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  1. It Was My Fuchsia Anniversary

    Tuesday, March 29, 2016

    Though Good Friday does not land on the same day (or even the same month) each year, my divorce was on a Good Friday, so I consider it my anniversary. This year, my anniversary began waking up after a full night’s sleep. That still feels like a luxury to me. I opened an email I received from a woman who is part of a comedy group. She was responding to an inquiry from me. She thanked me for my communication and told me she’d have me on a comedy show in the summer. That was a really great way for me to have started my day.

    Then I had to meet a co-worker to give him some papers. He was coming to the front of my house which made it real easy on me. He also happens to be a pastor. Though I do not follow a religion (other than the Golden Rule) and he and I were not born into the same religion, I find him very comforting. I told him what Good Friday meant to me, and he laughed. I said, “I know that’s not what the religion had in mind.” Then he, in his way, connected it by saying it was the end of one thing to be followed by something better. He emphasized “better.” I said that just coming home to me is better since I’m a nice gal. I let him know that though I had no religious connection, hearing what he said did feel comforting.

    I was meeting with my best friend for breakfast and for doing some chores together for me. I am more challenged by some daily tasks than I used to be. I’m still in process of finding my way back to me. (When I speak to God, after safety and health for my son and me, I typically ask God to help my son find his way back to himself, his own heart, and reclaim his loving soul.)

    Before my buddy and I met, I wanted to accomplish something I had been neglecting (there are many choices, unfortunately). I turned one disaster area into a sparkling, good to the touch, once again usable area. That felt so lifting to my spirit. Then I did other stuff and got five bags of garbage out. Whew.

    My buddy and I enjoyed each other’s company as we typically do. We shared our current happenings. We find humor where we can when we can. I can’t be thankful enough for such a wonderful friendship. We managed to buy some stuff I needed, from a fly swatter to lightbulbs and all sorts of things like that. He did things for me in the apartment. He is such a brother to me.

    After we parted, I bought fuchsia flowers for myself. I also bought a bottle of wine.

    I managed to fill a couple of more bags of garbage. This time when I took it in the alley of my building, a rat ran by, I screamed, set the bags down on the ground, and scooted out of there.

    That evening I had plans with Debbie Bazza. We went to an open mic in New Rochelle. I met other people doing comedy which is always a good thing. Then Debbie and I went to one of my favorite places – the Starving Artists’ CafĂ© on City Island. She was planning to drive me to a point where instead of 3 buses, I’d only have to take 2 buses back home. However, after drinking some, I wanted to stay past the time she wanted to. So I was willing to take the 3 buses. But Debbie asked her friend to drop me where she would have. That was nice. I was good with that. But when it came time to leave, I was offered a ride all the way home by one of the musicians. I accepted.

    The ride home was comfortable. Conversation felt easy. Driving wasn’t frightening. I asked if I can contribute to gas costs. He said no. Then when we were already on my block, he asked me something that felt uncomfortable, over the line, and disappointing. My eyes must’ve bulged. He swore that it was a joke because in my comedy I mentioned a penis-free zone. I told him the zone was real. (It is those attitudes and comments and the hurt they cause that is part of why the zone exists.) He was laughing and apologizing. I really felt he was regretful because up until then, it felt nice. He even seemed like he’d be snuggly. When I got out of the car, he didn’t just zip away. He waited until I got inside. I wanted that to speak louder to me than his turn-off comment. I turned around and waved goodbye.

    I came home to me, my somewhat improved apartment, and my beautiful fuchsia flowers. 


    There is so much on my mind, yet I can’t seem to untangle it enough to write a coherent blog for today.

    So I will share a friend’s set -- Jane Stroll -- that I find very funny.

  3. March 2016

    Tuesday, March 15, 2016

    It's only Monday night/Tuesday morning, and I'm tired.  I hope my motor picks up to get through the week.  I have gotten some ideas for earning money without going anywhere to teach, proofread, or any of that.  Once I get it going, I will announce and display.  This idea connects me with my mother, who I love and have missed most of my life.  I hope I actualize what I'm imagining.

    For now, I want to share the work of a woman who calls herself PsychoSuperMom.  (Canada Anne, you might want to check her out -- she does comedic songs about all kinds of stuff.  I think she'd enjoy your "Propaganda Pussy" (or was it "Pussy Propaganda"?).)

    It is Women's History Month, and many of us are making history right now.  Maybe one day it will be called herstory (and it will encompass a much fuller picture).  And on that note...
    "In societies where men are truly confident of their own worth, women are not merely tolerated but valued." - Aung Sang Suu Kyi (1945)

    Burmese opposition politician Suu Kyi was under house arrest for 15 years for her pre-democracy campaigning. She only gained release in 2010 following an international campaign to let her free. She won a nobel prize in 1991 where it was said that "Suu Kyi's struggle is one of the most extraordinary examples of civil courage in Asia in recent decades."

