Posts Tagged ‘Funny’

As culture goes it is very rare for gay househusbands to hang out. Maybe due to the lack of trust in their partners? Monogamy being truly tested within the househusband(s) allowing their attractive muses to leave the nest?  9/10 it’s just hysteria within their own subconscious. Insecurity when they ream “why do you have to hang out with them.. ALONE?” in a tone that deems suspicious. Assuming that us real housewives have an arterial motive of fucking on the brain. If we as a gay race are trying to delete social stereotypes. Then? We should start within our culture. I’d say.

It was a Monday morning. The weather overcast as it whispered sweet nothings to my eyes. “Sleep in sweet man. It’s your day off.” in a voice i’ll pretend was Queen Latifah.  The crust in my eyes making it uncomfortable to watch as Kathie Lee goes on yappin about the Kardashian backlash. Slightly tuned out by my wrestles neighbor upstairs and the beeping of the coffee maker. Feeling the sharp pain as falling asleep on the couch has become a real nuisance lately. I grab my phone and pick the eye boogers out while reading my texts. Neurotically rolling them in balls by fingers as suddenly it occurred to me. “FUCK.. I have my Housewives in a couple of hours.” *Flick*

Four men. All four in relationships that are fairly domesticated. Four different personalities coming as one. To well? Become friends. Dive a little deep in our social bag as such has been lacking as of late. Something I feel all wives could agree on. Just a Monday afternoon of alcohol and board games. Such a thing feeling relatively innocent as men get along socially than woman. And the excitement to meet new friends seems to be the best high at my old age. Not having many gay friends, myself, I was absolutely prepped for this adventure. Champagne….check! .. Green party favors… check!

I’m greeted at the door by V. A young native of Hawaii with incredibly attractive dark features. He’s the  Gabby of our group. Also the one who set this pow wow in flight. V voice purrs when he talks as I always think he’d make a great Catwoman. He’s delights in his charm and making one feel welcome.  Luckily for me V takes the reigns of a lot of social events too. Which makes breaking the ice with others, oh so smooth. Clearly such a strength stemming from his career as an Event Coordinator . I really am grateful I have V as a friend. He has been honest and kind always. Even during days that I may be stand-offish or physically clocked out. V with his vivaciousness  again confirms how “Good this will be for me.”.  Maybe due to my recent hermit phase? Watching as my days slip away and my history lies in purgatory.

V and I prep as we unravel our bought goodies and prepare for the other wives. Joking about our cheap champagne and what to anticipate. I decide within moments that I was going to get drunk. A luxury I rarely defied in. Not like, shit tanked where I’m foolish. But a good buzz to help butter the social anxiety I was facing. The older I get the lack of witty & engaging charm sweats from my pores. Sometimes I come off relatively distant to folks. When in reality i’m just watching. Observing while preparing to write  about you without consent 🙂

We are interrupted by a soft knock. As if knocking in code, i think as V nearly parawets to the door in childlike anticipation. Smiling as our new guest puts the Housewives meeting in order.” It’s official” i say. “Let the 1st Annual Housewives Meeting begin.” Only one more to go.

Within the cold lies Quiet J. Hair flowing from face and head in perfect sync with the wind gust. Striking blue eyes staring back with a smirk. I look down and take notice of his basket of baked goodies. Quiet J is the Bree of our group. A man who’s overall presence fascinates me as he comes off..well? quiet (Hence the nickname). Not your complete mute that would make such a presence uncomfortable. But, I relate to his actions. He watches. Observes too. Catch him on a drift and he’s passionate and witty with comments. I can only imagine that this man has lots of great stories. Perhaps, like me, it just takes awhile to hammer at his wall.

“Boys, I made some goodies,” said with a glow. V and I already eye fucking the basket while licking our chops. Assuming such goods have pheromones leaking as I prepare to spray. We make our way to the basement. Sitting in a circle as we await out last guest. Pouring mimosas and refilling while divulging in some greenery. Coughs heard in rotation as we three begin drifting in our weed fueled comma. I look around and smile. I love these guys already.

