The Middle Class Starving Artist

My mother once said that there were only two joys in life and they were her own two kids. She said giving birth was the other greatest joy but I’m not so sure about that one… am I right mothers? I feel that there are two more joys in life, at least they are for me and they are meeting old friends for a quick bite to eat and watching a brand new movie, never before seen.

I worked till five thirty today and met my friends at Panera mainly because, one, we finally had our own money to spend and two, because it was the closest to our places of work (my friend and I both work at the mall, he at Hollister and me at Macy’s.) My other friend goes to school in Pennsylvania and comes home for the holidays and I was so excited to see her because, in all reality, I miss her! I miss us, the squad, our inside jokes, our talks, us, before moving away, before college.

So we all met at Panera and instantly our talk turned from catching up to sex, like it always does.

“Tell me something… who do you think would work at the strip club?”

“Who wouldn’t?” PA says.

“Like for real. In thirty years, say, at our reunion will be the girl-”

“Or guy,” I chipped in.

“Girl, guy whatever, who stayed in town, lived off welfare and did nothing with her life?” Hollister asked.

“You should be talking you’re basically a starving artist yourself,” I say.

“Okay yes, so I sleep on a cot whatever I need space for my studio,” Hollister said.

“But you aren’t starving… you’re like a middle class starving artist," I put in my two cents again. 

“So… who would it be?”

We couldn’t come up with an answer not because it was hard, no, it was because we honestly didn’t know. Our class, in itself, was so different. Some are married, some have kids, some have three kids, some are pretty successful and others…

“Who do you think was the biggest?”

“The what?”

“The biggest… you know…”

“I’ve always wondered that!” I said, “I always thought it was that tall guy, you know, the lurch.”

“No the taller you are the smaller you are,” Hollister said.

“Is that why all the skinny guys have huge…?” PA said.

“And all the bigger guys, one tug and done,” Hollister said.

Remember how I said there were two new joys in life? I lied. There are three and the third is opening a new book and taking a really big whiff of that new book smell.

Am I right?

The Rainbow Monologues

Oh, hello my darlings, my dear readers how I missed you so. It’s been too long, a week but whose counting, and I have nothing to tell you. I’ve been working like crazy; six days last week, five days this week but I really shouldn’t be complaining because I’ve been getting some really good Christmas presents for everyone! Myself including.

I always tell everyone at work to buy gifts for themselves first and then gifts for everyone else after that way you get what you really want. I got myself sixteen Agatha Christie books (all used and bought for a penny on Amazon), five screenplays and a Woody Allen DVD collection that I fought for on EBay.

Can we talk about EBay? What the hell is it? I bid forty-five dollars on the DVD collection last Monday and literally no one else bid on it. So I waited and waited for the seller to just give it to me when some asshole bid, get this, forty-five dollars and fifty cents. The war was started. Mr. T***1990 (I’m not trying to hide his identity or anything that’s literally all EBay gave me for a name) and I went back and forth for three days when I finally gave up and stopped bidding and fifty dollars and nineteen cents.

But I eventually won anyway because I found the same collection from another seller at the low price of thirty-eight dollars and fifty-eight cents.

I haven’t written anything since the last week in November. November people! I feel like I’m writhing away from you all and you all are powerless to stop it…. unless-

I bought myself a book called The Vagina Monologues and read it in a day it was so good. A monologue is a spoken piece by one person but then again I guess you all knew that. The book is composed of about fifteen, maybe more, monologues about, you guessed it, vaginas. Its funny, true and real and, at one point, made me question, “Why are vaginas so cool?”

The Vagina Monologues gave me an idea, an idea to tell our stories, our coming out stories and the people it affected, the way it made us feel, laugh or cry. And we’ll call it, drum roll please, The Rainbow Monologues…

Working title of course. But I’ll need your help. I’ll need to know your stories so that I could get a real sense of how everyone came out. I know it seems like a lot of work and it is, trust me, but if you want and only if you want, you can email your story to me, comment your story below or hit me up on Facebook or Twitter.

Joerusso8writer@aim.com

Joseph Russo (for both Facebook and Twitter)

Hugs and Kisses.

Oh, P.S everyone should watch American Horror Story: Coven on Netflix its fabulous. I finished it in three days.

Guest Blog: Unicorns & Where to Find Them

Nothing bothers me more than when people say they don’t believe in same-sex marriage. It’s not that they’re against it (okay, it’s like 10% because they’re against it), it’s the wording. They don’t believe in it. It makes me want to laugh and wring their necks all at once. 

Same-sex marriage isn’t a unicorn. It’s not a myth. It’s not some urban legend passed down from generation to generation like Big Foot or whatever curse will follow you if you wear white after Labor Day.  It’s an actual thing. People do it every day. It’s real.

You can’t not believe in something that already exists. You can oppose it, disagree with it, throw a tantrum and rant about it, set up protests, shame/blame/bully/abuse the people who agree/partake in it. You can make it your life’s goal to ensure that someone else’s happiness that literally has zero to do with you is denied because your religious views- which you’re granted because of our country’s constitution that gives you freedom to practice whatever religion you want- don’t agree with it. You can do all of these things, but you can’t say you don’t believe in something that already exists.