  4. Heroin Not Funny Ha-Ha By Rhonda Hansome

    Thursday, March 10, 2016

    I'm conflicted.

    Drug dependency is no joke.

    Drug addiction is not funny.

    In addition to the incredible financial profit associated with drug traffic, narcotics are also used for social control. Time and again it is revealed that illegal substances are funneled directly to black populations in the United States. It has been documented that African-American neighborhoods were the targeted destination of highly addictive DRUGS, often in response to increased community consciousness, militancy or rebellion. I'm just saying...

    What IS funny to me (not funny Ha-Ha, but in a WTF? kind of way) is the recent almost weekly hue and cry over the uptick in drug overdoses in suburban areas, so called "good neighborhoods" or among the "well educated". Countless families have one if not two generations suffering repercussions of draconian drug possession / use laws.  Why now the call for a "more sensible" response to addiction and decriminalization?  I'm not saying, I'm just saying...

    When it comes to drugs there is more than susceptibility at play. There is design and discrimination regarding penalties. There is intention with distribution and proliferation.

    There is a method to the madness. 
    It's no laughing matter.

    Follow @RhondaHansome 

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    About a year ago, I proudly posted on my Facebook wall how long I’d been penis-free.   Much to my surprise, many men sounded upset while I pretty much felt it like an accomplishment.  So I asked my buddy, who is a heterosexual man, why men who live far away in other states and many who are married or committed and not dating would care if I choose to have sex with another or not.  After thinking for a moment, he said that it may not be rational but somewhere deep inside, many feel that someone should be getting it. 

    We laughed and I simultaneously fumed.  But it validated what I felt most of my life.  It has felt like I’m expected to pay an extra tax to live on the Earth because I have a vagina.  For me, having been penis-free for quite an impressive chunk of time is empowering.

    I come home and lock my door. Grateful to have some peace even if not yet enough. I’m grateful to have a place to live even if it still needs a lot more work.  I did clean my toilet today.  I finally have a seat for company.


    Big changes ahead at one of my jobs.  Can’t say I’m not concerned.  I need both paychecks.  Neither is extra.  I work hard to be this low-income.


    I applied for a couple of auditions for paid acting roles.  I don’t do that consistently enough.  So it felt good to let casting people know I exist.  There were several I couldn’t apply to because of my jobs.  Oy.

    I applied to participate in a paid focus group.  If I get accepted, it means missing the poetry workshop I love attending.  It also means a hundred bucks.  I need it.


    If someone is against planned parenthood, is s/he for unintentional, unplanned parenthood?  Doesn’t sound like someone who understands what’s involved in raising a child/building a person or maybe s/he simply doesn’t care.  It is a way to trap a woman.  I know a man who impregnated his first and second wives in reaction to his fear that they didn’t plan to stay with him. Maybe he felt it easier than becoming a more desirable partner.  Poor babies, born into unhappy marriages because a pathologically selfish man wanted to buy time with each woman though he was faithful to neither. 

    If you don't stop Monsanto from poisoning us, please don't tell me how pro-life you are.  If you think men should have the final say-so on women's vaginal activity, please don't tell me how much you respect women.  Be proud of who you are or change. 

    When I look at Trump, I see a weak little man who is too frightened to allow another to be heard.  I am so familiar with the type.  I think his pretty wife is getting to know him too.  A friend of mine even suggested that she, like me, may create a penis-free zone of her own.

    Whether it looks like this 

    or like this

                                                  it is the same shit -- not good for anyone.


    Treasure and protect whatever freedoms you do have.  Don't count on anyone else to do so.  It’s International Women’s Day.

    Please, vote like a woman!  Consider candidates that know they have no right to rule our bodies and lives.  Do not dishonor our foremothers who were beaten, hospitalized in mental institutions, jailed, and force-fed, and had the ovaries to endure it so that we can vote.  Fuckin' VOTE!  Thank you.


  6. Sleeping with Trump

    Tuesday, March 1, 2016

    Don’t judge me but several nights ago, I slept with Donald Trump.  I didn’t mean to.  I was watching what the Republicans call a debate. 
    But many wouldn’t have earned a good grade in my son’s middle school debate class where they taught to attack the argument and not the person. 

    At some point, I fell asleep. 
    The station replayed many portions of the so-called debate all night long.  Each time I awoke, there he was, not allowing others to speak, calling people names that are more true of him, bullying, putting his hand up, giving his permission for another to speak as if he were the moderator, just indulging his incurable narcissism.  He was connecting with other bullies and appealing to bad qualities in ugly ways, putting down an opponent for not being for torture and all kinds of disgusting shit.

    In the morning, I was kicking myself for not changing the channel.  I think in my sleepiness, I thought it would end.  So in some creepy, disgusting way, I slept with Trump.  Here he is describing the size of something.   

    It’s this small but you’ll love it. Women love me. No one respects women more than I do.







    The painting “Sleeping Woman” is by Karoly Ferenczy, (1912)