbell presses. And you’re wearing super-cute shoes.

But the insanely muscular dude who’s ON THE BENCH RIGHT NEXT TO YOU doesn’t even notice. Or give you the traditional Cupcake of Congratulations. Rude.