Speaking of phrases that bother me- when people say they want ‘their America to be run from the bible’ I just want to quit life. You want to live in a place where we all adhere to the bible? Cool. Do it somewhere else. Live on a commune, create a cult, gather in New Mexico and succeed from the U.S.-have at it. 

The ENTIRE POINT of America is freedom. Freedom of speech, to assemble, of the press, to petition the government, and- wait for it- freedom of religion. That means that if good ole ‘Murica made it’s laws and values on a specific religion it would be forcing a religion on it’s people, and therefore would be denying it’s citizens a basic human right. 

I believe in God. I have a relationship with him. I go to church, I’m involved in it, and I invite people to visit my church all the time in an effort to show them how great and important said relationship is. I do not, however, condemn people who don’t agree with my faith. I don’t push my views on people. I would never want to live in a place where people felt cornered and shameful and oppressed because they don’t agree with me, and I think it’s really selfish for people to say they want to live in a country that is run by the bible, because they’d be forcing their friends and family who practice other faiths to feel that way. WRITTEN BY TORI STAMBAUGH. 

I received this post this morning and I am blown away. My friend, the one who wrote this, is right and her words speak the truth. I had to re-read some of her points because they were SO FREAKING GOOD. Re-read the second paragraph for an example. XOXO- JOE. 

Reflections of a Single Man

“Tistheseasontistheseasontistheseaon,” I whispered to myself knowing that with each chant the season was getting shitter. I woke up early this morning to get ready for work and checked my “morning papers” which just so happens to be Facebook and Twitter. And there, after three scrolls down (I checked it on my phone this morning which was my first mistake), I saw something that took my breath away.

Remember the guy I went out on a date with? Guess who just got into a relationship? That’s right. I stared at it for just a few seconds, thinking it was a dream, a horrible nightmare but there it was… staring back at me. His boyfriend wrapped in a scarf and I have since dubbed him that “scarf wearing cunt.”

I just wanted to know a few things. Why couldn’t he tell me that it didn’t work out? Why couldn’t he just send me a text instead of ignoring me and me, feeling like Drew Barrymore in Never Been Kissed waiting for Billy Loomis. Was it something I did? Was it because I didn’t kiss him goodnight? Maybe I didn’t hold his hand hard enough. Maybe he wanted something more… and I never caught on to his advances. I wondered how long he talking to this cunt scarf wearing asshole? Was it during our date? Was I, for the briefest of moments, the other guy? A test piece to see which one he liked more? 

But on the flip side I wondered if we would’ve even worked. We came from different backgrounds, had different interests, and had our own lives to life. He had the personality like a limp dick and my personality is all over the place. He liked video games and I liked film. He was twenty-three; I was nineteen.

I went to work with this laying heavy on my mind. I decided, after a few rants to GBF and my work partner, Miss Chanel, that I was going to be the bigger person, the ADULT, and move on. I had a fabulous day with this asshole, saw a fabulous movie and went out of my comfort zone to meet him. I came. I conquered.

I deleted him from my phone and my memory and unfriended him Facebook. This is the last mention of him from here on. I hope he’s happy with that polka dotted, scarf wearing cunt rainbow.

And breathe. Tis the season. Tis the season. Tis the season.

Tis the Season

I haven’t been lazy I just decided not to post part two of my date because, due to unforeseen circumstances, he hasn’t answered me back since Sunday. I’m an impatient person, you know, just don’t not answer me back. I hope that makes sense but then again I really could care less.

So, three days ago was Thanksgiving and I ate over at my Grandma’s house. She’s the typical Italian grandmother who cooks for ten when she only invites three people. A fifteen-pound turkey, sweet potato pie, stuffing, cranberry sauce, zucchini bread, cauliflower and homemade apple pie. She was worried that we, my great aunt and I, wouldn’t like the pie so she went out, the morning of, and bought a pumpkin cheesecake.

It was all so delicious. I gained about twenty pounds. I was so upset about leaving for work; all I wanted to do was take my after Thanksgiving nap. My grandma made me a plate to take to work and the plate had just about as much food as my dinner plate had.

Macy’s doors opened at six that night and in my mind I imagined a stampede, a hunger games like start, of people rushing in, grabbing, fighting, basically killing for those “steals”. But it was tame, very tame, almost calm, cool, and collected. People walked in, wished us all a “Happy Thanksgiving” and, for the first time, acted like normal human beings.

Macy’s did have really good sales though and it was then, and only then, that I wished I wasn’t working and that I had a substantial about of money to spend.

Black Friday promised the same great sales and the same people ready to do just about anything to get those bargains. I was doing my stuff in the one section I know nothing about, the little boys/girls clothes, when a customer asked me where to find a shirt for her grandson. I had just put one away so I knew where to find it and led her over to it.

“I’m shocked this place isn’t busy,” she tells me.

“Yeah. Its not too bad,” I say.

“They’re all at Walmart or Best Buy. I just came from there, Best Buy, people in tents with their portable ovens. It’s disgusting. I promised myself I wouldn’t do it this year… but look at me now.”

