Putting the 'Ho' in Ho-Ho-Ho.

Christmas Day! In New York City! I awoke and looked out my window and saw that it was so beautiful. The sky was grey and snow covered everything...truly a white Christmas! After I washed up, I went downstairs to the parlor where Dan was sitting watching television, smoking a cigarette, and drinking coffee. John was at the market getting food for tonight's dinner. Dan mumbled it was going to be something special. Dan was acting really weird. Well...weirder. He slept with John last night and perhaps it freaked him out...I don't know why? Dan likes old men. Me? I can't stand the quivering old vampires.

John returned and put the ducks in the oven. The day was spent doing nothing. The parlor became enveloped in a thick fog of cigarette smoke as Dan and John continually chained smoke and drank gallons of coffee. All day, even when John got up to prepare dinner, I had to take his vicious insults. I am really beginning to hate that old man. Is his demeanor towards me based on the fact that I won't have sex with him? Is it because he thinks that I may be attracted to Dan? Both of these ideas fill me with repulsed horror. Did I make a mistake coming here? There is nothing worse than living in a place you are not welcome. And if that old bitch calls me Surfer Boy one more time I shall decapitate him with the firewood poker!

John's guests began to arrive. They were an assortment of over-the-hill ham stage actors who would put down the film industry viciously whenever they asked about my hobbies.

"It's a lost art, dear." Shrilled a fat old queen named Casey sporting a bad permed wig. "The true art of expressionism lies in the thee-uh-tuh."

I was getting pretty sauced and acting like I enjoyed these people’s company. In reality, I loathed them. They were a bunch of hack actors performing in pathetic phantoms of once-famous plays. Tomorrow I have to sit through one of these eyesores. You see, John thinks he is a stage director and believes I can learn from his gift. Ugh. So, manana, I will be sitting in on one of his productions.

Anyway, Marty, the old Jew was putting the moves on me in front of everyone. I just glared straight into his beady eyes and snapped, "It's Christmas, Marty. Why are you here? Don't you realize your people killed Jesus?!"

You could have heard a souffle drop. After that, Marty avoided me like the plague. I didn't care. Those snobbish old phonies made me ill. I trudged through dinner (More snaps from John to me for the entertainment of his guests. Thank you.), had a couple of drinks, and then, after excusing myself, retired to my room.

Luckily, my window faces southwest. I looked out of it, squinting to the horizon. Toward Mexico. Enrique. Little Carlos. Ricardo. Pablo. Jose. Are you having a good Christmas? Estrenos muchos, mi amores.