The ladder part of last week and this week have been like a trip, a mind fuck if you will. All summer I have been blessed to have a full dance card. In between filmings, writing gigs, broadcasting, puppets, and other funskis my rent has managed to pay itself. Not to mention I got an "A" in my writing class, thanks for asking. But lately I have been feeling "BLAH!"
Sunday things came to a crazy head. I ended up getting into a fight with an angry teenager on twitter. He reminded me I left my ex for my puppets in his fit of rage. Nevermind he was stewing in cyberspace and I said something snarky. I guess he wanted to stew alone, and made the mistake of stewing on cyberspace and I should have left the kid alone to stew. Of course I didn't know it was a kid. You get everyone on twitter. One minute he is dropping the "c" bomb. The next minute he is whining about how he doesn't want to go back to school. It's all teen angst, but now it is live on the internet. In my day we just closed the door, put on Nine Inch Nails, and emoted alone.
As he was yelling and screaming, part of me wanted to tell him it was going to be alright. Then I remember feeling like I wanted to jump out a window myself. I wanted to rant online about all the shit that was going wrong. But then I remembered when you are young you feel angry, when you are old, you do not care. When you are young you want to shoot a bunch of people and then yourself. But then when you are old, you remember a gun costs money and there is rent to be paid. Basically, you give up on being angsty.Instead I just let the feud die. No use fighting with a kid. Plus at least he was still spunky enough to be angsty.
Of course, as I was in this blah the inner-bully began kicking my ass. It told me my dreams didn't matter. That I was worthless. I might as well get some guy to knock me up, have kids, and drop the ambition I had because I wasn't getting any younger. I began to feel I wasted the last decade of my life, like a failure. Why do what I am supposed to do? That is when a case of the Fuck It's really kicked in. Fuck it all. Fuck every bit of it. Stay in bed, watch Murder She Wrote on Netflix, and never invite Angela Lansbury to a party.
My inner-bully always has the voice of my ex-fiance, the one who forced me to give up the puppets. When it doesn't have that voice, it has the voice of my second grade teacher. Looking back, I think she had borderline personality disorder, and was a sick woman not evil. But she made it her business to bully me, and when she would yell at me, because I would tune off during math she would scream. I would become so terrified I would hide from her in the bathroom. Then she would bribe me with a sticker so I wouldn't tell my mother because this is what adult abusers do. Needless to say, when I began vomiting on the regular and had "frequent" health problems that would keep me out of school my mother grew suspicious. After seeing crazy in action and threatening to sue the school, I switched classes. Still, the bitch made me feel doomed to die alone in a government funded SRO with six cats, welfare, and no future. FUCK HER!
Monday came and I felt angsty myself. I figured shit must be catching. So I called a friend and bitched my head off. She said, "What are you going to do about it?"
I thought....What would Chacho do if he were here? Yes, my dearly departed friend who was the gay version of me. The one who wore Louis Vuitton despite being homeless and carried a Gucci bag. Sure he could have cashed those clothes in and gotten a room. Alas, they were his only worldly possessions. For some reason, Chacho had been on my mind as of late. You see, the anniversary of his death is in October. His birthday was in February. Who knows? Perhaps his spirit was around me for some odd reason. Maybe it was because despite the fact he was always in some sort of trouble, I always got a kick out of him. Whether he was lying to his case worker, misusing his benefit money for black market plastic surgery, or picking up some stranger for sex in a public restroom he would tell me all about it. In his own way, maybe he lied to everyone else but Chacho was always honest with me.
And I don't like to say he broke the law by selling drugs and occasionally stealing, he only obeyed the ones he liked.
Chacho's immortal words echoed through my mind, "Stop looking so broke and poor when you come to see me. Or else I will have to give you my change." And with that, he threw a few pennies at me. For the record, pennies are hard when they are hurled at you. Yes, in case you are wondering this was when he was hospitalized after a botox and tummy tuck gone wrong from his shady plastic surgeon.
That is when I got into the shower. Then I dried my hair. After which I threw on a dress and put on some makeup. Even if I felt like shit I was going to rock this shit out like a mutherfucker. It's what my dead friend's spirit would have wanted. Hell, it's the ball child theme song. It's Paris is Burning. So what we are homeless, our families disown us, and we have to steal to eat? We are still rocking Chanel, bitch.