It was about three hours later that I had to remind myself, “Tis the season. Tis the season. Tis the season,” when a customer from Russia with a thick heavy accent asked, “Where is da books?”

“The what?”

“Da books? Da book section. I can buy book?”

“In Macy’s? We don’t have a book section. We never have.”

“Where I can buy book? For read?”

“There’s Books A Million down the street about three minutes from the mall,” I say.

“I can buy book there?”

I nod and walked away. Tis the season.

My First Date: Part Uno

Nellie Forbush once sang a song called “I’m in Love with a Wonderful Guy” and, upon first hearing it, I thought she was just another stupid blonde girl in love. But yesterday changed everything for me.

I woke up early because, first, my mother was in the living room listening to Christmas music and, two, I was meeting a guy named Hayden for our first date. Side note- I listen to music when I write and I’m listening to “Wildest Dreams” by Taylor Swift, which perfectly captures our date.

“What are you doing?”

“Listening to Christmas music. What are you doing?” My Mother asks.

“Not getting enough sleep that’s for one thing.”

“Oh stop. You’re young.”

“You’re young. I have to get ready for my date,” I say, stepping into the shower. Side note- I treated myself to Katy Perry’s Killer Queen perfume box set and it comes with shower gel and, shit, does it smell good. A perfect Christmas gift (cough, cough.)

I was meeting Hayden at his place in Tampa at about one. I left my house at twelve and drove the simple hour to his place, with my heart beating faster and faster with each passing minute. I was so worried I would get lost because I am terrible at directions. I’m a writer not a navigator.

Hayden gave me detailed directions that led me right to his doorstep, right to him waiting outside for me. He was so cute, standing there, making sure I didn’t get lost. He showed me his place and his roommates, which brought back such strong memories of my college apartment and my roommate. Not to mention the way they talk to each other is fabulous and the words, “Fag”, “Bitch”, and “Douche” are said every thirty minutes. I fit right in, almost at home.

Hayden then showed me all the hot spots in Tampa, because I don’t know anything about Tampa except for USF and I stayed there for at least ten minutes. He took me to a used bookstore (the main way to my heart), a yogurt place (the other way to my heart), and the International Mall.

“I wish I could shop at Dillard’s,” I tell him.

“Says the guy who works at Macy’s,” He answers.

He then took me to a place called Oxford Exchange. It was a beautiful building; part bookstore, part restaurant, and part lounge area with no wifi to “enable the flow of conversation.” He bought his tea there, London Fog (AKA Earl Grey Latte, a way to HIS heart) with apple cinnamon syrup that tasted like Fruit Loops. We then decided on dinner and a movie time because he “didn’t want me driving back so late.”

We went to Olive Garden (another way to my heart) where we both ordered Raviolis (the fourth way to my heart) soup (for him), salad (for me) and two glasses of water. I felt like I could really be myself around him, I felt like I could eat the typical fifteen breadsticks that I would’ve normally have eaten even if I wasn’t on a date. As I looked into his green eyes, I wondered when is the right time to tell someone you love them? Because I think I do.

Promises, Promises

I worked the past two days doing the morning shift, which has to be one of the worst shifts ever created in human history. And to add to this fact, Macy’s had its one day sale, which had basically everything in the store half-off. And to add to this fact, Macy’s sent out a catalog with another twenty percent off coupon, which made basically everything dirt-cheap. This one man got a Giorgio Armani suit complete with jacket, pants, white shirt and red tie for forty-five dollars. The suit was originally one hundred and fifty.

Which leads me to another story. Last week my mother and I took a trip to the new mall about forty-five minutes away from our house. The mall was very nice, filled with stores I’ve never been in (Saks Fifth Avenue), stores that I can’t afford (Saks Fifth Avenue) and stores that had FOUR THOUSAND DOLLAR JACKETS (Saks Fifth Avenue.) Four thousand dollars! For a jacket! A jacket designed by a dead fucking designer! I maybe would’ve paid for it had it been the real Saks Fifth Avenue but no this one was Saks off Fifth, like I didn’t already know that myself. I started to get light headed and was only revived by going to The Cheesecake Factory.

So, while I was working the past two days I was also talking to this Guy, the same one from my last post. We’ve came to the decision that we would meet on Sunday, I will drive up to him and he’ll drive to me at a later date. We’re gonna go see the Hunger Games and then he’ll show me all the hot, happening spots in Tampa. Now, you all have to understand, this is my first date since high school and… I’m gonna say it… what if he doesn’t like me?

We’ve snapchatted, messaged and talked on Facebook (I needed to make sure I wasn’t being catfished cause that would get me so pissed but, then again, I might get a TV show) so he knows what I’m like and I know what he’s like its just… that question still lingers around in my head. I’m really excited to meet him and his friends/roommates though and I know everything will be okay. He’s really sweet on his text messages to me and everything. I’m also really excited to show him my town and how pitifully small it is.

