It's official. The month of February hates me.

I've had problems with February before, evil month that it is. I don't know what I did to it, but it clearly has a disdain for me and decided to open a can of whoop-ass on my body.

First of course, was my little slip down the stairs. I've almost completely recovered from that, but there is occasionally some lingering pain. Then, I had a short bout with a cold. Not as bad as colds/allergy attacks I've had before, but still annoying.

And now for my latest calamity. Monday, my doctor's office called to tell me I tested positive for Helicobacter pylori. So, they phoned in a prescription and later that afternoon I went to pick it up. I naturally assumed it would be a bottle of pills. When I got there, the pharmacy tech couldn't find my order. She looked it up on the computer and saw it was filled that morning.

"Oh wait," she said, "maybe it's in the drawer with the big meds."

She opens this drawer and pulls out a big paper sack. She opens it to show me what's inside. A big box of pre-packaged medication. The pharmacist comes over to explain what I will be taking.

Eight pills a day. Eight! Four in the morning. Four in
the evening. For two weeks, everyday I take two Prevacid, four amoxicillin and two clarithromycin. That last one is a pill I have since come to term as "yellow death".

It is chalky and leaves a horrible metallic taste in my mouth so all day long I taste keys. It is also upsetting my stomach a lot. I called the doctor this morning to see if I should be concerned but they said unfortunately it's the only thing that gets rid of this and I just have to try to hang in there.

Great.

So there I am, laying on the sofa shaking my fist to the ceiling moaning, "Damn you February. Damn you!"

And of course, this year is a leap year. Rotten luck.

Permalink | File Under: Ranting

Far be it from me to begrudge any heterosexual couple any iota of happiness
they may have on this commerce fueled holiday, however I don't think I should
have to be assaulted with their brazen public displays of affection.

I didn't even remember it was Valentine's Day until someone
reminded me. I then figured all my friends who are coupled (it sucks
being "the single friend" among a multitude of couples sometimes) would all have
plans, so I declared this evening a party for one. And what party is complete
without cereal based party mix?

I drove to the nearest grocery store to buy the necessary ingredients. As
I entered the store, I was immediately struck by the more than usual number of
people there.

Husbands and boyfriends making their last minute flower and
candy purchases for their loved ones. Couples shopping for wine and fine
cuts of meat for their special dinners. I didn't mind. I was on a
mission. With list in hand, I grabbed a cart and started heading down
aisles, searching for what I needed.

I was there probably only 15 minutes. In that short time frame, I saw not one,
not two, but three different men grab their female companion's asses
directly in front of me. Three!

I'm not talking a gentle pat or a
hovering above the back pocket of their jeans. I mean a "let's give
this a good squeeze and see if it's ripe" kind of grab.
Three...different...couples! One of them actually looked back at me as if
to say, "That's right. She's mine."

I only came down this aisle
for cereal, Dude. Trust me.

Now, before any of you non-gay readers go off on me and say "gay people can be just
as bad." Yes, I know that is true, however most gay people I know
would be less inclined to do so at Albertson's. It's not always "your
store".

In line for the bathroom at a gay bar?
Sure. But on aisle 7 next to the pretzels? Not likely.

Permalink | File Under: Ranting

"Have you ever done drugs?"

"No. Well, I smoked pot three times when I was younger, but other
than that, no."

"I'm surprised that you've never done drugs."

I look at my therapist like she is on drugs. "Why is that?"

"Well, it's not that you look like someone who does drugs. It's just,
you've had such pain and sadness all your life. I'm surprised you never
tried drugs to ease or take away that pain."

I think about it for a moment and then look at her. "You're
right. I'm surprised I never tried them too."

I've been thinking about this conversation a lot. It is weird that
I never turned to drugs. I always thought at some point I'd turn to alcohol, after
all, it is the family tradition, but the family tradition is also having a
really delicate stomach. My dad would vomit blood because the alcohol
would eat away the lining in his stomach. He had to take
prescription medication for his stomach. I get acid reflux just looking
at a peanut butter sandwich. I can only imagine what drinking a bottle of
whiskey everyday would do to me.

Honestly, sometimes I feel like a big square boy scout. The first time I
got drunk was my freshman year in college. I remember calling all my
friends to tell them I was drunk, because I knew they wouldn't believe it.
Somehow being woken up at 1 AM by a drunken phone call, they were convinced
pretty easily.

I knew a lot of people in college who did drugs, but for some reason they always
shielded me from it. It was as if they were protecting me from it.
"Oh Brian, you don't want to try this," they'd say as they
carefully rolled their joint.

Eventually I did try it at a bachelorette party where I was one of the
hosts. I sat in a circle with about eight women. I made jokes that it
was very much like the scene in 9 to 5. "Hey," I said the the
girl with the big ones. "You can be Dolly and I'll be Lily
Tomlin." "Just take you turn and pass it along dumb ass,"
she snarled. I must have not done it right. I didn't feel
different or high. I also didn't have a craving for barbeque afterwards.

