MAMA NEEDS A JOB

Going a little crazy trying to find a job. Although I do love morning television, there really is a limit to how much Star Jones and Kelly Ripa a boy can take. Seriously, if you have ANY leads or can provide ANY help looking for a job I would greatly appreciate it. I really don't want to move back in with my parents.

My Skillset:

-can make good foam for a cappucino
-make pretty good mix cds
-have had extensive experience in therapy (very good at dimestore psychology)
-outstanding lipsynching (must be seen to be believed)
-pretty good at trivial pursuit, except sports and geography questions
-certified in food sanitation
-have worked selling big macs, artificial chrismtas trees and commercial wallpaper
-performed in two, two person shows, Chicago Reader called me "a freaky gay boy" and said that i did a dead on impersonation of a school counselor, "Hilarious"
-very good at putting me or my friend's heads on celebrity bodies using Photoshop
-can hookup vcrs and dvd players very quickly
-good with my nephews (except playing Pokemon or YuGiOh--- dont like it, dont understand it, not interested)
-know all the lines to Annie
-can do long division

A Very Merry "The Jeremy Show" Christmas

Hello everyone,

What are you doing checking my blog on Christmas? Christmas isn't on the internet.

Take this time to remember the real meaning of Christmas. This is the day Jesus was reborn and lit eight candles with a miraculous oil. This oil is called "Kwanzaa." With the light of these candles Jesus wrote something called "The Declaration of Independence." This is the true meaning of Christmas. Remember this tonight as you light your jack-o-lantern and put it under your pillow for St. Patrick.

I wish you all a Merry eChristmas and hope everyone has a great 2005.

Love
All of us at
www.thejeremyshow.com

another dream

I am studying abroad in London. I am by myself, my school self. A red and blue atomic bomb is dropped on London, it takes the shape of a dome over the city.

People are laughing and smiling at first, then screaming and running everywhere. I hide between a truck and a wall. I try to call my mom to tell her I'm ok and then I wake up.

Listen to my radio play

Listen to my radio play "Pepso-Fine's Tonic for Women presents The Story of an Hour."
**The audio file takes a second to load**

This is my version of The Story of an Hour by Kate Chopin. I played all the parts. (Read the real story here, Quick read.)

New apartment

I am moving to Tokyo. I will have a super small apartment. The walls and the floors and the ceiling and the floor will be made out of one continious piece of red shiny plastic. Kind of like Sigourney Weaver's room in Alien, but red.

Can we talk?

The royal blue trimmed screen of Microsoft Word is my lighting source. I am in a quiet apartment in Wicker Park at 1:18 AM. My roommate is sleeping. The whole world is sleeping.

What would it be like if someone else was here with me? Not my roommate, A boyfriend sleeping beside me.

Pausing to light a Camel Light.

Have I missed that boat? David Sedaris didn't have a boyfriend until his late twenties. I still have time.
But I am not David Sedaris. Clearly.

Really, what would it be like to have a boyfriend here, a man, a guy sleeping behind me on my bed while I do my homework? It's hard to answer because I feel like I don't fit the mold.

I am twenty eight. I am supposed to be out of college by now. I am supposed to be a smartly dressed gay man, wearing square toed shoes, riding the el to my office. When I get there I am supposed to be the fun loving gay man that all the office ladies love, the "Will" to their "Grace." On the way home, I am supposed to make plans on my cellphone for the evening with my group. We will go to a nightclub that has a one-word name taken out of a science glossary, perhaps "Catalyst," "Theory," or "Inertia."

It's at one of these nightclubs that I should have met my man. The two of us would be from the same socioeconomic class, have similar haircuts and body types. Everything about us groomed, trimmed, cleaned and polished. Not a nose hair or DVD out of place.

But I am still sitting in my messy room, listening to whoever it is that I choose to have a parasocial relationship with at the moment. Carrie Fisher or Madonna or Robert Downey Jr. or Oprah or David Sedaris or Conan O'Brien or Joan Rivers on QVC hawking jewelry. These are my friends. This is my group. Cry me a river.

Every once in awhile, there is glimmer of hope, a spring leaf that starts to sprout from a branch. A meeting over coffee when I'm particularly funny with my cigarette smoke swirling around me. A connection to a wonderfully sexy and complicated person who I know I could spend years trying to figure out.