Here’s another thing about me, I’m extremely insecure about my body image; mainly my weight. That’s why, if you really know me, I never take my shirt off…ever. But whenever I talk about him, like I did last night to BFF, I get excited, like I’m back in high school or a kid in a candy shop or a gay at Dillard’s black Friday sale.

Sunday. Three days. Someone, anyone, count down with me. I just have to make it through my Saturday shift, the whole eight hours.

Which leads me to another story. On Monday, Macy’s released my holiday schedule and it turns out that I’m working Thanksgiving, get this, from five to three A.M and then black Friday from ten to ten.

Macy’s is trying to kill me I’m sure of it.

My Position at Macy's

“Hi Joe this is Macys. I’m wondering if you could call me back so we can talk about your position here at Macys. Thanks.”

In the middle of Walmart my stomach knotted and I felt hot. I covered my mouth, with the fear of the Subway sandwich I had for lunch reappearing on the floor in front of me. I listened to the message again, hearing my manager repeat “your position” with more menace. It was as if the volume increased by ten fold.

“What is it?” My mother asked.

“I’m getting fired. I’m getting fired and I only worked three days.” I had to call them back, had to find out if I was fired or not. So I stepped outside, hid in my car, twiddled my thumbs and called them back.

But first lets back up two days. Friday night, I found myself sitting in the darkened black box of my old high school watching my favorite play being preformed by all my little theatre babies. The play was “The Glass Menagerie” by the ever great Tennessee Williams. I mean how could you hate him he wrote “Streetcar Named Desire” hello. I was a little apprehensive to see this performance, being an old Theatre alum myself I was the lead in “Our Town” two years ago and lets just say that was…

But this performance was different, more intimate in a way. Maybe because I read “The Glass Menagerie” a few months ago and wrote a script analysis of it so I knew the work like the back of my hand. It was stunning and I only wish I could’ve taken you, my dear readers, with me. I even teared up a little bit.

That night I came home and logged back on to my OkCupid account. I sent out three messages and only one came back. He’s 6’2, lives in Tampa and is a gamer. We’ve been talking ever since and he’s handsome, smart and funny . We like the same things, which led me to wonder if we were the same person.

Fast-forward two days to me, sitting in my car in the Walmart parking lot. “Hi. This is Joe. I just got a phone call from you guys?”

“Oh, yes Joe. How are you doing are you okay?”

“Yes. I feel fabulous. Thank you for asking.”

“Well we just haven’t seen you in awhile. You were supposed to work last Monday.”

“I was? Are you sure I check my online schedule every morning. It didn’t say anything about Monday.”

My manager takes a pause and clicks her tongue. I hear papers rustling in the background. “You know… I am so tired of this… you are the fifteenth person who got the wrong schedule.”

“If I was supposed to work I would’ve came in for sure,” I say.

“No you’re right. My paper work says one thing but you’re reading something else. You’re right. All right, Joe I’m sorry to bother you.”

“No its okay! I work Tuesday and Wednesday next week.”

“Yes I see that. All right see you then.”

I hung up and took a deep breath. I’m not getting fired….

Today at least.

Interstellar: A Review

I’m sitting in the darkened movie theater waiting for Interstellar to start when I saw a trailer that changed my life. A new movie staring Jessica Lange, queen of everything, queen of TV and the only reason why I watch “American Horror Story.”

That’s a lie I watch AHS because it’s great, scary, funny, quirky and extremely entertaining not to mention the fact that almost EVERYONE on that show is hot. Hello, Zachary, Evan, Finn and Dylan I’m looking at you.

So anyway, this movie with my queen is about a guy getting second chances and he’s a gambler or whatever and then some shit happens and who cares JESSICA LANGE is in it. Its called The Gambler, watch the trailer on your own time. It actually looks pretty good.

Interstellar. Can we talk about Interstellar? A three hour long Christopher Nolan film that takes us where Gravity left off. You see, Gravity took us to space and Interstellar took us to space, made a left, a right and a few stops along the way. It was mind blowing. The visuals, the acting (I love me some Anne Hathaway, hello I saw Les Miserables six times) and the script was strong. I’m dying to get my hands on that screenplay.

A couple of days ago my professor gave us the Gone Girl screenplay. OMGOSH STUNNING. One hundred and seventy-seven pages, the longest screenplay I’ve read. If you haven’t seen that movie I’m judging you hardcore. Side note, everyone says the Ben has a nude scene but… where? I looked all over that film, up, down, left and right and saw NOTHING.

That’s a lie, the Titanic screenplay ends on page two hundred and three.

Lies. Lies. Lies. Joe tell us the truth, shit. The truth is Interstellar is amazing and if you don’t see it I’m judging you hardcore. It was... here it comes... out of this world! The only problem, the only slim problem I have with the movie, is Matthew McConaughey. I’m ready for everyone to shout at me. I don’t know why, he’s a great actor and everything (he got the Oscar he deserved) but it’s his voice, the way he draws out everything and holds syllables and shit like that. I know it’s just me and that I’m crazy…. But… who isn’t?

Guest Blog: Maleficent as President?

I’ve been waiting patiently for Maleficent to come out on DVD ever since I saw it with the roommate back in May. Wow side note, has it been THAT long since I’ve seen that movie? MY GOD I’M OLD. Excuse me while I cry for twenty seconds.

