Hashtag Confessions (Non-Twitter Related Ramblings)

I’ve done too much research on Max Adler. #GLEEbully

Today, I watched a grandmother throw a plastic ball at the back of her grandchild’s head (by accident, sort of) and then deny any/all involvement once the kid curled into a fetal ball grabbing his skull screaming, “Hurt. Head. Head. Hurt.” repeatedly. #shitmy63yearoldneighbordoes

The above story is the funniest thing that I have ever seen in my life. #satan

I stopped paying my bills. #recession

My handwriting is atrocious. I write in, like, what? 36 size font? 48, even? The style is described as: Times New Serial Killer. #fonthumor

I type in 18 size font. I used to use Courier New and then moved onto Garamond. I admit to having used Comic Sans for a good three to seven year period. Oh, and one summer when I was 15, I only used Wingdings. But I used to be a real asshole. #fonthumor

I either want to become an anorexic or a mother. I have a serious need for control. #happymothersday

I am a horrible “people pleaser”. I just can’t say, “no”. Nancy Reagan would be so disappointed in me. #justsayno

I think that I would make a grand prostitute. #neversayno

I liked Tom Hanks before he won all of his Oscars. #uppity

I feel closer to Television sitcoms than I do towards people. #sociopath

I bite my fingernails. #sociopath

I’m sort of a mix of Scout and Boo. #tokillamockingbird

That's all that I am going to write today. #lazy

(SELTZER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

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Midnight in Paris

Phinny, Mrs. Palfrey and I went to see Woody Allen’s: Midnight in Paris last weekend. I had already seen it once on a date with my “gentleman caller”, but the two lose-butts whom I call “best friends” had not.

Anyway, I knew that Phineas was going to hate the movie because the plot involved the subject of time-travel and Phineas hates unrealistic themes in film and literature. In fact, Phineas is quite the realist. He has a horrible imagination. It’s one of our daily arguments. He never plays action figures with me. He never recreates the “Micky” scene from Dirty Dancing with me.

Hell, he won’t even watch cartoons with me because he says they are nothing but fantasy. The guy is a square.

I knew Palfrey would love the film. Woody Allen is known for having a lot of pretentious references in his films. There is no one more pretentious that Sarah Palfrey. Trust and believe. That old bag… Go ahead. Ask her about Wordsworth. Ask her! She won’t shut up. She’s like the “Singing Bush” from the movie: The Three Amigos.

Except she’s not charming. And rather than singing incessantly, she quotes Wordsworth with that semi-noticeable speech impediment that she has.

God, I hate my friends.

Anyway, we got to the movie theater twenty minutes before the movie was scheduled to begin. I don’t like to miss the previews and Palfrey is a glutton for fake-buttery popcorn. Also, Phineas likes to lurk in the men’s room. That’s where he makes most of his “acquaintances”.

The movie theater was empty. I don’t know if it was because the new Justin Timberlake movie had just opened down the block or if it’s because we live in Pittsburgh which is full of anti-semites. Either way, we were glad to have the whole place to ourselves.

Mrs. Palfrey insisted that we sit close to the screen. She refuses to admit that she needs glasses and Phineas and I like to enable her in anyway we can. Just ask Phineas about the time Mrs. Palfrey wanted to see if she could still breast feed. That was the best night of cookies and milk that I ever had! Truth!

I’m pretty sure they were both drunk by the time the movie actually began. Phineas is notorious for being an alcoholic and Mrs. Palfrey calls bourbon her “cough syrup”. They were heckling the previews. They booed Owen Wilson’s name during the opening credits. Phineas had an accident. Mrs. Palfrey tried to get pregnant. Oh, and they both giggled incessantly each time I took a bite out of my nachos.

All in all, we had a really nice time.

When I asked them what they had thought of the movie they both laughed and called me a “nerd”. Then Phineas threw-up on my shoes.

The cab ride home was awkward. Mostly because none of us had any money, but also because it wasn’t a cab as much as it was a stolen car.

