Thursday, March 31, 2005
| LOOK WHO IT IS! JOE! Well Thank God! You have no idea. I was totally abducted by a raving band of lesbian transsexuals. They grabbed me while I was sitting in Central Park lambasting gender re-assignment surgery. Ok, this is going absolutely nowhere and it’s obviously a lie. I just really wanted to use the word lambasting. I’ll lambaste you mother fucker. In any case, I’m back now. It took me a little while to adjust to Ari’s departure, but I think I’m getting a grip on my new job responsibilities and the fact that I’ll be lonely during most of my days. It wouldn’t have been such a huge blow to my psyche if we hadn’t worked, conjoined at the hip, for the last four years. But alas, she had to move on and I have to sit in my own pile of steaming shit for a little while longer. Let’s see…what’s in the news? I have found a therapist that I like. Well, not really. I have found a network of therapists that I like. I get assigned to my actual therapist next week. But the organization seems really professional and I felt very comfortable while at my appointment last night. In fact, when the appointment was over, I said to the interviewer “Is it totally weird that I feel as though I’m about to cry?” Interviewer lady responds with “No Joe, it’s absolutely normal. You’re a fag and fags cry at everything.” I smiled and walked out. A very pleasant experience. The other night I watched the premiere episode of America’s British knock-off The Office. I know I’m going to get lambasted (ha) for saying this, but I thought it was absolutely hilarious. I laughed out loud like a lot of times. I KNOW that if I had just watched the British version first, I wouldn’t be into this rip-off. But you know what? British people talk like everything they have to say is SOOOOOOOOOOO classy. I mean, here’s an example: “I’m British and I like to eat crumpets while I drink my English Breakfast tea”. See? TOTALLY pretentious. Whatever Ricky Gervais, I’m sticking with the new version and I’m gonna love it until I don’t love it anymore. And that’s really that. I came up with a very interesting question the other day. Well, maybe not so much interesting as lame, but you can judge for yourself. Here it is: Why when you’re playing a game with your best friends, will you do whatever it takes to be the winner? But when you’re running for your life, you always have to stop and help the friend that’s fallen down? Not that we’re running for our lives very often (well, maybe not you), but think about it. If I’m in the middle of a “Win, Lose, or Draw” game (which I obviously play every 30 minutes of my day), I would brutally cut your face (from mouth to ear) if you don’t understand that I’m drawing a panda riding a bicycle. But if I’m running away from an avalanche, why don’t I have the same desire to win the game of life? Why would I feel compelled to die trying to save your out of shape ass? I just don’t get it. Paul thinks the question is stupid, but then again Paul’s not very good at games. On the sexy front, I was on my way to therapy yesterday and as I was exiting the subway a group of gay guys (practically doing pirouettes) spotted me and began to walk behind me. At first I thought I was just paranoid and ignored them. But when I got lost and ended up walking in a complete circle, I saw that they were still behind me. I started to get flattered, but also a little freaked out. I mean, there had to be 5 or 6 guys in the bunch. So I stopped walking and stood on the corner smoking my cigarette. They stood about 6 feet behind me talking. When I crossed the street and they followed, I had had enough. I turned around and faced them and one of the guys said “HIYEEEE!” and I burst out laughing. “HIYEEEEEE!”, I responded and ran away as fast as possible. They were like the gay posse and I was so afraid they were going to give me an impromptu makeover and teach me how to exfoliate. My blackheads were quivering in their pores. Lastly, if you missed Lost last night then shame on you. SHAME ON YOU AND YOUR WHOLE FAMILY OF SHAMERS! Last night’s episode was, in my opinion, one of the best hours of television all season. Locke’s plot line was brilliant and the acting was so good I wanted to whip out my dick and leave a pool of cum on the television screen. Best of all was the directing which kept me glued to my seat throughout the entire episode. Once in awhile Lost gets a little under my skin because there is just SO much to learn and remember. But when an episode like last night keeps everything suspenseful and fast moving, I want to change my name to Lost. Lost CuttheShit. You understand. Ok, I guess that’s it for today. Thank my dick that tomorrow’s Friday. I’m about through with pretending that I’m enjoying this week. |
Wednesday, March 30, 2005
| At Long Last! Joe CuttheShit returns tomorrow with a sexy new post. Pull your pants down and get ready for some chaffing good fun. |
Thursday, March 17, 2005
| Bye Bye Ted, Bye Bye Cool Guy When I was 11 or 12, I was obsessed with the show Hey Dude on Nickelodeon. I’m sure you remember it, but if you don’t, what the hell were you doing playing outside after school? In any case, one of the final episodes dealt with Ted (David Lascher) leaving the Dude Ranch for Summer School. At the end of the episode, Ted sat on a set of stairs, strumming his guitar, singing an original song he wrote. The part of the song that made me cry the most? “Bye bye Ted, bye bye cool guy”. Either I’m a complete loser or those were the most powerful song lyrics to ever be written. I sobbed and sobbed for hours about his departure from the show. Today I am dealing with something a little similar. Ari and I have been working side-by-side (literally) for the last 4 years. The job I work at is the first that I applied to in this big and intimidating city. Almost instantly Ari and I hit it off and have been super good friends and co-workers ever since. Our days are filled with bitchfests, jokes, celebrity gossip, and way too many smoke breaks. She is