Which reminds me of another side note. GBF texted me two days ago and asked if I ever had a real good cry, like a cry that made me so sick I nearly threw up? I answered back yes, at the 2012 Oscars when Les Miserables didn’t win Best Picture and that stupid shit movie Argo did. He replied back and said that ever since his first boyfriend left him for another guy, he hasn’t cried and he wondered if that was weird. I replied back with grow some balls pussy.

Anyway, I bought Maleficent the day it came out on DVD and watched it soon after. There’s something beautiful about that movie but also, something really bad about that movie. I get it’s a reimaging and everything but, maybe, to me, its not the Maleficent I-we- grew up with. I said it before and I’ll say it again, it was her character that pissed me off so much. In one scene she’s attacking the army and throwing them into the thorned forest and then, suddenly, she’s cracking jokes on the fairies (don’t even get me started on them.)

I told this to my mother, who, for the first time, watched Maleficent. She answered back, and this ladies and gentlemen stunned me, by saying, “Its because she hates men. Why not treat the men like shit. The women never hurt her but the men sure did.” WOW. So profound, my mother the caretaker, the film theorist (if there is such a thing.)

Today, I’m sitting and writing, my new story is about twenty- three pages long, minding my own business and listening to 1989, which I happen to be OBSESSED with when my mother comes into the living room carrying a green sheet of paper.

“I think I should start a blog,” she says.

“Oh yeah? About what?”

“Dating after 50. Sex, relationships everything after 50.”

“That sounds good. You could be like the Carrie Bradshaw for women going through menopause,” I say.

She unfolds the paper she’s carrying and says “I have something on menopause.”

So, ladies and gentlemen, dear readers, friends and family members forced to read here is the first guest post on The Homo Whisperer written by my mother.

I feel Maleficent should run for president! I enjoy her view of things about men; mostly keep them close, but not too close so they can cut your wings off! But be someone and rise up and show them. Loves truest form are from the women and not the men. See the passion, the true spirit because, girls, hold on just a little longer until we get our wings back and SOAR!

Look out for her blog in the next few months. I say months because she needs a little help with typing, starting the computer and using the keyboard.

Tasteful Nudes

Friday morning I awoke to the sudden realization that I haven’t had human contact since Wednesday. I’ve been alone, watching TV, eating junk food (the local McDonald’s cashier boy knows my order by heart and always winks at me… I think he’s gay but he’s so young) and writing a short collection of stories that I plan to publish… sometime.

I don’t talk a lot about my writings, actually I never do, but this is different. This collection, creatively titled ‘Tasteful Nudes’, is something I’ve never done before. The stories, the two I have written, are each over twenty pages and have, at least, twenty thousand words.

The first story is called ‘Fag Hunting’ and like the title suggests involves a man who hunts down gays. Its gritty and one of my harshest stories to date. In it the characters make fun of religion, lesbians, gays, and themselves. The second story, considerably tamer, is about a boy named Kip Kipper. Kip doesn’t understand love; his mother is a lesbian with a new girlfriend every month, his father left and the people he tries to love always leave him hanging. It starts with Kip’s childhood and goes through his adult years.

The other stories are planned, outlined and are ready to be written. They are called ‘Tasteful Nudes’, ‘PrincessBoy’, and ‘Intersections’ though the last story may change. Since this is the first time I’m actually talking about them I’ll try to keep everyone posted and maybe, just maybe, when I do get the collection published I’ll have free giveaways for my trusty readers.

Saturday morning my mother and I meet my aunt at the airport. She came down for the week with her boyfriend to visit his parents. We wake up at the most ungodliest of hours, eight A.M, to drive the hour to the airport.

They were waiting for us at the departures, my aunt looking like Dora with a pink backpack high up on her back, sunglasses, and a little fanny pack that held her license and cash. She waved us down, screaming and hollering and my mother, so excited, jumped from the car before it stopped and fell.

At the restaurant, after about twenty minutes of pulling gravel and wiping up blood from my mothers knee, we chatted and caught up. I haven’t seen my aunt in a year or so, give or take, sometime around then and she hasn’t changed. She talks about her two sons and daughter and how they’re expecting kids. She talked about their younger sister with her two kids and how they’re doing in high school and college. She talked about New York and how it hasn’t changed, “I won’t change for New York until it changes for me.”

And then, at the end of lunch, she pulls out her Ziploc baggies, filled with cash, each bag for a different amount. “This bag is for ones. This is for fives. Tens. Twenties. This bag holds my change. Nickels. Dimes. Quarters.”

I couldn’t hold in my laughter. She kills me, literally, physically, cinematically, metaphorically and so on…

One A Day November

November, November remember the fifth of November or at least I think that’s how it goes. November is all about raising awareness with such competitions like No Shave November where people don’t shave for the whole month and instead donate the money to cancer research.

I’ve been thinking of my own foundation for seven days. I’ve been throwing ideas around in my head thinking about what it would be, who would participate it and how long it would last. I think I have it down pat and its called One A Day November. Each day in November you do something new.