I then remembered the song from Hedwig, "I put on some makeup...." Yes, after poor Hedwig is thrown out by her soldier boyfriend. I cannot remember if this was before or after the botched sex change. Immediately I felt better though. I didn't feel like a loser. Instead, I was just embracing where I was.
Sure, I was feeling some stress. I am approaching new frontiers with my writing, comedy, acting, puppeteering and all that happy stuff. I am working with a manager, which has been wonderful, although taking direction has been kind of scary after having been on my own for so long. I am trying to date again, which makes me feel like I have a horn in the middle of my forehead. But the thing is, I am experiencing change. I am taking the right steps. Instead of parking my ass in self-pity, I should just drive my car into acceptance and action. Sure, I have things I need to do if I want a writing career and to keep my followers hooked. Sure, I have things I need to do if I want to do comedy. Sure, a big cabaret venue wants me back again. I have to do shit. Not an elf. Me, I need to do it.
So I left my damn house and saw some friends of mine drinking coffee and smoking some cigarettes. I don't smoke, they do. Either way, we talked about the whole dating thing and laughed about it. Within seconds I felt better. Then I went on to get a snow cone, and went to the house of some other friends of mine. Of course the one had a dress for me. Then I discovered the dress, which another one of my friends had given to be was worn by the daughter of Geraldine Paige and was a Betsey Johnson. Shit, I delivered a singing telegram to Betsey Johnson.
Then like clockwork some of our gay boys arrived (Instead of Amen I will say Gaymen), and we talked about boys, boys, boys. And we laughed. And we gossiped. And we laughed and gossiped about who was on the in, the out, and which of my gay boys got laid. Wowa. As I laughed the malaise was lifted. I didn't feel so worthless. Fuck the ex-fiance and fuck the second grade teacher. Most of all, fuck my fucking inner-bully.
In spending the night with my friends, too, I got to realize sometimes when things get hard I make the mistake of shutting them out. That's why you have friends, to laugh. Yeah, my friends are all crazy. Most are creative and out of their minds. Some have worked or made gay porn movies. Others have dated fetish models. Some have done copious amounts of drugs, others have sold drugs. Some have tested the law and won, others tested the law and lost. Many have strong political opinions, some right and some left. Their love lives read like soap operas, and mostly we are all the cause of our own drama. Yet the world turns and the sands of the hour glass make the real life Days of Our Lives mixed with Seinfeld and Friends worth it.
Not to mention my buddies have always been there when times were rough, and the cards were done. They loved me at the times I was successful, at times I wasn't, and at times when I was just in the middle. They also tell me like it is, and remind me not to take myself so seriously. Bottom line, maybe my friends are all nuts. And some people might judge them, or me for having them. Truth: They should be so lucky to have people as good and as loyal as them in their lives. End of story. Sure, at times I didn't have much I said I had my friends. To some that might seem like a cop out. However, if they knew my friends they would see that the love these people have given me during my dark days, and I have had many, cannot be measured in Earthly weight.
Today I also realized I had a lot of good people around me too. There is my female trainer friend who corrected my lifting technique. There is my mom, who takes the cake. There is the new manager I am working with who is guiding me, giving me direction, and opening doors for me that I couldn't open myself. There is my acting coach who is guiding my career, and helping me get my shit together in a way I never have had. And alas, there is my super Spooky Juice who has been away for a week building houses in Haiti. Yes, he abducted me briefly to shove his tongue down my throat. But he is thoughtful in his own, bizarre, spooky way hence the name.
Bottom line, sometimes when you are swimming in your own shit, the answer is not to continue swimming in shit. The answer is to leave your damn house. The world is not in your head or your room. The world is outside. Nothing is as good as you think it is. Nothing is as bad as you think it is. Throw your problems in the middle of the room, and then see what everyone else has. You will probably scramble to get yours back.
Hopefully my little angst ridden friend is feeling better today. Because when you put on some makeup, it doesn't just get better, it gets a lot better.
Chacho, maybe you were crazy but you knew a thing or two in between your drug filled sex benders. Thank you for sending your spirit to put me in the right frame of mind. And thank you to all my spirited friends living in helping with the effort.
