I've been single for a long while, and for the most part it's pretty cool.  I get to do what I want (usually, nothing) when I want (usually, "maybe tomorrow") and no one nags me about, for example, how often I clean my guest bathroom (usually, never).  But there are certainly drawbacks.*  Among the many that come to mind, the one that irritates me the most is that I usually never have anyone to go to a late Sunday breakfast with.

*Notice how I classily avoid any crude and obvious "lack of sex" jokes here.

This morning, I woke up about 10:30 am, slightly hung over and hungry.  I had spent last night at a friend's house playing "Apples to Apples" over microbrews with four couples.  I've found that at my age (76 years old) I seem to hang out with couples a lot.  It's not as bad as it sounds.  I get a lot of what I call "pity food" for free, and I get to hear "you're too great a catch to still be single" all the time.  That, and I also get to listen to all of their shitty stories and think to myself, "Thank God I'm not married".

But I digress.  After stumbling to my laptop and posting yet another stupid status (Example: "Joseph Simmons is not masturbating…yet")* I decided I was craving a big breakfast.  I called my friend Jenn, but she was already eating some granola-based organic breakfast that had flaxseed and something else that I cannot remember but highly doubt was sausage gravy.  Since it was then past 11 am, I knew that I was probably on my own.

*And thus endeth the classiness of this essay.

I generally hate eating out by myself but when I do, I usually go to some small mom-and-pop place, bring notes, a pen and pad and try to write stand-up.  This morning I went to a place called Annie's Restaurant near downtown, which is the kind of a little hole-in-the-wall diner where the menus haven't changed since about 1981, which is coincidentally about the last time anyone dusted the frames on the walls.  But I'd been there before, and I knew what all the other people know when they jam in there every weekend: the food is excellent.

After being seated, I quickly scanned the place for any hotties.  I did this basically because I'm male, and we scan every place we enter for hotties.  If there is a funeral, a kids' soccer game or a lynching and a hottie is there, trust me: every male in attendance will know.  Unfortunately, scanning Annie's was an exercise in futility.  Cape Coral is growing exponentially, but it is still overwhelmingly a retirement community.  The crowd at Annie's was basically me and the entire cast of "Cocoon".*

*If you are 25 or under you will NOT get this joke.

I quickly ordered coffee from the more-attractive-than-normal server, and started scanning the menu.  I don't know if I'm partially retarded* or not, but I can never find the perfect breakfast on any menu.  Maybe it's because I want pretty much everything on a plate.  Whatever, I always end up telling the server, "I need help.  Can you just give me whatever the hell breakfast comes with a blueberry pancake**, some eggs and at least a couple of sausage?"  She smiled and picked out the correct breakfast for me.  I think she was flirting a little.  She may not have been, but in my mind she was.

*Politically correct people upset with my use of this word: Suck it.

**At Annie's, you don't order "pancakes", you order a "pancake".  They are literally

 a half-inch thick and big enough to cover an entire plate on their own.

I never got any writing done.  I swear it seemed like the server came back with my food about three minutes after I ordered it.  It was delicious, as usual.  I wolfed it down, and she even offered and gave me a to-go coffee.  It was a nice experience.

So what have we learned from this shitty half-assed essay?

1. Being married probably sucks, but at least you have a built-in breakfast date.

2. Married people take pity on single people in the form of free food.

3. Jenn eats food that health nuts would spit out for being too tasteless.

4. Mom-and-Pop restaurants may have sanitation issues that rival gas station rest rooms, but the food and service sure are damn good.

5. You can't write any good standup material in three minutes.  Heck, it is barely enough time to have sex.

1. First off, I apologize for not having blogged since approximately the time Ronald Reagan was in office.  I've been busy.

Okay, that's total bullshit.  One thing you should know about your dear Slow Joe: he's never as busy as he likes to believe he is.  Also, when he's admitting something, he likes to switch to writing about himself in the third person.  He thinks it's cool.  Of course, he also probably thinks his dipshit-Zac-Efron hairstyle is cool, so maybe he is not the best person to judge.