Random, funny banter coming from the mouths of 3.4 housewives as our eyes lie heavy. Relaxing as the bubbles make their way to our heads. V proudly announcing that “4 attractive gay men CAN hangout without drama”. Me silently saluting his brilliant idea of our club. Wishing that a pizza would arrive along with the 4th wife on her way.

“Hey guys.” we hear. Standing at the foot of the stairs stands J. An All-American boy with the attractive features to boot.  A smile incredibly infectious as he eyes the scene. Which I imagine is funny considering we have started without him. Feeling the buzz as I politely veer him to the champagne in offering. V being the organized one greets with the pipe. “Teamwork”! – J is the Lynette of our group. This being because out of all he has two MEN to take care of. Quite a big task I can only imagine. But most indubitably a cute trifecta of partners 🙂  . I admire people who go for what they like. No pussy footing. Love doesn’t restrict to just two individuals.  Love is something you follow when it clicks. No matter how it’s offered.

As J settles into his new settings. It occurs to me that like The Planeteers. Our group feels complete. J being the cherry on the top.  What a gift to finally get to know these men on a friendly level. Allowing myself the ability to make new friends and feel disarmed. Such a similar event seems to have occurred decades ago. We begin our gluttony by consuming in more alcohol and weed. Occasionally making the cigarette pit-stop outside. However, only lasting moments as we are pitted to war by the cold.

Hours slip by and my champagne buzz heightens. The afternoon was a complete success. Only anticlimactic as this was our first get together. I’m sure there’s a lot of barriers one goes through for full comfortable. Yet, innocent fun as board games were played and laughs were had.  Still lots to get to know, i think. As I survey the goodbyes. Sitting in the garage with lit cigarettes being smoked in a endurable manner. I effin love these guys.

“Till next time fellow Housewives!” – Susan



My finger-less gloves give me a sort of hipster meets hacker appearance. They also match my Tim Burton esq beanie.  The looks from strangers are radiating off my coffee cup. Keeping it warm I’m sure? as i pored this coffee a good couple hours ago. Nursing the straw in between keystrokes. Looking completely mysterious, i think?  My pink crotchet scarf being the final fashion cherry. I’ decided to make a statement that I”m one cool cat. I’ll sprinkle a little Mystery into the dawning of my introduction. While dressed like my fashion pioneer.  Punky Brewster.

Today starts my new adventure at the downtown Dialysis center. I decided to divorce my previous clinic for a temporary time. I think we needed a break? Whether or not that break will come to fruition.. We’ll find out?  I just needed a fresh start. Inspiration to write & being near home. Also, the downtown clinic has heated chairs. YES.. HEATED chairs. My body may lie retired in a medical clinic but my ass is on vacation. Somewhere clearly tropical. Wearing euro-trash and thanking me by form of tequila shots.  This must be what Julia Roberts felt like with Richard Gere? This clinic is FANCY. All i need is an annoyingly infectious crackle and some I Love Lucy. I Kyle, feel like a Pretty Woman today.

My eternal alarm clock awakes me. “FUCK i have forty minutes.” i growl. Wishing my phones alarms didn’t come in options like Feathered Waterfall or Soothing Apple Tree. I have  yet to be woken up by my phone. I’d much prefer alarm tones like Woman Giving Birth or Root Canal. But alas, i’ll settle with Chirping Finch. Sigh!

Eric presents me with a cup of coffee. My tongue licks the steam in gusto. Vanilla scent seducing me. ” I’d fuck this coffee if I had more time,” I say to Eric. Him leaving mid sentence as such a comment is pretty daily. But him purposely giving me time to process that today i’m holed up at the downtown clinic. My stomach in knots as if the first day of school. “Will they like me? ” What if the nurses & techs are cunty? Why again did I leave my old clinic?. I hate change, grrr”.  These thoughts rotate as I fight back tears. Cursing MY Gods for not producing a kidney yet. “Damnit to Cher, what’s the fucking hold up?”  I’m too fragile of a man to handle CHANGE.

