Welcome Home Homo

I could tell you were worried readers. I was getting countless e-mails wondering where I'd been and if I'd made it back to New York safely.

Actually, I didn't get ANY e-mails wondering about my well being and I am PISSED because my life has been nothing but DRAMA since I hit the tarmac of LGA.

As soon as I landed, I had to haul my ass to my new home: a small closet in Up-UP-town Manhattan's west side filled with someone else's things...luckily it is attached to a smaller closet that has a toilet and a shelf i smack my head on every time I turn around too fast.

I flipped one big bird to the world and crawled over my luggage to get out of the room because THIS little starlet had a callback to go to.

There's no time for tears if the cameras aren't rolling.

My first stop back to the subway alerted me that there had been an "assault with a box cutter" just around the corner. I flipped one more big bird to the world and let my West Side Story begin.

Of course after being back for but an hour, all I wanted to do was be in an audition room and remind myself that there are 16,000 buffer, prettier unemployed boys dancing around this city who would LOVE to assault me with a box cutter if it got them a role.

I sat my flat ass down in a corner and tried to convince myself I was a REGIONAL THEATER STAR (I carry a copy of my review just in case) and was returning with a brand new swag.

Did I book the job? Probably not. But the director did go to Northwestern so it'll be his fault for not supporting his Alma Mater. Willy the Wildcat will surely shake a shameful finger his way.

And the rat race of NYC was just beginning. It was only my second day back, and my BFF Tray was in town for her birthday. Instead of the city celebrating ME and my return, I had to schlep to the East Village to celebrate her and her visit...before she travels the world for a year...because apparently that's a post-grad option.

I guess they forgot to put that flyer in my "You're Leaving Northwestern a Broke Ass Bitch" packet.

But I'm SUCH a good friend, so I was happy to be a part of her special day.

But I'm SUCH a good gay, so I was happy to leave dinner and hit the town.

And then it happened.

Some time after I made friends with a feisty black woman and paid far too much for some foie gras and beef tartare, I hit empty and fell asleep on the subway.

When I woke up, I was at the end of the line clutching my iPhone 4S that I thought was keeping me alert. Instantly, I remembered a similar thing happening to my friend last March so I reached for my back pocket and...

it was gone.

My wallet was gone.

And that's the day I become a real New Yorker.

So SCREW you pick-pocket and if you even THINK about trying to use my Starbucks Gold Card you will be sorry you ever laid eyes on my killer cheekbones before you reached over to undoubtedly fondle my cute butt before stealing my wallet.

But if you ever make it to Evanston, IL, I do hope you enjoy the Wildcard discounts.

My mom said my last blog post was redundant and boring,

TJB: Making It