To say that Phineas and Mrs. Palfrey do f’ed up shiz when they’re drunk would be an understatement.

We parked the stolen car in the driveway of my enemy. Not that enemy. The other one.

We waited for a bus, but it’s Pittsburgh so it never came.

Finally, we walked home. They stumbled. I skipped.

As we entered our house, Mom yelled from the family room, “Jesus Christ! Why are you so late? I was worried sick!”

Without warning, Mrs. Palfrey began wailing like a maniac and tackled my mother.

Phineas began chanting, “Chick fight! Chick fight!”

I ignored them. Walked to my room. Popped an Ativan. Said my prayers.

Enter Sandman.

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NEXT SHOW:

Thursday, July 14th at Bricolage Theater at 8PM
Fundraiser for Planned Parenthood w/ Lizz Winstead

Mrs. Palfrey Explains Ska!

On the eve of Christmas Eve in the 28th year of my life, I formed a punk/ska band. Not sure of what "ska" actually was, I consulted with my best friends: Phineas (the shark) and Mrs. Palfrey (of the Claremont).

Palfrey explained to me that "ska" was a music genre that originated in Jamaica in the late 1950's. She said that it was a precursor to "rocksteady".

"Rocksteady?!!! Shredder and Krang's henchman?" I asked with childlike awe.

Phineas slowly floated over to our player-piano and began to sing, "Won't You Come Home, Bill Bailey" as though we weren't discussing the history of ska.

Mrs. Palfrey whispered in my ear, "I feel sorry for that damn shark sometimes. I think he wishes he were a woman".

Then she proceeded to take an airline bottle of Sambuca out of her handbag, chug it and then throw it against the player-piano.

Phineas stopped singing.

In attempt to lighten the mood I asked, "Does anyone want to watch the movie: Boys Don't Cry?"

(silence)

At this point, Palfrey took a second mini-bottle of "buke" (as she calls it) out of her hand bag and chugged it until it was gone.

As she was finishing, I asked her if she would please recycle that bottle rather than throwing it against my great-great-great-great Uncle John Brown's player-piano.

She asked me, "What would John Brown do?" and then she ran out of my room with a sickle to go kill some skin heads.

(chuckling/shaking my head) That Mrs. Palfrey...

She's so silly!

I tried to tell her that no one looks good in a visor. No one.

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Tuesdays with Max Fischer on Monday

Friends, Pants and Zach Galifianakis.

During the fall of my 27th year, I was diagnosed "crazy". I don't want to get into the details, but have you ever seen the motion picture entitled: "The Crazies"? You have? Well, it's nothing like that shiz.

That same fall I met my two best friends in the entire World (who aren't my Mom, sister, brothers, gentlemen caller or Beth).

The first of the two friends is a cat named Phineas. He's not really a cat. He's a shark. But he's hep like a cat. Hence the earlier "cat" remark.

Anyway, Phineas happens to be an inflatable shark but please don't judge him. He's just like you or me or mom or Jaws. Except he's plastic. And he smells like plastic. And he hates jazz.

I met Phineas on a Sunday morning. I woke up from a lunesta stupor and Phineas was sound asleep on my red couch. Immediately, I grabbed a harpoon and attempted to stake him through the face. My sister, who had been out drinking the night prior, heard the commotion in my room and quickly entered. She informed me that she picked him up in a bar, but when he got back to our place he started to freak her out so she told him that he could crash on the couch.

She wasn't specific.

So he floated up to the couch in my room.

I don't think what he did to me that night can be considered a "date rape" because we never went out to dinner or anything like that.

My second best friend is a gal by the name of Sarah Palfrey. She's an old broad. She's British. She's also a fictional character played by actress Joan Plowright from a movie that went directly to DVD called: Mrs. Palfrey at the Claremont.

I don't know how it happened. One day, I'm watching the WE network and this movie comes on called: Mrs. Palfrey at the Claremont. So I watched it. Then it was on the next day. So I watched it again. Then the next and the next and so on and balderdash... I watched the movie every day for 11 days straight!