Sitting in my 1999 Dodge Intrepid while it heats up. Singing the tunes of a car that needs work.  Clunks & rattles fading out the voice of Feist.  Feeling a little claustrophobic as I sit in this  fart igloo. The smells wafting from retired Mcdonalds Happy Meals and gym clothes. This is clearly a self-induced punishment . But remembering the grim cold that cloaks itself outside awaiting to defile my poorly circulated body. I’ll take this prison momentarily and allow my anxiety to warm me. I cannot believe in 15 minutes i’ll be faced off with the unfamiliar?  I set the car in drive and begin my fidgety journey to downtown. The coffee’s aroma now leaving me mentally impudent as fear takes the wheel. Fuck, i hate change.

I pace behind a fellow with a Kermit the Hat beanie. The sort of ones you mock from Hot Topic but secretly wish you could pull off. The mans yellow tinted skin alarms me but acts as a great guide into the unknown.  The doors slide upon entry being clearly well lubed. Inviting Kermit and I inside to stay awhile. A queef of warmth blankets my body with what’s mixed with Hospital smell. The smell of elderly and bleach that I’ve OH SO become employed too know. “Welcome.. you must be Kyle?” . I leap back in disbelief as Kermit sounds awfully feminent?  I peak my head around and am greeted by a middle-age woman. She being the source to the voice.  I feel foolish and examine her. “We’ve been excited to meet KYLE.” she says glowing.  Me blinking on as my ego inflates by sound of her praises. Reminding myself that I’m cool and collected.  I want to be discreet and make no friends here. Mostly deriving from the family I already missed from my previous clinic.  This place is just a business agreement. I am giving them zero introduction to the real me i decide. Dialysis and go.This woman’s lava lamp physique leaves me delighted for preferring Bratwurst over taco. How her tits read like a Google Map making it clear to me their going East & West. Her catsuit turns out to be scrubs that only defines the outline of a camel toe. Awaiting the camel toe to scream “Feed Me Seymore.” and swallow up poor Kermit dude in a gulp. I’m clearly allowing my imagination to run rampant.

Her names Jan. And she works as the front desk administration. A woman who’s voice belittles between vowel punctuation. A woman who thinks her job is more important then actual definition. A woman who I imagine goes home urgently to check her profile for notifications. Taking self portraits from her smartphone in her favorite angles. Editing her profile daily in hopes to snag the right salmon. Jan is a lonely soul by appearance. I feel bad for her.

As I make my way through the haunting entrance to what seems like a 60 foot hallway i take notice of my new clinic. Bright. New faces roaming the corridors as whispers of my presence begin reaching my ears.  Anxiety ballooning within my stomach walls as I continue my catwalk. Attempting to keep my cool as I’m moments away from facing my new adventure.-

My new clinic.

To Be Continued..


By appearance the house is reminiscent to The Adams Family. However less in size and spooky hi-jinks.  It’s something you’d see on Hoarders. Squint worthy exterior with wet cigarette packs as lawn ornaments. Decorating the deceased & pale grass. Being internally grateful for the colored fall leafs blanketing the fucking outside ugly.

I live in a 6 unit house apartment building .  It’s a safe temporary pit stop for Eric and I. This being his actual apartment. Everything  paid for. Free Dish TV. A unit that was healthy enough in size that seemed promising. And affordable & clean. Even with the fickle toilet and small cramped spaces. We  inevitably make it work for now. No lease is also a benefit.