The third and final time I ever tried pot was a real After School Special kind
of moment that is far too embarrassing to ever detail on the internet to the
masses (the twelve of you reading this being the masses). Let's just say
it involved a bowl of oatmeal cookie dough ice cream, fruit soaked in Everclear,
Linda Blair-esque vomiting and other bodily fluids. After that experience,
I never wanted to try it again.

I think I've never been attracted to drugs because of my father. It's a
very strange conversation you have with your dad when he tells you if you ever
want to try "weed or anything stronger", just let him know and he'll
get it for you. I know in his own bizarre way, that was his idea of
being protective and what he thought a good parent should do, but for me it was
very unsettling.

Permalink | File Under: Depression, Life

Thank you to all who have sent me email, left comments or IM'ed me with get
well wishes and concern. You are all very sweet and I truly appreciate
each and every sentiment. My bum has never felt such love before.
:-)

Although having to cancel my trip sucked, a silver lining was I got go to the VNSA
Used Book Sale today. My friend Kristin goes to this every year and
every year she either 1) forgets to tell about it until the day after or 2)
doesn't tell me when it is before I make other plans I can't break. When I
scheduled my trip, I was a disappointed that I was going to miss it again.

Unfortunately shopping while on pain killers isn't as fun as it might
seem. I have absolutely no attention span when I'm on this stuff.
Case in point, in a misguided attempt to start spring cleaning early, I pulled
everything out of my closet so I could reorganize it yesterday. This
evening, there are still piles and piles of clothes dumped all over my bedroom
floor.

We got the the sale about an hour before it ended. Of course most of the
good stuff was gone, but the remainder was half off the already low
prices. I wandered around in a haze, picking up a book every now and then
and putting it back on the table.

Eventually I found a few things: an old cookbook, a few biographies, a
novel. My favorite find was a 1972 psychological study, The Sensuous
Hooker by W.D. Sprague which begs the question, "In an age of sexual
freedom why does prostitution thrive?" Why indeed!

I just love odd crap like this. Years ago, I found a 1937 copy of Emily
Post's Etiquette. My favorite part was a section regarding college
boys. College girls ask, "May I give a boy my picture to take to
college? If yes, how shall I sign it?"

The answer? "If he is an old friend there is no reason why you should not
give him your picture, but don't sign it, because a name on a girl's picture in
a college man's room is apt to challenge the sort of attention that every
well-bred man hates. In other words, it makes Mary a conspicuous
personality in this room, whereas simply the face of a girl is as impersonal as
the face in any picture on his wall."

Oh that Mary! She's always conspicuous, that bitch.

Permalink | File Under: Life

hydrocodone/apap

Have sweeter words ever been spoken? For the last three days I have been
floating higher than a kite while my bruised tailbone (apparently it's an actual
medical term since that's what my doctor diagnosed it as) has been slowly
feeling less and less painful.

I was skeptical of being on pain medication. Honestly, it rarely
helps. When I go to the dentist, they usually have to give me two to three
times more shots just to numb me before they start ripping my mouth apart.

So I took the first oval blue tablet around 5 PM on Thursday after returning
from the pharmacy. About 30 minutes later, a wave of...I'm not sure
exactly what to call it. Let's say "not-giving-a-shit-anymoreness".
So, about 30 minutes later, a wave of not-giving-a-shit-anymoreness washed over
me and all I could think was one word.

Dude.

Suddenly, I was Jeff Spicoli. I was the turtle in Finding Nemo. I
was that kid in your high school who sat in the back row by the window during
French class after lunch who would wave his fingers back and forth slowly in
front of his face and when you ask him what he was doing he'd reply:
"Making rainbows man. Making rainbows."

I no longer cared about the pain when I sat down, stood up or bent over. I
no longer cared that I had to cancel my trip. I no longer cared about the sink full
of dirty dishes. I no longer cared if The Roommate did the dishes. I
no longer cared if The Roommate put the dishes in the
wrong place in the cabinet.

All I could think was: dude. I
can see how people become addicted to this stuff. I get it now Matthew
Perry. I get it.

I could most likely return to work on Monday since I am feeling tons better, but
probably won't since I was going to be off any way. Besides, I don't want
work to kill my buzz.

Permalink | File Under: Life

I had to postpone my trip to Raleigh. Last night, I slipped on the stairs in my house and landed right on my ass. Then I proceeded to bump my way down 4 steps before I could finally stop myself. Ouch! I feel much better today, but it hurts like a mofo when I sit in an upright seated position or have to bend in any way. This morning, I was attempting to tie my shoes and thought, "just how am I going to do this at the airport?" Because you know they always have me take off my shoes.