The next thing I know, I'm down at my pool swimming and playing with dive toys and who do I see? Mrs. Palfrey played by Joan Plowright! She was sitting on a pool chair drinking a mint julep bitching to me about the weather!

She hasn't left my side since.

So that's us.

We're kind of like that movie The Hangover. Except we're all the Zach Galifianakis character.

None of us like to wear pants.

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The Anatomy of a Bad Student

I will never forget the exact moment when I stopped trying in school. It was the last month of classes before the end of 8th grade. I was ditching some class under the guise that I was "rehearsing" in the band room for an upcoming spring concert. I remember hanging out in the band office with both of my music teachers: Ms. Corwin and Mr. Pontiere. I was riffin' doing some kind of 8th grade version of standup comedy talking about other students and teachers and making them both laugh. I'll never forget Mr. Pontiere saying,"Gab, if you're already ditching class in the 8th grade, I hate to see you by your senior year." I wasn't quite sure what he meant so I asked, "why?". He responded with, "well, if you already displaying the signs of senioritis now then God knows how you'll be in four years". Still confused, I asked, "what's senioritis?"

Urban Dictionary Definition:

Senioritis -noun. A crippling disease that strikes high school seniors. Symptoms include: laziness, an over-excessive wearing of track pants, old athletic shirts, sweatpants, athletic shorts, and sweatshirts. Also features a lack of studying, repeated absences, and a generally dismissive attitude. The only known cure is a phenomenon known as Graduation.

So I thought to myself if I've already caught the virus then I may as well keep up the slacker symptoms.

So now let's flash forward to my senior year of High School...

I started the year knowing that I didn't want to go to college but also knowing my parents would strong-arm me into it. I had taken honors classes the first three years so I was pretty much done with most of my needed credits. I took three electives of band classes because I was that cool *sarcasm*. I still had an extra elective so I decided to take Honors Anatomy for fun.

Why?

Well, I'll tell you.

I always harbored this desire to be a doctor secretly within my soul. Not because I wanted to be a doctor, but because I always felt my mother wanted at least one of her children to go to medical school. So when I was confronted with the choice of one more elective and there were no other band classes for me to join, I thought to myself: I'm going to take Anatomy for fun! That way, if I end up being naturally good at it then maybe I can reconsider going into medicine and if I suck at it, well, who cares? It was just a dumb elective anyway.

So me being the forthcoming, outgoing, charismatic student that I was... I immediately informed my Anatomy teacher of my situation on the very first day of class. This is exactly what I said verbatim:

"Hi Mr. Cavitt. My name is Gabby Bonesso and I'm in your honors Anatomy class. I just wanted to let you know up front that I will not be studying or doing any homework. Mostly, because I want to find out if I'm naturally gifted in this subject. If it turns out that I am not gifted, well, that's okay because this is an elective and I don't need this grade to graduate. (putting out my hand to shake his) Here's to hoping I'm a genius!"

Turned out, I was not a genius.

I was initially bummed, but overall I was fine with the result.

Mr. Cavitt, however, had a problem.

How to teach an advanced Anatomy class with a student who has complete disregard for school, class, homework, grades and authority?

Well, he did it by having a complex relationship with me.

Basically, Mr. Cavitt and I had the exact same sense of humor. I could make the man laugh like nobody else. In fact, one of my best bits during my senior year was my impersonation of him, "Riga, riga, rigamortis. Say it. Say it. Rigamortis! Say it!" *you probably had to have been there, but trust me when I say my impersonation was spot on!*

Anyway, socially we were pals. I mean, we didn't hang out, but before and after class he would let me do my standup shtick for everybody and he was always the biggest laugher.

However, during class... YIKES. I was the bane of his existence. He would ream me out in front of everybody for being lazy and nonchalant. Damn. You should of been there when my class was tested on all the bones in the human body. HahA! I purposely didn't get one right. He pointed to the skull and I answered, "the head bone" and he freaked out! It was hysterical. So I feigned outrage and screamed, "Geez, Mr. Cavitt back off! It's not like I want to be an Anatomist when I grow up!" which then made him throw me out of class.

