Okay, first things first.
I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but a history-changing event occurred this past week. This is the kind of occurrence that will be felt for years to come. I think we all know what we’re talking about.
JT Riley has joined Twitter. That’s right, world! Look out, here I come! I’ve finally arrived … in, what, 2008?
Anyway, follow me. It’s JTRiley3. Now can someone explain to me those damn hash tags?
Okay, so, onto the story. You know how there are moments in life when you’re just … not at your best?
That’s sort of how I’ve been feeling lately. When Morris left, I thought I would be able to move on quickly seeing as how we were never actually together, but to be honest, I just can’t quit him. Like Jack couldn’t quit Ennis. Or like how that homeless guy in my subway stop can’t quit that sock he talks to and shoves in his pants. Everyone needs someone, you know?
I had heard from Morris a few times via email, and once on the phone, but most of the time they were either too far out at sea or too busy rehearsing their numbers for the cast to get much down time to keep in touch, especially with people that they were never dating to begin with.
And as much as I try not to think of it, I was an actor once. I know what it’s like to be in a new cast, to suddenly be around new, sexy (and usually slutty) guys. It’s a hard temptation to resist for anyone. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t periodically check out Morris’ Facebook page to see if there are any pictures of him with a guy he looks couply with. What I saw was a bunch of pictures of him in just a bathing suit, surrounded by a slew of other guys in just bathing suits, all looking like they’re starring in the next Eating Out sequel, entitled Everybody Loves Seamen.
(Aw, crap, I just gave them an idea, didn’t I?)
So I stopped checking out his page. I just couldn’t handle it.
And then, of course, the Australian drops the bomb on me that he’s leaving in a month and returning to that inhospitable pit of vipers and hyenas whence he came. I tried to talk him out of it. I even used science! Did you know there are more species of deadly snakes in Australia than anywhere else in the world? It’s true, it’s science!
Australians don’t listen to science. I think it gets in the way of them worshiping their crocodile gods.
So where does that put me? In the tub.
I did manage to extricate myself from my self-imposed prison after a few hours, and went to my room to fold my laundry so I could lie on my bed. Once I got there, though, there were so many clothes on my bed that I got overwhelmed and threw them in a bag. Let them be wrinkled! Let them be wrinkled like my tortured, withering soul!
I was in a major funk, to be sure. And just as I was about to dye my hair black, listen to The Cure and start smoking cloves, I got a call from, of all people, Rock Star.
Okay, now, I have to own this. It’s … uh … possible I may be directly responsible for a certain … injury … that Rock Star recently sustained. On his junk.
I wield this weapon with deadly junkular accuracy.
But hear me out! We were experimenting with a little S&M, and it was my first time, and you don’t send someone who’s never been on a trapeze before out without a net! Things happen. Legs get broken. Dongs get seared. You know how life goes.