Tuesday, February 24, 2009


Being a woman (see: girl, gay man), I have realized that I over complicate things. I think too much, I read into things. I have always been a rather curious and nosy human being. In fifth grade (random Jessica trivia here), I received the “Sally Jessy Raphael Award.” I got it for “always having my finger on the tip of what was happening.” I loved this award so much more than I loved winning the Spelling Bee the same year. Every girl has this tangled web in her life. I think most dudes do, too.

Bottom line: Girls talk. We talk a lot. So much so, that sometimes I have a hard time keeping facts straight. Who is sleeping with whom and who can and cannot know about it. Or who is fighting with whom and who is on whose side. SEE what I mean? Complicated! Hot, hot mess.

So, this got me to thinking, why do we complicate certain things? Why do we feel the need to share, yet feel the need to be so secretive about certain things? I guess it’s just one of the many human paradoxes. The question here is why?

The reason we are so outward with certain things and so inward with other aspects is because humans are judgmental and systematic. We all have our schemas. We label, place “item” in a box, and store it. Really, as crap-tastic as this system seems, it “un”complicates our lives. It simplifies things for us.

I guess what I am getting at here is that I want to simplify my life. In the grand scheme of things, everything boils down to be quite simple. We can say things are complicated, when really they aren’t. We say that phrase so we can spew off our list of justifications to make us feel better about certain situations.

To drive things home, I do several things that are therapeutic: Post Secret, Read, Glass of Wine, Masturbate, the usual… one of the things I love (and my buddy Lee introduced me to back in college) is Explodingdog.com. You send phrases to this guy and he illustrates them (in such a simple way might I add). I found this one, when my life felt complicated (by no fault other than my own).

I know it may seem corny, but this little illustration has made things so much simpler for me. It's the wall paper on my computer at work and at home. I hope some of y'all find comfort in it, too.

Things are not complicated. Just remember that things are only as big as you allow them to be. You are only so big in comparison to the universe. Our problems lie with in us, which makes them almost minuscule. Nothing is too big or so wrong that it cannot be fixed (sometimes with the help of band-aids and crazy glue)! We are all humans, which is a beautiful and disgusting thing!

Thursday, February 19, 2009

Why I Am a Gay Man.

I am a gay man. You have heard me say this about a million times. So, I felt the urge to tell you why I think of myself as a GAY MAN. I mean, this stems from my past life in which I believe I was a DRAG QUEEN in good ol’ PAIR-EEE. Anyway, I figured since my blogs have had a “serious” tone to them, I would liven my ramblings up with something fun, fresh, and funky.

(DISCLAIMER: This is a satire and meant to be clich├ęd and stereotypical, I love my gays and they love me… and as the saying goes… whores of a feather flock to cock.)

Why I am a Gay Man
Jessica I. Mullen

First off, there is my unexplained adoration for Britney Spears and Euro-pop in general. Most people consider this “guilty-pleasure pop,” but I assure you this is my music of choice. Madonna, I adore her. Any sort of diva kind of does it for me, even if their lyrics are shallow. I am all about the beats. I like to shake what my momma gave me. I will always have pretty “lame” music lineup in my car, right now I believe I have Lady Gaga, Miley Cyrus, Brit, and some other really stereotypical homosexual pop in there. You can bank on that.

Secondly, I love glitter. Really, I know it is prepubescent. I am ridiculous. Angela (my wife) told me to keep tally of how many times in a day I was told that I was ridiculous, silly, crazy, etc… So, on a Saturday during phone calls and being out and about with my friends, I got it a whopping TWELVE times, I kid you not. Really, since God (or whomever) gave me such perfect skin (read: vanity) I don’t have to wear a lot of face gook to make me look presentable, I found this glitter stick think that I wear as a base. I am really tempted to wear it everywhere, but I don’t I save it for when I am out on the town. My friend questioned my glittery habits, she stated, “Jessica, why are you always so glittery?” Which, my immediate response (wit) lead me to say, “because I am fucking fabulous.” Really, glitter… if I could find a way to do so, I would shit it.