the first person I talk to in the morning and most times the last person I talk to at the end of my day. Without a doubt, I have accumulated more hours in Ari’s presence than Paul and I have ever known. On September 11th, 2001, it was Ari who grabbed my crying ass and took me back to her apartment. It was she that fed me pot and wiped my tears and told me that “everything would be alright”. It was Ari who took me under her wing and made sure that we would all be ok. During the big blackout of 2003, it was Ari who grabbed my confused ass and took me back to her apartment. It was there that we got trashed together, running around like crazy people, and waiting until we would figure out why half of the Northeastern United States was pitch black. It has always been Ari looking out for Joe and now I don’t know what I’ll do without that security. Ari and I began our journals at the exact same time, under the guidance of one Miss Rita Lovely. Our journals have been connected at the hip ever since. Ari has taught me how to stand up for myself at my job. It was Ari that has encouraged me to be stronger and more capable of living a happy and successful life in NYC. It’s been Ari being the big sis, the best friend, the confidant, and the yang to my sometimes pessimistic, self-defaming ying. It’s very hard to put into words how sad and lost I feel with her leaving me. Of course we’ll remain friends and of course this change in occupation doesn’t diminish anything that we’ve shared over the last 4 years. But when I think about not seeing her every day, not having her sitting two feet away from me, I get this heavy feeling in my chest; a feeling that makes me more upset than could be explained. My twin is leaving me. When I started this job, I never expected to be here this long. I always thought that it was going to be a blip on my radar. But it’s turned into so much more than that. It’s become the place where I’ve grown into who I am. It’s become the place that gave me one of the closest friends I’ve ever had in my life. It’s the place that is currently breaking my heart. I love Ari. It’s one of those loves that comes around so rarely that you must hold on to it with every fiber in your being. I have always felt very protective of Ari and I’ve always tried to be the friend to her that I know she needs. But now she’s leaving my grasp and moving on to bigger and much better opportunities; opportunities that will effectually move her into the next phase of her life. My hope and goal is to remain as much a part of those experiences as I can. Ari and I may not be able to sit and gab for 8 hours a day anymore, but we will certainly be taking part in more happy hours and many more home visits. I’m trying so hard to be strong with this whole thing, but sometimes I feel like I just want to cry and let it out. Sometimes I feel like I want to beg her to stay, just so that I won’t be alone. Yet, it’s time to give her that final kiss on the cheek. It’s time to hug her as tight as I can and to wish her the best of luck with this new and exciting change. It’s time to let my Ari go. If only for now. |
Monday, March 14, 2005
| My Name is Boombalatty. First name, Fatty. It seems that lately I’ve been packing on the pounds. I was at a birthday party on Friday night and one of my friends said “I love how his jaw (referring to a movie star) is so square and cut.” I responded with, “Well what about MY jaw?” My friend looked down and then to the left and said “No, like a square jaw”. I about shit myself with humiliation. I have had a defined jaw line for years. But now, my jaw line has become jowls filled with greasy, cheese pizza. I’m so on a diet. I only eat frozen yogurt now instead of ice cream and I’m not going to eat any candy before bed unless it’s totally sugar free and tastes like shit. The pizza I had for lunch today was purely out of necessity, since I left my fat free bologna sammich at home. I don’t want to be fat. I’m already gay…do I have to be fat too? This week I have plans to see an old fling of mine. He still has pretty hard-core feelings for me, so I try not to see him too often. But it’s been months and he’s been so patient about not seeing me, so…Friday it is! I’m sure I will behave myself, but the more important thing is…will he think I’m fat? What if I show up and he’s like “BOO DAMN! What you been eaten?!?” I have a boyfriend, but I still want every other guy on the planet to think I’m the cat’s pajamas. This is my test for Friday. If my fling doesn’t want me, I’m totally getting my stomach stapled. I also have to find a really hot outfit to wear. I find that the right clothes can cover up the wrong parts of one’s body. I really hope I don’t have to go out and buy some new clothes. That’s the sure fire way to figure out if you’ve gained too much weight. I guess the other way to find out is to go to the doctor. At my last physical he said that I gained 7 pounds since a year ago. That’s not a huge difference, but on me it is. My stomach is totally taking a nap on my desk. My name is Joe. And I’m a fat monster. |
Thursday, March 03, 2005
| What Could It Possibly Mean? I had the absolute strangest dream last night. It began with me watching television at my parent’s house in Albany. Both my mom and dad were there and our little dachshund, Bismark, was running around the living room as crazily as he usually does. At the commercial break, I ran upstairs to get something out of my bag. When I opened my bedroom door, I found my two year old son taking a nap on my bed. I didn’t know I had a son until I opened the door, but when I saw him, I thought to myself “Oh my God! How could I leave him up here and forget about him?” My son was a beautiful baby and he was dressed in the most adorable Baby Gap clothing. I picked him up and was carrying him back downstairs to the living room when I suddenly realized that we were late for the carnival. I told my parents that we had to leave right away or we were going to miss the whole thing. We all walked out the