Oh... The memories.

Last night, I had a show in Carnegie. Pretty close to where I went to high school. Rumor had it that a bunch of teachers were going to attend. I said to my sister last week, "I hope Mr. Cavitt comes. He always encouraged my sense of humor and was just one of my favorite people of all time".

Yesterday, before the show, I found out that none of my former teachers would be able to make it. They had to attend the funeral of another teacher. Mr. Cavitt.

I was crushed to hear the news, but I was even more crushed when I realized that I wouldn't be able to make it to his only funeral viewing because I had to perform.

Attending high school in the suburbs had a tendency to take it's toll on me. I was always labeled "weird" and I never fit into any one niche successfully. I was far more interested in old movies and Woody Allen than Brad Pitt or whatever else was popular at the time. I had extreme difficulty conversing with my peers. It was just so refreshing when someone "got me". You know? And Mr. Cavitt definitely did.

I know for a fact that teachers like Mr. Cavitt helped me to gain the confidence in myself to become a professional performer and writer. He may not have respected my work ethic in his class, but I know he admired my ability to always be myself. He appreciated my sense of humor and I admired his.

I just wish I could have seen him one last time before he died. I would have loved to have shot the shit and caught up and had some laughs. Most of all though, I would have loved to thank him. He treated me with respect and treated me like a person. Not a kid. Not a student. A person. I know it sure meant the World to this terrible anatomy student.

Rest in peace, Mr. Cavitt. You are already missed.

TB or not TB, That IS the Question!

Next show: Tuesday, May 10th at The Brillobox. Tickets are $5/FREE to students with I.D.


Hey Everyone,

Phineas, Palfrey and I are writing to you today from the TB Clinic in Rome.

Yes, we have TB.

Maybe.

Our symptoms began a week ago while we were celebrating Easter in Rome with the Pope.

Not that Pope. Viola Pope, a woman whom I used to work with at Mercy Hospital.

Yes, I used to work in a hospital.

Yes, I saved MANY lives.

I worked in the medical library making photocopies while my work-study boss stared at my bum.

Often, the photocopies were from the American Cancer Journal. So yeah. I guess you can say that I was part-time Oncologist.

You're welcome.

Anyway, the first symptom arrived on Easter Sunday. Phineas, Palfrey, Viola and I were listening to Jesus Christ Superstar and eating hard boiled eggs when Palfrey began to cough like a cig smoker.

At first, Phinny and I were embarrassed by our friend's violent coughing. I mean, it's hard getting people to understand why Phinny and I dig hanging out with a 86 year old lady so when she actually acts old it pisses us off.

We love hanging with Palfrey for a multitude of reasons. First, she always carries hard tact candy in her purse. Second, she's got an accent. Third, she's rich as shit. Fourth, I've watched her kill a man with nothing but her bare hands.

Anyway, about a minute after Palfrey starting coughing Phinny and I both joined in. Viola was disgusted and told us that we were disinvited from her Easter dinner. She mentioned a TB clinic down the road. She also burned her couch. I hope that was unrelated.

When we arrived at the TB Clinic we were surprised to see so many fellow Americans.

Although, who else would be staying at the Terry Bradshaw Clinic?

It's AMAZING here.

They serve us Primanti sandwiches for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

We drink Iron City all day.

We watch old Pittsburgh Steeler Superbowl games on loop.

Our beds are made with all Terrible Towel material.

Rusted Root just played a house show for us!

We may never leave.

We just wanted to let you know that if we are not at my upcoming shows this month it's because we're "ill". (Note: We're not the Webster Dictionary definition of ill rather the Urban dictionary which states: Ill - {adj.} Having great skill or skills with respect to a particular endeavor.)

So long for now. Or. Forever.

Your pals,

Gab, Phineas (the shark) and Mrs. Palfrey

Upcoming Shows:

Also...

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