It’ll work better if you do it for your own education, or hobby, that way you can keep the stamina up. I’ve been watching one new movie, in different genres, every night and then reading the screenplay, if I can find it. One of my screenwriting teachers said, “The best way to learn screenwriting is through reading them.” It’s really opened my eyes because I usually stick with two genres: Horror and Drama. But with One A Day I’ve watched romance, thrillers, science fiction, fantasy, musicals, documentaries and classics, each learning something different from each.

It also works for painters, writers, photographers and that’s all my mind came up with, so far. Painters can paint something new everyday, it doesn’t have to be good, it doesn’t have to be finished but it shows that you’re working everyday to get better.

It will last the whole month and doesn’t cost any money. Well so far. You don’t have to do it, I’m not making you and I wont be upset if you don’t, its still in the early stages of being.

I told this same thing to ex-boyfriend number one three days ago. He thought it was a fabulous idea but his only hobby is having sex. Having really rough sex, the nasty bitch.

“I like when I get pushed against the wall and shit.”

“That’s really weird,” I tell him.

“Is it?”

“Yeah. I can just imagine your boyfriend coming home ‘Hi Honey’ and he bashes your head against the wall. ‘Hi sweetie how was work?’”  

He doesn’t answer me, maybe because he knows I'm right.

Two days later I went to Walmart to buy dog treats and a toy for my baby girl pug, Cinnamon. Outside there were two cars parked in the fire line and in the drivers seat… two old men. The fire line has a sign that clearly says NO PARKING ANYTIME.

This isn’t a pick up lane idiot and you can wait, like the rest of us, in the parking lot. I don’t care if you have a Cadillac or a Mini-Van because, to me, they’re ugly as shit.

Halloween: A One Night Stand

Janet Leigh once said, “Everyone’s entitled to one good scare on Halloween,” to her own daughter, Jamie Lee, in their third movie together called Halloween: H20. Halloween has got to be one of the greatest holidays in the world. And if you don’t count it as a holiday fuck you, I mean, you get to dress like a complete fool, or slut for some of you women or men, for a whole day and no one can make fun of you.

I always plan ahead for Halloween, I know what I’m wearing, where I’m wearing it to and who’s going with me at least a whole month before. It just so happens that this Halloween, I was late. I ordered my costume a week before Halloween, I had no clue what I was doing or who I was going with. I knew what I wanted to be though and if I can say, this costume was stunning.

I was literally a one night stand. Literally a foam, pullover nightstand with a matching black velvet lampshade hat. I was a shoe in for Best Costume, which we’ll get to soon. It was, this is great, aDRAWable. 

My mother was invited to host a bartending event for the local Rheumatoid Arthritis Foundation Thursday night. She invited her whole hospital, some friends, and me. It was held at a restaurant overlooking the ocean and all of the proceeds went to this foundation. It was fabulous and my costume brought stares, laughs and the line, “Are you supposed to be a dresser?” to which I answered, “No a one night stand,” and waited for the laughter.

The bartending event was a competition, Men Vs. Women, with local “celebrities” like the city’s fire chief (dressed as Dirk Diggler from Boogie Nights), a doctor (dressed as a pirate) and my mother’s boss (who used makeup to create a mouth splitting open.)

The fundraiser only lasted three hours, with the men winning, which I thought was unfair because they used their sex appeal, their shirts were open and Dirk himself used… well you know, and if you don’t Google it.

Friday night, Halloween, found my mother and I sitting outside our driveway handing out candy to ungrateful little brats. I didn’t wear my costume, afraid I would scare the innocence away from the kids, so I wore an alter ego, a man named Kip Kipper who stands for feminism and that’s all. “I need feminism because… I’m not sure why.”

Three hours in, the kids were unstop and dressed like Elsa from Frozen (gee real original mom and dad), when this asshole kid comes up riding a scooter. A SCOOTER. He wasn’t in a costume either. He jumped off his scooter and asked, “Got any candy left?”

Um, excuse me what happened to Trick or Treat? Or “Hey bitch where’s my candy at?” This asshole kid, I was so upset, I said, “No.” He hopped on his scooter and rode away.

I was so upset I ate six Snickers candy bars when I promised myself only two.

That night, after that asshole kid left, my mother and I went to a bar with a few of her friends. It was the only place that had a costume contest, which I was extremely excited about. We sat around, my mother (dressed as a woman with huge boobs and matching ass), her blonde, skinny friend (dressed as a police woman) and her other blonde, skinny friend (dressed as a witch) and waited. They had their drinks, I had mine, a Shirley Temple when a man came up to us. He was dressed as an Indian, with no shirt on and washboard abs, so I’ll call him Chief Rainwater mainly because his matching headpiece was blue. He made a pass to the witch first who denied him and he then moved on to the policewoman. I overheard their conversation and will put it verbatim for you all:

“Wanna see my totem pole?”

“Only if it has an owl on top of it.”

“Its gonna have you on top of it,” rainwater said.

“And you’re gonna get me another drink,” policewoman said.

He nodded and left.

“All right well I had fun. I’ll see you all later?” she said, gathered her stuff and left the bar.