front door together and appeared immediately at the carnival. (It’s funny how dreams do that…I guess the carnival was going on in my front yard all along!) At the carnival, my son ran around and played with some other kids while I watched him. I felt these overwhelming feelings of love and pride for him. He was such a lively and handsome baby and I was so happy that he was mine. After awhile of him running around, I decided it was time for us to go back to the hotel to get some sleep. Why go to a hotel and not back to my parent’s house which was clearly very close to the carnival? Beats me! So on we went to the hotel. I got him ready for bed and afterwards I let him run around in his diaper while I got things ready for bedtime. Eventually, I put my son to bed and took a seat on the couch watching him in his crib. Just as he was falling to sleep there was some loud noise coming from the room next door. My son woke up and started to cry. I picked him up and carried him with me to the next door neighbor’s room. I knocked on their door and when it opened up, J. Lo was standing there in a fancy formal gown. Her entourage was milling around and they were playing some really loud music. I tell J. Lo to “Turn the fucking music down!” and she laughs in my face and shuts the door. I pounded on the door and she opened it and I said “Turn the music down now!” She responds with “Your baby has a boner” and I looked down and my baby totally had a little baby boner. It was the sickest and most embarrassing thing ever. J. Lo and her lame-o friends laughed at me and my baby and shut the door again. As I started to walk back to my room, I saw that there was some left over room service food sitting in front of J. Lo’s door. There was half of a rotisserie chicken and some collared greens or some shit. And then I got the best idea ever. I put my baby down, picked up the chicken and knocked on the door again. When J to the L.O. opened it up, I took the chicken and threw it at her. She screamed as it hit her in the stomach and got grease and chicken bits all over her fancy gown. I burst out laughing in her face, grabbed my baby by the hand and we ran back to our room. Once we were safely inside, I told my baby to hide because I was afraid that J. Lo’s entourage would come and kill us. Within minutes, there was pounding on the door. My heart leapt into my throat and I held the door closed shut with the weight of my body. My baby hid and I prayed that they wouldn’t get into the room. Then I woke up. |
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
| My First Jewish Funeral Today has been an incredibly sad day. My friend and co-worker lost her father to lung cancer early this morning. He was diagnosed in November and four months later he lost the battle. I feel terribly heart broken even though I’ve only met the man once. My co-worker gave the most touching and memorable speech at the funeral. Her words will stick with me for the rest of my life, while her tears and strength will forever be an inspiration to me. As soon as the funeral was over, I called my mom just to say that I loved her. I tell her that every day, but today the words carry a much stronger meaning. I feel empty right now. Count your blessings and I will do the same. Life is so short and fragile. (big sigh) |
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
Noreaster my Butthole
I was specifically told by my local weather men that there was a huge Noreaster blowing into town yesterday. I spent much of the day online, tracking the storm, wishing and praying that the University at which I work would shut down for the day. I watched both the 6 o’clock and 11 o’clock news in hopes that I would see my school’s name scroll across the television screen. No such luck, but my ever trusty news people told me to wake up bright and early for any updated closings.
I had such a hard time sleeping last night as I thought about the possibilities of what to do with my snow day. Paul tossed and turned and I stared at the ceiling fantasizing about a Tuesday all to myself. I could make a nice breakfast, watch Ellen, check in on Jerry Springer, jerk off 30 or 60 times, and maybe even look up some audition information on the computer.
Promptly at 6:30am, my inner clock went off and I jumped out of bed to have a cigarette. I sat in front of the news with my nuts crossed for good luck.
N O T H I N G about my school showed up.
I stamped out my cigarette and went back to bed. Around 7:45am, I got back up and lit my second cigarette of the morning. The grand total of closed schools and universities in the New York City area totaled 379. Was mine closed? FUCK NO!
As I sat on the toilet taking my morning dump, I thought back on the days when I was in college, located in Upstate New York. Not only were snow days common there, they were expected. We would get a foreboding forecast and all of us would stay up late drinking or hanging out, knowing full well that classes would be cancelled the following day. We would all wake up early to check out the local news and more often than not, the schools were closed (then again we would get like 2 feet of snow an hour). My housemates would put on the coffee, I’d pack up a bowl (of marijuana, not Total you dumbys), and we’d watch as much morning television as we could stomach. Some time around noon, we would order subs or go to McDonald’s and then put in a movie. The day would be filled with card games and laughter, loud music, and absolute chaos. It was one of the best times of my life.
Now that I’m older and somewhat of an adult, we don’t get snow days like we used to and that sucks my dick head. But not in a good way. I got showered and dressed this morning lamenting my adult existence. Why have these happy, care-free days of college gone away? Why does one have to get older? Why does NYC not close down when there is a supposed Noreaster blowing our faces off? And most importantly, why am I not sitting at home, on my couch, living the life of no responsibilities luxury?
