21 February 2007


Today is my birthday! Yay! My mum woke me at 0442 to let me know just what was going on at that time 32 years ago. She doesn’t skimp on the details, either. I don’t think bacon and eggs will go down so smoothly now. Best stick with cereal. Cheerios, since they don't turn the milk any weird colors.

So, thirty-two… For those that can, what do/did you dig about thirty-two? It’s a cool number, all rounded and soft-looking. Cool facts about 32 are also welcome.

I’m feeling pretty good so far. 31 was bad; you’ve read some of the crap that got posted last year, you know about it. But it’s not 31 anymore! I am one better than Baskin-Robbins!

My birthday is the only day of the year where I try to think of myself in a 100% positive light. I don't feel selfish for buying myself something; I don't reflect on all the bad shit that has happened, is happening, or will potentially happen; and I try to forget all the times I was a jerk. It's a reminder of the possibility that we all start with of being good people. On my birthday, I bring that to the front of my brain.

“So what are you doing for your birthday?” I am going to my German class, then coming home. I’ll have lunch with the world’s greatest photographer, then go to work with the kiddies. After that, it’s off to Borders for my birthday shopping spree and free dessert! Then home to put the finishing touches on any homework assignments, make a phone call or two, grab one of my new books and hit the sheets.

Yeah, I know how to party.

There will be a celebration later; the Cock-Sucking Mohican is hosting a party for D and me, since our birthdays are a day (well, two years and a day) apart. It will be a good time. Hey, you wanna come?


19 February 2007

For Your Consideration

  • Since I find Maggie Gyllenhaal exceptionally beautiful, does that mean that I would settle for Jake?
  • My brother Zeepjoey has as much self respect as a crack whore. On second thought, maybe less; at least a crack whore has a job.
  • It always bothers me when talentless hacks are famous. I have no talents; where are my millions?
  • Some people are famous now because there wasn't a whole lot going on at the time that they came out. I call this "the Van Morrison Effect." Zeepmomma says I could've called it "the Steve and Edie Effect," but I don't know who the fuck they are. I would probably prefer them to Van, however.
  • Do winos still drink wine exclusively? if they don't, shouldn't we call them something else?
  • Music is a faith; karaoke is a cult.
  • The Beatles are like walking hand in hand in the park on a lovely spring day. The Rolling Stones are like drunkenly fucking in an alley during a full moon.
  • There need to be more midget cover bands. I can see it now: Weetallica; 3'11"; Lovin' Teaspoonful. I could go on and on...
  • I really must stop with the crushes on my professors.
  • I really hope 32 doesn't suck.


14 February 2007

Happy Valentine's Day

I want your sweat
Staining my skin
Marking my sin.

I want to be drenched
In your

Make my heart
Bruise against my bones.

Deafen me with your moans.
Burn me in your embrace.
Suffocate me deep inside you.
Kill me, just a little.

Make me a fallen angel;
Rend my back;
Scar me;
Tear out my wings.


12 February 2007

Happy VD! Part 1

In the spirit of the holiday, and GringO’s inspiring story of doc-on-patient love, I have decided to share a story of medical intrigue and supreme embarrassment on my part. Plus, my balls have the starring role, which I know you all love! In a more figurative sense, of course.

This was just under two years back. I was going to the VA doc to get my annual check-up, to be sure that I was still the specimen of physical perfection that I am known to be. Every man out there knows about the joys of the hernia check, but once you get to a certain age, there comes along a new torture: the testicular cancer check. When this was first demonstrated to me by a Navy doc, I thought, shit, I’ve could’ve been using that as an excuse all that time! “No ma, I’m palpating the region and checking for abnormal growth!” There was plenty of normal growth already!

So doc is palpating the region, I’ve turned my head and coughed, and he says that he’s going to go ahead and check for anything abnormal. He asks if I’ve been checking myself regularly. I say, “Doc, you could time a soufflĂ© with my checks!”
It is then that he stops palpating and says, “Hello…”
When a doc has his balls in your hands, you’re hoping for silence, or at least some medical jargon, not a greeting. So I say, “Uh, hi?”
He then says, “I found something!”
I come to on the examining table, and he’s looking at me and he says, “Yeah, I probably could’ve put that better…”
Why God, do I always get the doc with a sense of humor?
So he tells me he found something, and that I should go to dermatology.

