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?"

"Interrupting the Band": A National Scandal

This weekend I learned two things: it’s almost impossible to find a black vest for under sixty dollars and when you give my mother five Captain Morgan’s she flirts with the bartenders and makes a complete fool of herself.

We’ll start from the beginning. I called Macy’s three days before I started because I wanted to know if I could wear colored collared shirts. They said sure only if you wear something black over it. Okay so I got to thinking about vest, jackets or coats. It’s way too hot for a jacket or coat and I didn’t want to look like an idiot. I thought the only way I would wear a jacket or coat was if I was working in the New York City Macy’s. I remembered that my fashion icon Carrie Bradshaw wore a white vest with pants so thought why couldn’t I wear a black vest with pants.

I went to Goodwill’s all over fucking town and found nothing! And to add more embarrassment I couldn’t fit into an extra large vest! I wanted to cry. I couldn’t fit in an extra large vest!!!!

That night, in order to get out of my “I’m too fat for an extra large” slump, my mother and I went out to dinner. She invited her friends, well, the ones who answered her. It was at the restaurant that she had her first two drinks- a Captain Morgan and Diet Coke. We met up with her friend from work, a Russian. We got our food, talked about Halloween costumes (praying I don’t work because my costume is absolutely fabulous!) when the Russian looked around for someone who was smoking because she forgot her lighter at her place.

I noticed that the lead singer was a smoker, after every bad rendition of an eighty’s song he took a cigarette break, so I told the Russian to “Interrupt the band and ask for a light.”

“I can’t do that,” she said with her thick Russian accent.

“Why not? It’ll cause like a national scandal,” I tell her.

She shakes her head no.

“Hey this is a good song and you’re doing a real good job but I need a light.”

Still no.

My mom suggested that we head over to the hotel behind the restaurant because they have Saturday night black-light parties. I mean, what else do you do with your kids? The black-light party was on the rooftop, complete with DJ and a bachelorette party. This is where my mother had three drinks- again, Captain Morgan and Diet Coke. The Russian had three beers and I had a Shirley Temple.

You don’t know how much you want to kill yourself until you see your mother and her friend line dancing to Ke$ha with a bartender from New York. It was when my mother started hitting on an older man that I knew it was time to go home.

“Can you imagine sleeping with someone from Canada?” she asked me in the car.

“No I can’t.”

“They’ll probably be like Oh, Oh, Oh, Sorry. Thanks.”

“When they climax they’ll be like ‘Oh CANADAAAAA’,” I say.

Oh and the next day I found a vest. A black sweater vest from Dillard’s that cost me eleven dollars.

Attack of the Virus

Can you fucking believe I got a virus! Yes a virus! I was checking the blog, thinking about one-liners about my high school and the people in it, normal, when my computer froze. I nearly fainted. I couldn’t move my mouse, I couldn’t log out or shut down and I couldn’t force quit. The screen that came up yelled YOUR INTERNET HAS BEEN BLOCKED. YOUR INFORMATION HAS BEEN SENT TO THE POLICE AND FBI FOR CHECKING.

Oh boy. The lock screen I was on, well locked on, said that this could’ve been for numerous reasons, most likely I was browsing pornographic sites. I wondered if they count my blog as pornographic. I mean I write about sex, but not in detail. Anyway, this screen terrified me. It said I had twelve hours to pay a six hundred dollar fine so my Internet can be unlocked. Six hundred dollars are you kidding?

So I went to the Internet, not on my computer obviously, but in my iPad. So I browsed and found four sites that basically said the same thing, THIS IS A SCAM. DO NOT PAY. Well now I’m confused, I mean this was the FBI. I could be fined a hundred thousand dollars and imprisoned for six years, or so my locked screen told me.

So I went to the only place I thought I could go: the Apple Help center. And boy did they help me. They said to go to my spotlight, on the right hand screen, and type in safari and hit the folder not the app. Okay easy enough. Then erase all of your history, all of it, and then head back to the folder app and click on a bookmark. That should lead you to a clean safari page and you can rest your safari back to factory settings.

Thank god it worked. I spent the last few hours wondering who could do this and I blame the gays. I make one joke about them and they take control of my Internet. I was shocked I didn’t get a purse full of dead birds wearing last year’s cashmere scarfs.

You can bet, tomorrow, I'm heading to the nearest store to get anti virus protection shit. Bastards thinking they can control my Internet…

You wanna hear that one-liner now? Too bad I’m gonna say it anyway.

Our school is so gay we’re called the bottom eaters. Our mascot should be a crab, mainly because most of us have it and because its a bottom feeder.... Okay I'm still working on them. 

