Anyone Hiring?

Bonjour Homo-journal-ers, 'tis good to be back.

 I have to admit, last september I thought our blog had died and gone to bloggy heaven. Hopefully, this year, we won't all burn out… 

Thus, resolution numero uno: I will blog every week. *stares at everyone else* this is your resolution too.. 

But don't worry, if you forget - my resolution number 2: I will help harass other homojournalists into blogging every week….

Those who post on time shall be rewarded

For the most part, I don't usually do new year's resolutions, because.. 

1) I never manage to keep them

2) I seem to forget them within a couple of days

3) Having a resolution has a negative effect (e.g. I will give up chocolate… fuelled a giant chocolate binge last year)

And lastly, 

4) I can never think of any good ones.. 

...like I need it to be a resolution...

I asked around this year. A lot of people suggested "Why don't you make it your resolution not to have a resolution?" - I do that often.. 

My mother, when asked told me "You've got to get a job.". Urk. 

I quit my job at the local Green Grocers a couple of weeks ago, and since then.. I've been lazy. Hey, it's been the holidays, you can't blame me. 

But yes.. from the new year, 

I shall try to not be. I shall look for another job. 

eli x


ah, and before I forget...

I really wanna take my cats for a walk now....

And here we are. Again. A topic I have no experience in. I wanted 'most awkward situation being LGBT has put you in', I have plenty of those which I can talk about. Most of them include my family. In fact most awkward situations I've been in involve a family member of sorts. Like that time when we went to New York and my mum told the lady at the currency exchange that she wasn't a Virgin, but that we were flying with them...

Even though we're now two months on from 'Find Rory a Boyfriend Week', Colin Morgan still hasn't declared his undying love for me, which just goes to show that you should never let your friends find your boyfriend for you, because they'll be crap at it (although, James sneakily ended his post that week with a suggestion I am not going to refuse. Ever). As such, I thought that rather than give you all really unhelpful hints which are more likely to lose you your potential boyfriend/girlfriend than gain you one, I took it upon myself to do some research (read 'Google'): below are some links with tips which look like they might actually work. I have already memorised one or two of them and plan on using them at Uni, for which I leave.... tomorrow. I really should begin to pack.

So, we have:

• Cosmopolitan's 20 Fun, Fearless Ideas to Help You Meet A Man; although it's aimed at the straight females of the world, I'm sure with a bit of jiggery-pokery (technical term), you can adapt it to suit your needs perfectly. (Incidentally, there are one or two rather handsome men here, worth checking out even if you've already met the man of your dreams.)
• eHow's aptly named How to Meet a Nice Guy; avoid number 3 at all costs, and number 5 should only be considered if you're really, really desperate. Otherwise, go for it.
• Get-the-Guy's Top 10 Places to meet guys in London; as long as you're not arrested for loitering, this could be a good way forward too. Although, after having read number 8, I desperately want to try and take my cat for a walk through Hyde Park...

I wouldn't get very far.

Maybe we can come back to this theme in a couple of months time when I've got a boyfriend, I can share my wisdom better then.

Living in the lap-dance of luxury.

First and foremost, I wish to have it known that if, for some reason, all of us Homojournalists were ever to live together, the house would have to be:

1. Very large, with at least 7 bedrooms for us, guests etc.
2. Be exquisitely furnished (well, at least my room).
3. Have all the latest mod-cons.
4. Be apocalypse proof.

5. Have a battalion of maids, cleaners, gardeners etc.

You see, I think that if we all lived together, it would be an unmitigated disaster, because last time we did something similar (well, me, Mel and Todostrieb, along with Unimportant-To-The-Story-Friend and Cretzal (who you may remember)), the lights in the living room fused, me and Mel almost got savaged by a dog, everyone but me was horrified by Insidious, Todostrieb threw up in a bowl and then proceeded to tip the bowl all over the floor and me and Cretzal broke up, so it wasn't what you could call 100% successful.

And no, I won't lend credence to the idea that having the other Homojournalists there would've improved matters, because then Mel would've been distracted by Eli, and wouldn't have gone on the walk, leaving me to be mauled to death by the angry dog/any number of cows/sheep/natives, Miu would've criticised my cooking if it had a single molecule of capsaicin in it (which it would've), and Rory, well, Rory would've drunk all my vodka.

I needed my vodka.

So, yes. NEVER, EVER IN MY LIFE.

...but here's the house it would have to be if it happened.

Right, let's get this known right off the bat - this will be there:

Only our blog can say we have a signature lamp.

We'd also need a suitably ostentatious way of having the vodka flowing at all times...

This will do nicely.

Let's face it, we're all absolutely filthy. We don't want a house, we want a temple of debauchery. We want a shrine to Bacchus and Aphrodite. And I'm 100% fine with that. I'm just suggesting we make it a classy den of smut.

This, with more nakedness.

I'm into minimalism, so obviously I want it to be all glass and chrome (think about it guys, wipe-clean is all I'm saying). I don't want actual brick walls, I want walls made out of smart glass like in that episode of CSI Miami where the under-age drinker was stabbed to death in a bathroom. I want spiral staircases made of glass. I want men and women in smart, modern suits, ready to remove them at any notice to give us lap-dances. I want my cat, Skye, as our signature pet.

Tell me this isn't a classy cat.

You know, I'm beginning to warm to this idea. Tell you what, I'll agree to live with you guys. As long as I can stay in my own safe, opaque glass box, with my cat, my penis vodka fountain and anyone I deem attractive.

I might let the cat out occasionally.

Yours tentatively,

James.

I have been using one of Cretzal's socks to scent train Skye, so if she ever meets him she'll attack. Progress is startling.