Aside from the embarrassment of falling in my own home, I feel like I jinxed myself. The night before as I was walking down the stairs, I thought to myself, "I wonder when I'm going to fall or trip on these stairs. It's inevitable." Ugh. It really was inevitable.

So, I'm waiting for my doctor's office to open to call them for an appointment and make sure nothing's damaged or broken. I went to pick up breakfast this morning. Driving wasn't so bad. It was the getting in and out of the car that sucked. I think I finally understand the shopping cart skank.

In the meantime...back by popular demand (well...at least one guy), the commenting function is back after a near seven month absence. Got something to say? Go for it.

Comments (3)
Permalink | File Under: Life

Voting

I went to vote in the primary yesterday. I was very discouraged that
1) there wasn't a line to stand in when I got there (I was in fact the only
voter there) and 2) when the poll person pointed on the list for me to sign my
name, there were no other signatures. This was at 4:45 PM. Very
disappointing. What is it going to take to inspire people to vote?

Mourning

The loss of Nita's Hideaway.
Nita's was the best place to see local and national acts. Its
closure is a really sad sign for all music in this area.

Listening

What is it about the latest Pernice
Brothers album, Yours,
Mine & Ours, I like so much? It it their sweet soothing voices and
lush harmonies? Is it their catchy hooks? Is it that they remind me
a bit of The Judybats? Perhaps it's all of
these things. I am still kicking myself for not getting to see them last
time they were in Phoenix.

I have been listening to Rosie Thomas's
song Wedding Day in constant repeat. It is a perfect little song. The
rest of the album is pretty good too, but this song really stays with
me.

Monday I received a wonderful surprise. Robbie,
someone I've never met but whom I suspect is as kind as he is creative,
generously offered to make and send me a CD
compilation of songs by Lisa Germano, one
of his favorite singers. I knew this was being delivered, but what I didn't
know is how much effort he would end up putting into it. This CD is
amazing. He hand picked 22 of his favorite song, even formatted
some songs so they blended into each other seamlessly. He designed a
booklet complete with lyrics (he actually typed all the lyrics!) and
artwork. It's a wonderful introduction to an artist who's talent I am
growing to admire. Thank you Robbie!

Leaving

I leave tomorrow morning to fly to Raleigh/Durham, North Carolina to visit my
friend Diana. She's only been gone about 6 weeks, but I already miss her
dearly. I'm looking forward to spending to time with her. I'm not
looking forward to freezing my ass off. I am spoiled by the desert and
will probably freak out at the temperature being in the low forties. I'm
going to take this opportunity to shop for a good coat. I don't own a
coat. Since moving to Phoenix, I've never needed one. I think I
should get one just for things like this.

Permalink | File Under: Lists, Music

Just
about everyday, The Roommate asks me the same question: Does this look okay?

I
hate that question. Hank Hill said it best. "That's what you
call a loaded question. No matter how I answer, there's a bullet in every
chamber designed to blow my brains out."

As
she
continues to press me, I try to answer as best I can.

The
Roommate: Does this look okay?
Me: Sure.
The Roommate: You didn't even look up.
Me: I saw it before.
The Roommate: When?
Me: You know. That other time you wore it. You know. That time
at
the place with the guy. It looked fine then; it looks fine now.

The
Roommate: Does this look okay?
Me: Yes.
The Roommate: Does it make me look like a lesbian?
Me: I don't know. Let me see you go down on a woman and then
I'll tell you.

The
Roommate: Does this look okay?
Me: No.
The Roommate: What's wrong with it?
Me: The scarf looks weird.
The Roommate: But I have to wear the scarf!
Me: ...
The Roommate: I have a stain on this shirt and the scarf is covering the
stain. I don't have time to iron anything else.
Me: You look fine.
The Roommate: But you just said... (phone rings)
Me: I'll get it! (runs for dear life to answer the phone.)

The
Roommate: Does this look okay?
Me: (fingers in ears, leaving the room) LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA!

I'm
not good in that department. Oh, I can point out the obvious fashion faux
pas. Too tight, too loose, brown shoes with black belt. But The
Roommate is looking for a style maven. I'm basically a t-shirt and jeans
guy. No, scratch that. I'm a long sleeve shirt with the sleeves
rolled up over the t-shirt and jeans guy. I am no Queer Eye, nor do I
suspect I will ever be. I took the Queer Meter test this weekend. I
scored an appalling 43%. Micheale said not to worry. Her wife only
scored 43%. "But I can attest that she is definitely 100%
gay," she boasted.

I
think The Roommate's ideal roommate would be Carson
Kressley. Someone who
can be her gal pal, her girlfriend, her Gurrll Friday. Someone who can
dress her. I tell her to consult her gay coworker. He knows more
about this stuff, however he's the reason she asks me the dreaded
question every day. "He made fun of my blouse today," she pouts
over dinner.