Another reason, I consider myself gay is my affinity for tacky, gawdy accessories. The bigger the better (I take my cocks the same way too). Really, I like glasses that will cover my entire face (hangover) and I like accessories that make a statement (see: photo albums 80s Prom Party, note: giant pink vagina flower). I get my nails done. I primp and pamper. I do my make up when I have no intention of going out, I will do my hair, too. I like to look good and smell good. I love big hoops (I even have a glittery pair) and I don’t care how LAME or TACKY it is. I will rock that shit. Seriously, I have two tiaras and I sport them like I just won a game of “Pretty, pretty princess.” Really, I love cheap, expensive, excessive, loud accessories. I am also deeply offended by “scrunchies.”

I have a vulgar mouth. It is sassy and words like “fuck,” “cunt,” “cock,” and “semen” are not foreign to my “crass whore mouth.” Really. Gay men love to talk about giving head, so and so’s package, and how Astroglide is the most AMAZING lube ever introduced to mankind. I love it. I also love how they use the word “COCK” as freely as I do. They have that innately sexual nature that we all possess (you can be a virgin and you still can figure out the fundamentals of what to do) and they are explicit. You can learn a thing or 50 from a homosexual man…

Dramatics, I have a minor in theatre from UNLV and we all know I am a Drama Queen Ho. I have gotten much better at biting my tongue and holding in my inner anguish and rage (damn you maturity), but I am still in my head a lot. I am an over thinker and I look for a deeper meaning in EVERYTHING. It’s my Virgo nature… I also say silly shit, like, “we haven’t talked in 2 weeks, are we breaking up” or if you piss me off, “Our love = dead,” These statements scream gay boy (or 13 year old girl).

I also am not one that is afraid of scandal. I’ve done some shady shit in my days. I am thankful I gave up Catholicism because there is no guilt like Catholic guilt. Also, to further drive the point home, I can’t possibly subscribe to a religion that condemns my own kind. Then there are politics, I am Democrat (borderline Green party, Socialist extraordinaire), I am a bleeding heart liberal. There is always, always a juicy story to report and because I am so curious (see: nosy) I can dig up information on almost anyone and I am pretty well connected that I can get just the right info to get your life story… Really, just test me. I am just curious for you and everyone. People fascinate me and I like being the first to have the “goods” on someone, I call it a gift.

My fragrant use of pet names makes me queer, too. I love calling people hun, sugar, sweet pea, lover, darling, gorgeous, and handsome. I do it all the time and am completely unaware of that I am saying such things. Some may say it’s my Southern upbringing, other say it’s just because I am SO nice. (I am not a nice girl, really, I am kind of a bitch – another fierce, gay quality).

Lastly, my love of spandex. I am a self admitted pervert. My mind lives in the gutter and I fear, not fear, I have embraced the fact that it will ALWAYS be there. I love spandex and I love how they “cling” to the body, yet leave so much to the imagination. I know most people are turned off by it, but spandex at the gym or the beach and you pair it with sweat, sweet Jesus, I am in Heaven and my mind starts turning a million different ways, girlfriend.

To sum it all up, I am a gay, gay boy. I am here and I am queer and I am not going anywhere. I will tell people they are fabulous, I will use my glitter stick, I will dance around to Brit-Brit in my living room with a glass of wine, I will continue to say cock (even at Target with a 10 year old child in ear shot- always not to knowledge, I swear), and I will one day be brave enough to wear sequins spandex in public and it will be every color of awesome in the awesome rainbow (pun intended).

PS: Feel free to add any of my "gay" qualities that I may have missed.

Monday, February 16, 2009

Say It.

A sentence. Words. Syllables. Phonemes.

Sometimes saying what needs to be said, is one of the hardest things we will ever have to do in our lives. Telling a boss you are resigning, to telling a girlfriend that she's in love with a complete douche bag, to telling your partner of your infidelity, to telling someone that they have broccoli in their teeth.

Our words are one of the only things in this life that we truly own. Our voice is our power. You hear the phrase "talk is cheap" constantly and frankly that phrase pisses me off. Yes, there are people out there that who will whisper sweet nothings to you and turn around and act in a way that is completely hypocritical to what was just stated. There are those people who will blow wind up your hiney; it's nice every once in a while and it is slightly amusing!

However, when you are gathered with your girlfriends, your man friends, your family, or that rare encounter with a total stranger and that exchange of words happens and ideas flow and emotions are evoked (good OR bad)... you have "expensive" talk. Talk that stays with you. Talk that you remember, that made an impression in your life, that changed you in a way, made you think differently about the world or people. Remember this can be GOOD or BAD.

Sometimes, our words aren't chosen so wisely. Sometimes in fits of anger, rage, and hurt we say things that we immediately regret. Sometimes we never say what we need to say. Sometimes we hold it in and let it eat at us.