Funny thing was Chief Rainwater never returned with a drink. I lost the costume contest to some bitch wearing a Hooters girl outfit. Funny thing with that was it was a man and he had better nipples than I did.

This Town of Mine

This town of mine, this small town of mine where the lights turn off in Walmart and everyone thinks it’s the second coming, may actually kill me. The snowbirds, the old people who live up north for six months and Florida for the rest of the year, for those of you who don’t know, are back. They are back and still don’t know how to drive, park or how to act in public.

Just this morning I went to Walmart to pick up dog food and soda, both main staples in my house, and nearly got run over by a golf cart. A fucking golf cart that was parked in the handicap space. Are you kidding me? This asshole drove a fucking golf cart to Walmart, parked it in a fucking handicap space then decided to back out without looking behind him.

I’m not one to get angry very quickly, but this asshole disproved that. Like could he not see me? I’m not hard to miss. Inside, which, like the outside, was full of old people who don’t know how to use shopping carts (and if you call them buggy’s I hate you) and me, politely saying “Excuse me” and “Can I squeeze by you real quick?” when inside my mind I was screaming “Move you old bitch” and “When will you die? You have four oxygen tanks, three different bags filled to the brim with pills and a wife who only wants you for your life insurance money.”

I have my Walmart routine, which I exercise to the T. I head to the back of the store first, where the books and movies are, and then head to the food section where I start in the back and move my way up (My aunt is still amazed at our Walmart. She always says, “Its amazing that I can buy a thong and chicken all under the same store.”)

I don’t spend much time in the food section (Does it look like I need anymore food?) and usually only go to the soda and ice cream aisle. It was in the middle of the ice cream aisle, the one section closest to the registers, that three people,who were together, each with their own shopping cart, STOPPED IN THE MIDDLE OF THE AISLE. Do you know how much this pissed me off?! Stopped right in the middle of the fucking aisle so no one could pass. We all had to wait for these assholes to finish picking which fucking sherbet they wanted.

Why did they each need their own shopping cart?! The best thing, the thing that pushed me over the edge, was when I asked them to move over to the side so we can get through.

“Can’t you go through another aisle?”

This bitch. Miss High and Mighty, Miss “I’m from Maine.” Miss “I drive a Cadillac.”

“No I can’t. I wanted this aisle and I would’ve been out of your hair quicker if you didn’t block the walkway.”

She didn’t answer me, but you better believe she moved her shopping cart out of the way.

The Halloween Party: Part Deux

Last week on The Homo Whisperer: we were invited to my ex-boyfriends Halloween party. He left to have sex with some asshole that bears resemblance to Him from The PowerPuff Girls. When he came back to the party he was with someone else… someone no one knew.

“Well this is a happening party,” the stranger asked. He came inside and stood behind ex-boyfriend number one. “Where is everyone?”

“They left,” I said.

“Yeah cause this party sucks,” one of the hooligans said.

We all looked over at him, like who was this asshole, he was even eating store brand Mac and Cheese… nasty.

You have to understand, it’s late. It’s about one in the morning. The stranger, knowing his way around ex-boyfriends house even better than I did, got what little party started. He sat with the hooligans, he obviously knew them from somewhere. BFF and I stayed back and watched and wondered.

“Who is that? Is that a new boyfriend? Then what about…” I asked.

She shrugged her shoulders. “I’m not sure but I’m probably going to leave soon.”

I nodded and watched ex-boyfriend bring out the booze. Oh boy. Ex boyfriend and booze never match; it was one of the reasons why we broke up. Another reason is his “I fucked you” list, which included: a druggie, a guy who wanted to blow up the school, another druggie, another druggie, some asshole who didn’t laugh at my jokes and a dancer. “Okay he’s bringing out the booze. Its time to go. I’ll call you tomorrow?” I say, standing up and walking over to BFF.

She nods and stands. “I’m just gonna say bye real quick.”

I walk outside and wait for her and I’m standing by my car when she comes out, yelling at her brother, my ex boyfriend, who is walking out after her.

“You can’t leave. I promised mom someone smart would stay and watch over us,” he pleaded.

“I’m not staying. I’m tired and I have work tomorrow,” she says.

“But this is your house.”

“I understand that but I don’t want to be around with you drinking,” she says. She steps up to me. “Maybe Joe will stay?”

I shake my head no. “I would’ve stayed if you never left.”

“I had to pick up that asshole…”

“Pick up not fuck some asshole,” I say. “Who is that anyway?”

“This guy I’m going after,” he tells me.

“That’s disgusting. You’re probably not going to tell him about your quickie are you?”

He doesn’t answer.

By now, BFF got into her car and drove away.

“Is she mad?” he asked.

“You lied to us. That’s what pissed us off. You did it during our relationship and you’ll do it during this one too.”

“If it comes to that.”

“I’m going home. It was a great party. Don’t get in trouble.” And I drove away.

I guess he got in some trouble because, the next morning, a hooligan was found on the porch with no pants on and the three other party guests only blamed one other person. Ex boyfriend number one is grounded from having parties until Christmas.