2.  I woke up two days ago with a nasty muscle spasm in my back, requiring me to go to the chiropractor.  It was still pretty stiff yesterday when I went Christmas shopping, which caused a problem that I'm sure you've already thought of: it was impossible to check out the hotties at Target discretely.  Every time I'd spot some inappropriately-aged girlie-girl, the same progression happened:

1. My eyes would lock on, radar-like, to the target.

2. My neck, thinking independently from my brain, would begin to swivel my head for the best view.

3. My back, knowing that my fucking neck can't swivel my head because of my spasm, would start to swivel my whole damn torso towards the hottie, making it incredibly obvious what an old pervert like me was doing.

4. Target Security would escort me out of the building.

Okay, I made up that last one, but I was seriously blowing my cover left and right yesterday.  I think a few of the girls enjoyed the attention, but most of them probably wondered what the hell Zac Frankenstein thought he was looking at.

3.  About the hair:  I told my friend Lauren that I was sick of short hair and wanted to try something different, but I had no idea what.  She told me to find a good stylist and just let her do whatever the hell she wants to.  So that's what I did.  I found a stylist named Megan at a Chamber of Commerce function and told her that she could do whatever she wanted with my hair, as long as it wasn't short and I could make it look professional for the work week.

Don't ever tell a hairstylist that.

After my second cut with Megan, one of the other girls in the salon exclaimed, "Oh, I LOVE your hair!  It looks just like Zac Efron's!"

"Um…who?"

"The 'High School Musical' guy!  Here's a picture," she said, handing me a magazine on which the coverboy looked like a 14-year-old girl.

"HOLY SHIT!  I'm 37-years-old!  I can't have a hairstyle like that kid!"

"Oh stop, you look great," said Megan.  "Now, make sure to book an hour for your next appointment, so we have time to do your foil."

"My what?"

Yes.  I recently had a foil.  For my readers who aren't girls or non-traditional men, "foil", as I recently learned, means highlights.  I think by giving a hair salon free reign over what to do with me, they took that as a challenge to see how much of my masculinity they could take away.  I would not be surprised if the next time I walked in there they tied me down and painted my fingernails.*

*The visual of those girls tying me down is actually quite pleasant, but that is a subject for another blog—actually, I'll never blog that.  Never mind.

4. Due to the recession, a lot of people are stressing over matters such as job security, bills, and living arrangements.  It seems like everybody is either laid off or worried about being laid off.  I'm no different, so as a special for my blog's readers, I managed to lock down a short interview with Dr. Brandon Jacobs, an economist specializing in job markets for the U.S. Department of Labor.  The transcript:

Me:  Thank you for making a short amount of time for us, Dr. Jacobs.  What can Americans do to make sure that they are valuable enough in their current jobs so that they have some sort of assurance that they'll stay employed?

Dr. Jacobs:  I'm sorry, I'd love to help you, but I just got laid off.

Me:  WHAT?!?!  Even YOU?

Dr. Jacobs:  If you'll excuse me, the unemployment benefits office closes at 5pm.

5. Thursday, 12/17, marked the one year anniversary of my baby's passing.  It wasn't as bad as I thought it might be.  I mainly thought happy memories about her.

6. Two Wednesdays ago I got a phone call from a good friend named Domenic who used to be a drummer in a rock band.  He told me to call his buddy Rob, who used to be his music promoter, because he was now into comedy and could get me a gig the very next night.  I did.

Rob did not just give me a gig.  He interviewed me first.

Rob: "How much experience do you have?"

Me: "Dude, I've been on stage five times.  I've bombed once."

Rob: "Um, ok.  Do you have any video I could look at?"

Me: "My MySpace has a clip of my very first time, though I like to think I'm much better than that now."

Rob: "Hmm.  Okay, look, you're a friend of Domenic's so you're a friend of mine.  I'll get you some stage time.  How much material do you have?"

Me: "I've done twelve minutes once."

Rob: "Give me your best five minutes tomorrow night at seven.  This is a great opportunity for you, because the owner of Coconuts Comedy Club up in Clearwater is running this show and he is well connected in this business.  I'm sticking my neck out for you, so make sure you're funny.  No pressure."  (CLICK.)

Yeah.  No pressure.

Amazingly enough, I actually didn't feel all that stressed about this one.  I mean, relatively speaking, of course.  I did consider taking heroin, for example, but that is par for the course for me.*  I went to the club, introduced myself to the owner and the other comics, and spent the next two hours waiting for my set.  The comic that opened went for 15 minutes and just killed.  The audience loved him.  I started to have flashbacks of the time I bombed, which was due in part to the fact that the comics in front of me were so good.

