Before we begin this episode, we have to briefly go back to my Oscar party, because I forgot to write how funny it was.
"Is Kim Novak presenting 'Frozen' because her face is that way?"
"Why is Zac Efron famous?" - from one of the three heterosexual males who was in the group. The women and gays booed him mercilessly.
"You would rather have sex with Anne Hathaway than Daniel Craig? That somehow makes you really gay."
I was behaving myself until the announcer said, "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Charlize Theron and Chris Hemsworth."
Then I turned into an eight-year-old with Tourette's Syndrome.
GOD DAMMIT SHIT FUCK!!!
"Jacob!" my mother yelled. "I am going to start having a swear jar in this house!"
"Why do you swear so much at Chris Hemsworth?" Joey asked.
I didn't have the heart to tell a crowded room why. We'll go with Tourette's. That is perfectly reasonable. And let's be realistic. It's not like Chris Hemsworth reminds me of anybody.
God dammit.
***
My life always goes to shit in April. I am not saying this to get sympathy. I am blessed. I have loving family and friends, a job with health insurance that I don't entirely suck at, my feet firmly planted into the Minneapolis comedy scene, a 28-inch waist*, the entire series of Roseanne on DVD, and a plethora of eye candy at my disposal.
(*I hate myself for that because I just wrote on the TelevisionWithoutPity.com forums that it bugged the hell out of me on RuPaul's Drag Race when Kelly Mantle bragged about her 28-inch waist. Here we are)
But the fact that April hates me remains. Before I go into details, let me recount the years so you know I'm not just saying this.
2000: Hospitalized for depression
2007: Firm in my realization that I am leaving UW-Stout, my brother informs me that I have been accepted at CUNY Brooklyn College. I have been depressed and numb for the past nine months, so it's like I'm not even there when my father accompanies me on the plane ride and we stay at a Howard Johnson in the ghetto. I apply for Creative Writing as my major and I roll my eyes at the man who goes over my prospective first classes with me.
2008: I drop out of CUNY Brooklyn College, to the surprise of absolutely no one, especially my father and mother, who discouraged me from going and staying, respectively.
2011: I get called a faggot on a party bus for my friend Kristen's birthday and subsequently break my nose at The Saloon when I fall off the whorebox. I wrote about it here.
2013: You were there. That puke stain never really went away, by the way.
But April did have some sunny spots. We'll talk about the end of March first, though.