Three days ago I got the phone call from Macy’s. I work the weekend, eleven to four. I guess I’m not fired after all.

The Halloween Party: Part Un

Two nights ago I was invited to my ex-boyfriends house for his annual Halloween costume party. I was embarrassed to go because my costume hasn’t come in yet so I decided, after careful consideration, that I would go as the Anti-Joe. But then that would mean that I would have to be nice for the night so I decided against that. At the last minute I decided to be a muggle. Clever right?

I was promised a party of thirty, candy, drinks, fun and music. I got a party of five, no candy, water, some fun and no music. I blame ex-boyfriend for most of this, I mean, who has a party that starts at ten? Us normal adults have a life. But I couldn’t just leave cause that would be rude. I waited with BFF and Minnie Mouse, a friend from ex-boyfriends working place, when ex-boyfriend said he was gonna go into town to pick up other partygoers. We said hurry back because, at that time, a pair of hooligans came in.

These hooligans were eighteen, blonde, surfed and hated high school. They prayed for the day when they get to leave this small town and head to college. Oh and they smoked cigars, when we told them not to, and were full of sass. When I was eighteen I was crying on the shoulder of BFF about the college I wanted to go to. To this day I still cry about the college I go to.

We waited for about two hours, with no new people, when one of the hooligans, dressed as the devil, decided to call his friend who, to our belief, was with my ex-boyfriend on their way to the party.

“Hey where are you guys? Wait… did he just say ‘I’m gonna come?’” the devil said.

I looked at Minnie, Minnie looked at BFF and BFF looked at me with her mouth open. The devil looked at his friend, dressed as Cheech, and started laughing. “I called them in the middle of sex?!”

“That fucking asshole left us to go have sex?” I asked. I couldn’t wrap my head around this statement. Let me tell you something about ex-boyfriend number one, he doesn’t have relationships he has sextionships. He believes sex BEFORE the first date will tell him how the relationship will last.

This got the party pissed, all four of us, and we were ready to leave. Like who leaves his own party to go have sex? It’s rude, inconsiderate, and, quite frankly nasty. I mean the person he even slept with ISNT EVEN GOOD LOOKING. If you picture Him from The PowerPuff Girls, you'll get a good sense of what this fudge packer looks like. 

We waited another twenty minutes, by now Minnie left and the hooligans were under BFF’s watching eyes. I came back from the kitchen, I decided to make some kind of food for the left over partygoers, when she said, “I think they’re forming a coo.”

I was going to answer her when ex-boyfriend came inside, sweaty, wearing a plaid shirt and jeans.

“How was your trip to Brokeback Mountain?” I asked.

He laughed and brushed it off. “My GPS was broken.”

“We know where you were.” BFF said to her brother.

“Guys… please don’t say anything to him,” ex-boyfriend pleaded.

“To who?” I asked.

And in he came, but not the Him I was talking about before. In came this other kid. A kid both BFF and I didn’t know. Which lead to one question, “How many is too many?”

My First Day

Early Monday morning I started work. And I'm talking early, like eight in the morning, I just rolled out of bed "Is the president still black?" early. The early only high school students would now as they walk back into their house from a night of partying. I took my shower, steaming hot because I read somewhere that the steam exfoliates the skin, dressed, in my black collared shirt and matching black pants and left my house at ten sharp.

I was supposed to start at eleven, I say supposed to because at ten thirty I made a complete fool of myself. I walked into the Macy's Executive Office, the office where the manager's work and shit, looking and feeling like hot shit. I had my hair done, my outfit was on point and I was the new recovery specialist. Or so I thought.

"Recovery specialist?" one of the managers asks.
I nod my head. "That's what I was told?"
"Well, that person lied to you. We don't have recovery specialists," she says.
In my mind I thought, Of course you fucking don't. Just my luck the job I finally got doesn't even exist.
"We have recovery associates."
"That sounds good," I say like I was picking out a couch instead of talking to my new manager.
"Okay come with me," she says as she leads me to the back room that is lined with computers and the classic "YOU CAN DO IT" posters.

"Do you have your papers?" she asks.
"My what?"
"Your papers. The ones you need to start?"
Of fucking course. The bitch that called me told me the wrong fucking job and told me NOTHING about papers.
"I didn't... know... I needed papers."
"Well you can't start without those papers. Wanna head home and grab them real quick?"

On the drive home I wondered who embarrasses themselves twice in the matter of seconds? Twice! I thought this job is already killing me, I mean it took me four weeks to find a black vest under sixty dollars, and I only worked one day.

The rest of the day went by, flew by actually. Whoever said, "Time flies when you're having fun" was wrong. Time flies when you sit and stare at a computer screen for six hours watching training videos. I finished at three forty-three and the woman who led me to the back computer room of hell said, "Okay. Great looks like everything is in order. We'll call you when we get your schedule finalized."
"My schedule?"
"Yes. Your manager is on vacation this week."
"Okay... So I'll just wait for your call?" I ask.
She nods. "Yep."

It's been three days. I still haven't gotten a phone call. I wondered, "Who the fuck gets fired at orientation?"