Tonight, I was having a late night dinner with some very good friends of mine and we were discussing things about people in our lives and situations that we are currently involved in. One of the items brought up was about words. When a friend tells you something that you don't necessarily want to hear, but they tell you... think about what they are telling you and why. Why?

People make statements and they don't realize who these statements will affect and how it will affect them. Me being the ridiculous over-thinker that I am, can look at things in about 10-15 different ways and how people can interpret them. But if the words are coming from a good friend, someone that would kill for you, think about what they are trying to say... they aren't trying to hurt you. It takes a real friend to stand up for what is right, to tell you something that won't make you happy. A real friend won't buy into your bullshit, but rather call you out on it and hold you accountable for your actions.

I guess the point of this is to choose your words wisely. But also remember that no matter how unpleasant the words of someone else are, investigate why it makes you uncomfortable. It may be that it is something that is striking a cord in you and ringing true. Realize that friends are saying things out of love and that sometimes what they are telling you isn't easy for them to tell you. They may not be delivered eloquently at all times, but as long as your friend isn't saying, "you are a fuckin' cunt piece of shit," they aren't meaning anything other than to offer you their perspective, how they are perceiving the world and your situation (and sometimes it is unsolicited, but something is compelling them to tell you this). You can then take the information and choose to either like it or lump it.

Moral of the story kids, I will let John Mayer sum it up, since he does it so much better than I ever could:

"You'd better know that in the end,
It's better to say too much,
Then never say what you need to say again,
Even if your hands are shaking,
And your faith is broken,
Even as the eyes are closing,
Do it with a heart wide open,
Say what you need to say."
- John Mayer

Friday, February 13, 2009

My Neighbors Are Ghetto

My neighbors are probably the trashiest motherfuckers EVER. I have a list a mile fuckin' long about how much they disgust and annoy me and I don't disgust easily... I am crass and raunchy and vulgar, but I hate living next to them.

So, I am going to write a LIST about these vile people.

1. The first night we (Karlee, Kristi, and myself) stayed in the house, these bastards ding dong ditch us... They were out front drinking beer and chain smoking. No biggie, I too was once 19 years old, I know how it goes. The first time it happened I yelled at them, "just don't touch our god damn door bell." Then, they came over to apologize. I was insulting them left and right and they were oblivious to the entire thing... Then all of their hoodlum friends started to come over, so I had to put them in their place, "stay off our property or I'll call the cops for harassment and trespassing." They went back to their shit hole. Really, I know they are excited to have hot new neighbors, but we aren't party animals. Our house is quiet by 9 PM most nights, we are grown ass women.

2. These fuckers keep their damn trashcans in front of their house by their front door and it's never wrapped up and securely tied in a Hefty Bag. Vegas being windy, that shit blows around, I take whatever nonsense they have and toss it back in their yard. Not only is their trash stored in the front yard, but these fuckers have a BBQ in front of their house, too. REALLY, I kid you not. They grill EVERY damn night... I don't think their stove works! Who the fuck grills in January/ February. Twice as much consuming all that carbon is BAD for you and charcoal is full of chemicals.

3. They party all the time. I don't care. They aren't loud, but having to pick up their trash on a consistent basis is frustrating, but picking up plastic cups with jello shot residue is foul. Not to mention the countless beer cans littering everywhere.

4. Karlee and I once need to borrow to a hammer (we had some hammering to do), so we figured the neighbors get hammered all the time they may let us use theirs. We go over and ring the doorbell, they answer and a fuckin' smoke cloud comes out... it reeks of pot and nicotine... and they had shit stacked literally to their front door.

5. They try to be friendly towards me after I scared the shit out of them. They ask me moronic questions like, "do you hate us?" Of course I fuckin' hate you. Have you seen your house? It looks like hell. We are in February, you took your Christmas lights down a week ago and left them bundled in your front yard. Our HOA does jack shit, either that or these fuckwads are being fined out the wah-zoo.

I know these people are harmless. I know it, but they still annoy me. How do you live like that? How does a rational adult live like that? I don't get it. I am not Susy Homemaker over here, but something has got to fuckin' give. They irritate the shit out of me. One of these days, when they are grilling I am going to steal their fuckin' dinner or I am going to tip their friggin' grill over, hopefully setting their craphole on fire... Nasty asses.