Lip Singing my Way Through High School

Tonight I went back to high school. I cam rushing back, actually, because tonight was LipSync, a competition held between classes and clubs where they lip sung a song, or a couple of songs stitched together, to create a story. As the sets were changed, the Emcee’s performed sketches, on par with SNL themselves. I also had to come running back because, see, I was an Emcee my senior year and I have to make sure the new kids are keeping up with our legacy.

Can I be a little narcissistic? A little selfish, maybe borderline, douche bag? I’m going to do it anyway. The skits I performed where a little funnier because we made fun of ourselves, and a few teachers. I performed a skit with a bear, not getting into details about the girl who carried this bear around, and we sang “A Whole New World”, horribly of course. Everyone loved it, they were laughing for days and days. It was so good I could’ve gotten the Oscar.

So anyway, LipSync, was fabulous. The classes and clubs were great, the sets were great, the costumes, the lip singing was a little off but who cares. Two stood out to me; the GUTS club and the sophomores. The GUTS club is a club for the gays, to “accept acceptance” whatever. I told my friend, prom date, that “You could literally see the rainbows coming out of their asses,” and that “This is the most movement from a woman these gays have ever seen.” I only liked the sophomores because they had a boy, dancing in the front, to Ariana Grande. I told prom date, “He’s so good we should call him Ariana Pequeno.”

I talk a lot about high school I know. Its just seeing my babies, the ones who were little itty-bitty freshman three years ago, on stage making people laugh, on stage dancing, or acting, makes me cry. I feel like I birthed them, like I’m the mama bird watching them fly. Don’t even get me started about them applying to college. Just tonight I watched as one of them got into her car, I cried for twenty minutes, I also wasn’t that sexually aroused since Les Mis at the Oscars.

Again, borderline douche, everyone, at the end of the show, came up to me. “Joe?” “Is that Joe Russo?”

“Hey fag face get your ass over here.”

“Okay Mrs. Waters.”

The only problem I had tonight was that asshole at the door, taking tickets. “Hi I’ll buy two please.”

“Two? That’ll be fourteen dollars,” he said.

“Fourteen? I’m an alum and past Emcee I should get in for free,” I told him.

“That’s nice. Fourteen.”

“Well I only have ten?”

“Then you can only buy one… NEXT,” he took my money, handed me a ticket and I walked away with a new sense of shame. Now I know why he’s only a sub.   

"Ghosts are Sexist...?"

I was at the corner of Yankee Candle and FYE when I ran into my old friend from high school. She was with her boyfriend and I was with my mother, surprise surprise. This old friend moved to Tampa after high school to attend USF or UCF, FSU, UGT, GSYW, SHDSGD, whatever the fuck school is in Tampa.

“We’re going to see Annabelle. I read online that it got really bad reviews so I said ‘Sign me up’,” I told her.

“I would see it but I’m afraid of dolls. Especially dolls possessed by some creepy bitch,” she told me.

“How scary can it be? I would just put the doll in come cage, lock that bitch up, she can’t haunt when she’s locked in a small cage can she? Maybe drop kick the fuck out of her.”

We hugged and kissed goodbye, four times, twice on each cheek and my mother and I went to our movie. The movie was on the corner of Box Office Smash and Teenage Hideaway. We were the first ones inside; again that time thing that I always talk about. We waited…and waited… and waited… and no one was showing up. This movie came out three days ago! Was it that bad?

It was right as the lights dimmed that the horde of teenagers came in as loud as can FUCKING BE. Can we talk about teens? Cane we talk about kids? Tell me why a parent would bring their child to see a scary movie? What is the point? “Hey honey I have a great idea lets scar little Jimmy for fucking life.” How can teenage boys wear skinny jeans? Where do they put their penis? Don’t tell me its tucked under cause that shits a fucking lie. Next time look and maybe ask them where they put it cause I’m dying to know.

Actually don’t. I just realized how creepy that would be and I don’t want any of you to get arrested.

I’m not going to get into detail about the movie, it’s the same ghost story/movie shit, some bitch gets dragged, someone shouts “I want her soul,” and then a priest comes in and gets killed. Whatever. It had its small scares that worked and, in my opinion, was definitely worth watching. I called it a “Modern retelling of Rosemary’s Baby.”

Which brings us to our next point: why do demons, ghosts, the devil or a witch want only women or children? Is it some sexist thing? Is the devil some sort of feminist? Is he lacking in other areas (between the legs?)

I say the next ghost/haunting movie should go for the men. Or the gays.