"Next
time he does that, tell him to fuck off," I tell her. "As if he
should talk. Dockers aren't necessarily fashion
forward."

Okay...so
maybe I'm a little more than 43%.

Permalink | File Under: Life

Maybe
one day this will turn out to be a list of 100
things. Until then, I'll
just post them as I think of them.

1. I
had never been to Arizona when I moved here in 1997. I drove through
the night from Oklahoma and arrived on a Saturday morning in August.
Little did I know, August is not the best time of year to move to
Phoenix. About 15 miles before I crossed the city limits, I hit a wall
of heat I had never felt before. Did I mention the car I was driving
had no air-conditioning and the driver's side window didn't roll down?
Yeah. It wasn't the best first impression.

2. A
few months later, I bought a used car with air-conditioning. The A/C
crapped out a few years later and for two or three summers, I drove around
without A/C. I am still amazed that I have adapted to the summer
heat. Don't get me wrong, it's completely miserable, but I no longer
feel like I'm going to die or spontaneously combust at any moment.

3. After
that
car was destroyed, I got a new car with ice cold A/C. I'm back to
being wimpy and can't imagine not having A/C.

4. Air-conditioning
is a very big deal here in the desert.

5. Every
pair of shoes I own are Skechers, except one and they are very Skechers-eque
however I can't remember the last time I wore them. (They probably
feel like the neglected step child.) I'm not sure how or when I became
a complete whore to the Skechers company, but I don't intend to stop anytime
soon.

6. I
carry a small APS camera with me everywhere I go, but rarely take pictures
with it. Oh, it comes in handy sometimes: a birthday dinner and no one
brought a camera, etc. but it usually just sits in my messenger bag
unused. In fact, I usually process incomplete rolls because I get
tired of waiting for me to finish the rolls.

7. I
usually refer to my messenger bag as my man purse. I keep my wallet,
camera, checkbook, PDA, lip balm and a
bunch of other stuff in it. It might as well
have tampons in it.

8. Apparently
I go to the gayest
gym in the valley. There is a reason they call it Sally's.
The first time I went there, I parked next to a club kid in a sporty
Mitsubishi. His license plate said MADONNA. Case closed.

9. I
believe there is a time and place for everything. I get annoyed with
people who don't respect that boundary.

10. I
associate certain songs with certain people. This can sometimes lead
me to hate certain songs, but usually there are good memories associated
with them.

Permalink | File Under: Lists

Last night The Roommate and I decided to go have a couple drinks at a nearby bar. We swore we would not have a repeat performance of our last visit to this bar, but we put the troops on standby just in case.

Inside, we saw D's Ex, who works there. He came over, greeted us and gave us the requisite "where the hell have you two been?" We made small talk and said we'd talk more later. When we were ready to leave, I looked around so we could say goodbye, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Later, at home, I started thinking about D's Ex. D and I used to tell each other everything. All our hopes, dreams and dirty little secrets. When D and the Ex first started dating, D didn't tell me anything about it. I actually found out from someone else who thought I knew. D's Ex was still in the closet then and I guess he felt the need to protect him and his secret.

Finding out the way I did was hurtful, but I wasn't mad a D. I was mad at the Ex. D would put us in situations and try to get us to interact and I just retreated. The Ex eventually started inching his way out of the closet, but I was still standoffish to him and never made an effort to get to know him. It was petty and immature of me. When I looked at him, I saw the mistrust I had for D. I constantly questioned if he was keeping other things from me.

Truth be told, the Ex was and is a pretty swell guy. He is completely charming and friendly. He can talk to anyone. He is also very loyal to those he loves. Although I never let him get close to me, I watched him with his other friends. If they needed it, he would give his last dollar to a friend. He has a very big, generous, loving heart.

Today, I drove to the bar hoping he would be working the afternoon shift. I walked in and saw him behind the bar. He got me a beer and I drank it quickly as I listened to Beyonce warble the national anthem at the Super Bowl. After I finished my beer, he asked if I wanted another. I told him no and asked if he had a second to talk. He said sure and met me in a deserted corner of the bar.

He looked at me with curiosity as I took a deep breath and dove on it. I told him I owed him an apology.

"I've not always been the nicest guy to you."

I went on to explain why I never took the time to get to know him and why I was always aloof and unfriendly towards him. He said he always got the vibe I never liked him but didn't know why. I told him that I actually did like him, but I just needed someone to blame. As unfair as it was, I chose him. We went on to talk about where we both were at that time: he uncomfortable in his own skin; I doubtful of my friendship with D.

"Well...I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry." He thanked me and we hugged goodbye. As I walked to my car, I realized for the first time in quite a while, I felt good about something. I felt like I did something right for a change.

Permalink | File Under: Life