Stand-Up Videos

Jenny Duptsi over at  is a hilarious writer and human being. She said I should post links to some of my stand-up clips. So…I am. I apologize, some of the jokes are repeated on the clips. I didn’t edit them.

This next one is more of the full set with an intro by the host in front of a backdrop, which I can only assume was used in the movie Breakin’ 2: Electric Boogaloo.

I’m Coming Out, Too!

When my mom came out she was terrified of how people would react.  She didn’t know if the ones she loved would stand by her, but she took a “leap of faith.”  She trusted us.  And her bravery has inspired me to come clean, as well.  Yesterday, on The Ricki Lake Show, I was wearing Spanx.  And they weren’t men’s Spanx.  They were my wife’s Spanx.

There, I’ve said it.  And it feels good, almost as good as peeling off those tight pantyhose shorts.  If you want to judge, then judge.  If you want to click away, then click away.   I have no time for bigots.  I stand here proudly and a bit uncomfortable in this nylon sausage wrapping.

I had no choice.  My pants wouldn’t button.  I was ashamed and petrified someone would discover the truth.  I had to pee through a little slit in the crotch.  A few drops dribbled onto my new pants five minutes before the show.  My wife and I had bought the suit especially for my TV appearance.  Damn it, I knew the suit was too small in Macy’s.  I told myself I could trim down, lose ten pounds in six days.  I ran, ate nothing but spinach, but I only lost a few.  The button on the pants would fasten, but one wrong move, one tiny twist, and I knew it’d snap off and fire into the crowd, possibly hitting someone in the front row.  What if it killed my poor mom?  You’d be logging onto mygaymom.com/theladywhowasmurderedbyherfatson’stightslacks.

I tried holding in my gut.  I tried not breathing.  But the risk was too great.  So I mustered up some courage and marched into the closet.  And I came out in my wife’s undergarments.

Sure, I could make excuses.  I could talk about how I quit smoking nine months ago, and that when I’m stressed I sometimes eat when I used to have a cigarette.  I could mention how I’d injured my knee, which made running painful.  But it’s time I take responsibility for my belly.  It’s time I tell the truth.

Yesterday, I was on TV and I was wearing Spanx!  And it felt good, like a warm hug, a warm, sweaty, slightly chaffing hug.

Welcome!

Hello, lovely people!

For those of you who just saw The Ricki Lake Show, I want to thank you for stopping by. This blog is my little attempt to tell the story of how my mom came out of the closet after 25 years of marriage. Her declaration shook the foundation of our family.  It was shocking and difficult to handle at first, but her truth forced us to really look at our family, to remember why we loved each other.  I suppose we’d been taking that for granted, slowly drifting apart.  So in some ways, my mom coming out actually saved our family.

I’ve reposted a few of the early blog posts to give everyone a sense of what you might find on this site.  I hope you enjoy.

Oh, in case any of you are wondering, Ricki Lake is, without question, one of the most beautiful, kind-hearted people I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting, and I was born and raised in Kansas City, so that’s saying something.

Thank you again for stopping by!

For God’s Sake, Cover Yourself

I posses a very unique skill set.  I can eradicate all evidence of a Burger King meal.  I’m so meticulous I think I missed my calling as a serial killer or “body disposer” for the mob.  You’ll find no trace of Whopper, fry, or ketchup pack in my home or car.  You won’t even find a rogue grain of salt.  I scrub my nails with rubbing alcohol.  I triple-bag each wrapper and dump everything a block from my home. 

I don’t have OCD.  I just don’t want to have to explain to my wife that I broke my diet.  She wouldn’t yell or get angry.  I just like how proud she’s been of me.  I don’t want her to be disappointed.  I like seeing her happy, knowing I’m getting healthy.  So I cover the truth.  

How often we do that?  How many times do we lie so others won’t be disappointed?  We erase our search history so no one will know what we’re jerking off to.  We clam up when someone asks us if we believe in God.  It’s why we wax our eyebrows and suck in our gut.   We just want to be liked. 

But does anyone really know us?  

My mother hid her truth until she was forty-five.  She played the role of dutiful, heterosexual housewife.  She focused on her children.  She didn’t want us to be punished for her secret.  Kansas City wasn’t exactly progressive.  She knew people wouldn’t just judge her; they’d judge us.  She feared folks like my aunt might try to damage her reputation in order to rip us from her care.

I know this fear.  When I was diagnosed with bipolar II, I didn’t want anyone to find out.  I was terrified of being institutionalized. 

I kept quiet about my thoughts of suicide.  I told the doctors I wasn’t a danger to myself.  I didn’t want people to stop trusting me.  I didn’t want to limit my options, so I buried the darkness.  I told people I had the flu, that I had bad diarrhea so they’d stay away.  I needed to keep up the lie.  

But it’s exhausting.  Maintaining a fake identity chips away at your sanity until finally one day you just say, “Fuck it!  I don’t care.  This is me.  I’m a weirdo.”

That’s what happened to my mom.  After years of lying, she finally came clean.  It was good and terrifying.  She was out, and there was no going back in.

She’s an amazing woman, and her courage inspired me to start this blog.

 

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