Often our days are pretty domestic in definition. He goes to work with suit in tact. Hair so OCD that it glides stiffly like a duo of fake tits. Grinning on with an Elvis arrogance to him.  Me bidding farewell while grumbling about some wifey clamor “But babe.. the cat needs a Cat Tree. Your so insensitive.”  Essentially just bitching to bitch.  But always finalizing with a coffee tasting kiss. We make a god damn great team.

Since I’ve started dialysis I’m legally denied the opportunity for a full-time job. Since receiving Medicare/Medicaid benefits. I am  allowed part-time jobs as long as it doesn’t pass a certain financial amount . Due to the kind monthly checks you receive while on disability. Because of this hold back.. I Kyle,  have become a Real Housewife of Spokane. Spending many of my days trapped into this housing cubicle.  Spying on my neighbors crazy antics while watching Dr.Oz and eating dry Top Roman. This is the chronicles of a male housewife.

The door closes and a rush of relief comes over me. Eric has left for work and my mind rushes for projects. My first  being depositing ass to couch. With Pookie as my arm pillow watching Court Television. Nothing arouses me more comically then white Southern trash suing over stolen DVD’s. Doing nothing to help their stereotype.  “This hoe stole mah two disc Miss Congeniality 2 dvd. Yaw Honor.”   Rule #1: Guilty Pleasure Eye Dung.  This is what one does in the  housewifey rulebook. It helps fuel our bored brain by making us feel better about ourselves *Mission Accomplished*.  So far my day has been productive.

As my brain saver clicks on i’m alerted by the time. “FUCK! i haven’t cleaned.” i yelp. Normally such a thought lies stagnant during my television cleaning hiatus. However, previously being lectured by the lack there of.  My leg begins shaking like Peg  Bundy. My ass inviting me to stay awhile. “Damnit Kyle!  Kathy & Hoda are totally smashed on todays show.” it sings. In what i imagine sounds like Charlie from Always Sunny in Philadelphia. My leg gains momentum as my ass anchors more into my sectional. This housewife shit sucks!

Housewife Rule #2 : Tenant People Watching.

“Damnit Dr.Oz,” i think. As his segments flair my hypochondria.  Multitasking by reference of WEB M.D. . Which is always like a Choose Your Own Adventure book. Except you always ends on Cancer. The music of Britney suddenly catches my good ear. I slowly sway my head to the catchy hook and answer my phone. “Babe, what’s going on?” I hear . Shit it’s Eric!  My wifey animal in-stinks kick in as I rush to turn kitchen sink on.  Allowing the water to sound out any suspicion of lazy. “Ahhh nothing baby. Just doing dishes.” i fib. My face warming with guilt. “Great job Tootsie Pop,” he praises. I slowly grab a dish examining. sigh!

The call ends and I begin attempting to pursue the rubber gloves. ALWAYS being inside out which adds another half hour to fasten them. Thus beginning the tedious process of dishes.  My scowl wrinkles my face as I scrub at the crusted cheese. Wife- blaming Eric for this slavery as he recommended Calizones last night. “Damnit we need paper plates,” i scold. Looking down at Pookies confused head tilt. This housewife shit sucks.

BAM. A loud noise shakes the complex. Hope that’s 2012’s relieving me early of dish duties i joke. Once again looking down at Pookie realizing I talk to him. Damn he’s a good listener though.  Does such a thing diagnosis me as crazy? Hell, I’ll ask WEB M.D. later.

I peek my head out to see a young man  near his car out front. Man in unit E, i see.  He’s pacing back and forth in a sort of meth manner. His face sunken as if  giving the Blue Steele. A golf like cyst occupies his forehead like a hanging mistletoe. I watch the glow of his cigarette run down the stick in urgency. This man has had better days.  So begins the chore of tenant watching as dishes can wait. This building complex is notorious for DALLAS themed drama. My eyes open with anticipation as I continue to creep.  This man seems to be aggressively packing up his things. A fight has clearly occurred?  Unsure as Unit E is a studio and houses two men. I create characters (nicknames) for everyone in this building. The skull face being the houseboy to the other tenant . An older man with two Pomeranian’s and a butt-plug walk. You do the math.