*I'm joking.  I think.

Then something happened.  The MC called my name, and I just decided that I was NOT going to let this be a bad set.  I walked up to the stage, grabbed the mic, and yelled into it:  "HOW'S EVERYBODY DOING?!?!"  I didn't give a shit how anyone was doing…I was letting out all my nervous energy.  Then I did my five minutes.

It went fantastic.

I got genuine laughs throughout.  Not the great belly laughs the opener did, but still very good genuine laughs.  It was a crowd of about 75-100, and I had the entire audience's attention.  I didn't have to talk over anyone, and got a huge applause when I was finished.  When I went to my table, Rob came up to me and said, "Man, you did fantastic.  Do NOT leave before the show is over, because the owner wants to talk to you."

After the show, I hunted down the owner.  He asked me how many times I've been on stage.  After I told him, he said:

"Joe, when Rob told me that he was putting someone on stage that neither he nor I had ever seen, I asked him, 'why don't you just put a fucking bullet in my head?'  This was not a forum for beginners.  But you did fantastic.  I've got open mikers that have been trying for over two years that don't have the stage presence you have in your sixth time doing this.  Keep writing and practicing and I'll get you some stage time."

If I had not had about five beers to that point, I probably would have had an orgasm.  Actually, maybe I did.  Anyway, this is pretty much the reason why I haven't been blogging, because I'm trying to "keep writing".  I now have a mission.  And it's one that I love.

7.  And on that note, it is time for me to go have some eggnog and celebrate a little Christmastime joy.  So, to you and yours: Have a Happy Holiday and a Happy New Year!!

Admit it: whether you are right now beginning a four day weekend, or you're one of the unlucky loser lowlife lackeys that only has a two day weekend (i.e. me), there has been a burning question inside of you for weeks.  A question so important, so striking to the very core of your soul, that it has been churning the inside of your stomach like that five-day-old lasagna you stupidly ate: 

What should I do on Sunday, November 9^th at 8pm that involves standup comedy, no cover charge and, preferably, a half-Asian Adonis of a man?

Boy, are you lucky you clicked on this blog!  You'll learn exactly why in my easy-to-read state-of-the-art how-many-more-adjectives-can-I-think-up-with-dashes "Q&A" format:

Q:  Okay, so what stupid shit are you trying to promote now?

A:  Whoa.  Okay, before I even start this promotion, let's get one thing straight, "Q:".  You work for me.  I own this blog, and as far as I know, I'm the only blogger who uses the "Q&A" format.  So, stick to the script or you'll find yourself resigned to working in shitty MySpace surveys for the rest of your short-ass career.

Q:  Um, okay, I apologize.  So, uh, "What exciting thing is going on Sunday, November 9^th at 8pm?"

A:  I'm glad you asked!  I'll be performing live standup comedy at The Reserve Wine and Cigar Bar in Fort Myers, Florida.  There's no cover, comfortable seating, and great atmosphere.  I'll be opening for headliner Jamie Hill!

Q:  Well, whoop-de-fucking-doo.

A:  DAMMIT "Q:"!!!  I said stick to the script!  And I don't want any cursing in this blog, you stupid shithead!

Q:  All right, all right, I'm sorry. 

A:  Don't be sorry, just read the Goddamn script!

Q:  You know, you're the one cursing up a blue streak now.  Maybe you should take some Anger Management courses.  You know, get some help or something.

A:  I'm telling you right now, "Q:" If you don't read the next question this instant, you are fired.  I'm serious.  You'll be at the unemployment office trying to get work asking some shitty 14-year-old emo girl questions on a MySpace survey.

Q:  My God, PLEASE don't do that.  I can't STAND emo kids!

A:  Nobody can.  Now please read the next fucking question!

Q:  Um, okay, uh, "Wow, that sounds great, Joe!  I'd love to see you perform!  How do I get there?"

A:  For driving directions, simply click on my gig link above for the address or this link to go directly to the yahoo map.  If you're flying in, make sure to book a flight to Southwest Florida International Airport (RSW).

Q:  Um, that part about flying in; was that supposed to be funny?  Because you know no one is buying a plane ticket to see your sorry ass.

A:  Well, uh, yeah, I guess.  It was supposed to be a little, um, humorous.

Q:  I hope your act is a LOT better than this shitty blog.

A:  You're fired.

Q:  Thank God, because I can't take it anymore.