I go to my dermatology appointment, and they tell me to strip. You all know me; I am so very shy. JK, LOL!!

The doc walks in, and it’s this incredibly gorgeous intern from UIC. She’s tall, brunette, slightly Asian…she reminded me of Asia Carrera. Yeah, definitely not a bad thing. And she says she needs to examine me, and check and see what it is on my schnuts. So I lift up the gown, and she does the cruelest thing ever done to me by a woman I haven’t slept with.

She drops to her knees, grabs my thunder, and then, in order to let light into her view, she tosses her head sharply to the right, flicking her hair out of the way.

For the women that don’t know, to a guy that is the signal for, “I am going to suck your cock, and I want you to watch.”

The rest of the examination was very, very difficult for me. When she finished, I wanted to stop her and say, “About your bedside manner…”

It turned out to be nothing more than an infected ingrown hair, and a lancing took care of it. A lancing performed by a very unsexy doc with short hair, and balls of his own. No hair flip there, thank God.


09 February 2007

'Tis the Season

Retail during the holidays. Yay.

All of our customers have one thing on their minds: size. Size of bags, boxes, and other stuff.
“You could fit four small children in this bag. Sounds good for Christmas!”
Customer: “Are your boxes big?”
Me: “Oh, yeah! Our boxes are really deep!”

And as we all know, selling is all about sexy!

Hot Wheels, to attractive female customer and whether she should buy an ivory coat:
“It depends on the person. It depends on, uh…well, how dirty you get.” (smiles lecherously).

Watching a customer walk away, with the Cock-Sucking Mohican:
“Her legs are thinner than my dick. Which is pretty thin for a leg but pretty thick for…hey, where are you going?

“My breath is kicking like a drowning whore.”

“No exchanges in Hell. This isn’t Wall Street!”

There’s your random blather concerning the holidays in Hell. Are you happy now?


03 February 2007

Heart Burn

Just recently, Wendy posted a blog that really hit home with me. You should read it, because it deals with a phenomenon that we all know, and that I fear and enjoy just a little bit.

I fear it because it makes me feel weak. It makes me think that there is something broken (unlike my normal broken) and I get frustrated because I can’t fix it. After a while, I do get weak physically, like I’ve just been exposed to my own personal Kryptonite. And I don’t like things being unexplained. Why did she come up today, right now? I wasn’t listening to our song, I didn’t go to any of our places; hell, I wasn’t even daydreaming about any of the stuff that I daydreamed about when we were what we were. But there she is, a phoenix rising from the dead fires that she burned me in.

And I think about calling her. I still have her number; I never delete numbers from my phone, since the only thing that ever encourages me to throw anything away is there’s no room for it. Or it smells funny, or doesn’t fit anymore; but that doesn’t apply to phone numbers. Anyone I have ever called, I have their number somewhere. So you better believe that I have her number. Especially if she’s a her.

Maybe I’m thinking about her for a reason. I forget how much bullshit I think fate is and maybe that this sudden intrusion in my life is actually some kind of intervention, an inspiration to act, to call. Maybe…

But I am not going to, because it’s wrong on too many levels. It’s stalker-creepy for one. And it’s wrong for all the reasons that she and I are no longer we.

And do I really want to risk hearing a guy answer her phone?


But I also like it when it happens, a little bit. It brings me back to those times when things were good with us, and I was making her happy. When we had our thing that only we did. Before acrimony, before defeat: when everything was warm and red-gold; and sunrises were sweet because of the promise of a day with her in it; and sunsets were even sweeter for the new memories we created and the promise of another sunrise bringing a tomorrow that may be even better than this perfect day.

It’s a reminder of just how awesome and real and powerful that particular happiness is, and that nothing else matters but loving and being loved. It reminds me that you can live a dream.

It also reminds me that you have to wake up.