Skeletor begins tossing black garbage bags into the pea green Honda. Always a sign of a quick getaway. The bag rips indicating the quick manner of packing. Clothes overflowing and occasionally falling about . By now his cigarette greets the filter as he still moves in a neurotic rhythm. Fighting back his anger while picking up trails of dropped underwear.  Finally there is it. THE GLARE.

  [GLARE]  :  noun, verb, glared, glar·ing. Context to Relationships

  • Definition. Ahh hell no’s. You gone n’ fucked up.

Skeletors cold glare captures his units window. Our stoner upstairs neighbors to be exact. A minute and a half of piercing drama continues. His eyes speaking words his mouth can’t exhaust, i think? Trembling lip as he stares up at his partner. Who I believe is looking on in a Juliet manner. He shakes his head and lights another smoke. Unfortunately bringing attention to that god damn bowling ball of a cyst. Yet. As if a movies ending. The young man darts into his green machine and is off within blinks. A love story gone weary? I dunno? But most definitely a story that ended in sadness. A sadness I sympathize as if a soap opera. That pea green car never returned after that.  “Well Pookie!.. That was a fun show.”  I turn off my blinders.  Chore # 2 accomplished. Productive as hell today, i’d say.

Housewife Rule #3: Procrastination Nation

3:30 pm. “SHIT.” This time of day causes the most anxiety. Eric is going to be home soon. Normally my alarm is when Anderson Coopers awful talk show is coming to an end.  I use it as an alert to get my procrastination into gear. Usually such a thing involves hiding clothes in drawers, quick garbage pick ups and a Febreeze hosing.  Like OJ I whip those tight rubber gloves on and violently abuse those dishes clean.  It’s perhaps a super power that I can manage this. But usually the result is less than satisfactory. Though enough to where my daily wife duties are met with contentment.

I do my final hose through as the smell of “Winter Cinnamon Frost” hot boxes our little apartment. I strategically turn on fans using toes if have too. Watching as Pookies face reads dumb shit at me. I grab our mini vacuum and rush to clean the dog & cat hair. While still watching Anderson as if a timer counting down.  I fall to me knees and begin coiling the vacuums cord. Sweat tickling my cheek as I focus at the TV.

Credits roll. The key enters  the door handle as it begins to seizure. I run to the kitchen to drop the vacuum off. Admiring my quick clean job. Maybe even giving Pookie a quick eye wink of cockiness.  “Hey Babe,” I hear mumbled from the living room.  I catwalk out from the kitchen with a shit eating grin. “Wow the house looks amazing!,” he says. Closely examining the house with a level of  doubt in his voice.  ” A hard day of being a Wifehubby.” i respond. Wiping the sweat from my cheek dramatically in hopes he sees. “You have worked hard today. The house looks good. Did you work on this all day?”

I pause for a moment and smile back. Allowing my cryptic smile to answer that.  I realize my cleaning duties are rather lackluster or lazy. And to be honest I am thee worst at being domestically wifey. And Eric knows it. And loves me anyway.  Definitely not bred for such things. But as I await my kidney and continue my crusade as a househusband. I can only imagine strengthening my skills… that or strengthening my short cuts 🙂



If your the Queen of Soul…. what better way to leave your legacy then by stealing all the attention with your dead twin fetus attached to your head.




The clock on my computer seems to have stayed at 10:07 am for the past hour. For some reason my Thursday morning has frozen into some  kind of time continuum, where all actions have ceased except my thoughts which rapidly circulated through my head, causing a sense of annoyance and lack of focus on my part.

My office desk is completely blanketed with supplies that I myself have been too lazy to clean, which has resulted in the look of displeasure and disgust by my superiors when they walk by and notice my Jumbo paper clips have been arranged around my desk to make a smiley face or the fact my tape dispenser has been empty for about a month now.


I wouldn’t necessarily blame my actions on being lazy, but more along the lines of pure boredom and anger? What exactly is my position entail at a job that seems so insignificant that I’m not utilizing my stronger assets for the better good? Instead I have become somewhat of a YouTube entrepreneur, who has the ability to entertain small group of parties on the side with funny clips of people getting hit in the balls; because that’s what my 8 hour days consist of.

As I slowly staggered into work this morning sipping on my coffee that seemed to lack that zesty taste of ecstasy that usually excites and revs my morning with a boost of energy; was gone; that itself was a sign that my day could result in something horrendous… that or I’m over analyzing a day due to a bad cup of joe.

I clicked open my Microsoft Outlook  to review my irrelevant emails and semi-funny FWDS my employees sent me, when the alleged bad day had suddenly darkened; my boss rang me into his office.


Normally I handle such stress with a sense of tactful confidence to guard the fact I’m in such fear that I could potentially piss my pants all over his office by a simple eye brow raise or his cryptic mannerisms that I swear he learned in drama class back in college.

I reluctantly sat in his expensive STAPLES office chair with pure jealously as I remembered that minutes ago I myself was sitting in the down-syndrome version of this particularly luxuries chair; I was pissed!

My face of disgust quickly dissipated as we made eye contact and I wanted to avoid any of my facial expressions to be negatively read, so I immediately went into “Richard Simmons,” Kyle mode, where I play bubbly and get ready to sweat to the oldies.

“Howdy Hoe Boss! How’s your super duper morning going”?  {Insert kiss –ass vomiting now}

He squirmed a little in his chair as I could tell his thought process was working overtime to consummate the beginning of our awkward encounter. The entire time he struggled to initiate the reason for my visit, I couldn’t help but notice his male camel toe.  I realize over the past 4 months I have over emphasizes this camel toe of epic proportion, but today it officially bothered me worse than having to watch “Everyone Loves Raymond.” Blah!

“Hey Kyle,” … the tone seemed soft with a sense of parental essence attached. “I would like to show you something,” he said with a gruff and confident voice. Around this time I became Jodie Foster from “Panic Room,” as I strategically pondered ways to escape his office or hide, before anything else could proceed.

Could the fear of his male camel toe engulfing me possibly be causing a minor anxiety attack or have I heard of too many stories of Republican Goblins hitting on their poor innocent gay assistants…. Idea’s where running ramped and it still was only 10:07 am; what was I to do?

As the equivalent to Danny Devito’s character portrayal of “The Penguin,” in Batman Returns, he waddled under his desk to fetch something and coincidentally squeaking simultaneously out of breathe.


My imagination went overboard with scary thoughts, as fear of a Barrel of anal ease was about to be presented to me with a quirky smile and the saying “Want a promotion, I got the lotion.”…..

All fear rest assured,  my boss himself had a dilemma that needed to be solved. All this worrying that my Republican boss whose consist Sara Palin jokes had caused secret animosity between us for the past few months had best put aside; his computer wasn’t working and he needed my help.


With his stern boisterous voice he begged me to help figure out why his computer was running at a slow pace? Something that he assumed was virus related. This coincidentally wouldn’t surprise me with all the porn I imagine he watches in his office; because I’m not too sure what his job details; to be honest?

As I doped around his computer with an over heightened sense of confidence, it all reigned on me. Clearly there was something in his hard drive that was causing his 1980 computer to be somewhat deficient and worn out.

“I’ve been trying to fix this computer all morning and it’s been a piece of shit” he chirped as I lay on my knees, in fear that this could be his secret ulterior motive ‘Yikes”….. Was it a virus? Was it that his computer was so old it still had the original Oregon Trail on it? NOPE? ….  Like Bill Gates himself I diagnosed his problem within an efficient time that the walls clock still rang in at 10:07 am.

The Diagnosis was…