Sexathon

Ok, so I have HBO on Demand, which means that I am a lazy, disorganized shit. Anyway, I love Sex and the City. I know: big homo. Okay, so HBO put up like 35 shows for my viewing pleasure this time. None of which I have seen before. Here’s the catch: they go off the air May 2nd. I am like so fucked. I have gotten through about 12 so far, and I just don’t know when I will have the time to watch the rest. I have this deal tomorrow night, and a deal most of Saturday and a deal Sunday. Friday, of course, I have to work like a chump. Christ, I haven’t even watched the Friends and Will & Grace I taped last week, or the Animatrix, or the Star Wars Clone Wars episodes that I taped from Cartoon Network and magically edited together without technically being able to say I have watched them, plus throw in a new series of AbFab which just arrived on DVD and you begin to see my problem. Why is my TV viewing so complicated? Or is it that I making things a priority that should not be? Ahh, fuck it: TV rules!

A poem

Allow me to preface this poem with the following statement: it was written for (and won) a bad poetry contest. I think it’s pretty obvious why.

Segue to Crack Street

Dude.
Like
I told you a million times
“Crack Kills”.

You were like “Whatever” and
“I’ll smoke it 24/7 if I want to.”

Dude.
Like
I told you not to steal my grandma’s wedding ring
from off her finger at her funeral.
But you did.
For crack.

Ka-ching!
For bling-bling

Now look at you.
On Crack Street.
In the alley with your white chapped lips.
You suck.

Anachronism.

Hysterical Blindness

So, my vision started going. I mean, I wore glasses before, but I could still like “see” stuff: yesterday, everything that wasn’t six inches from my face became an indistinct blur. I decided that I must be tired. After all, I have worked very strenuously in the past few weeks, spending most of my time staring at a computer screen. Woke up this morning, everything was still blurry; less blurry with my glasses on, but like I had the wrong prescription or something. I begin to contemplate what life will be like when I am blind. I decide that either: A) God is punishing me, B) what they said about doing that too much WAS true, C) Irony, after a long (but not long enough on my part) absence has decided it was time to drop down and kick me in the nut sack by making me a blind librarian (insert Twilight Zone theme music here), D) is for diabetes, which both my father’s sister and mother had, or E) I have syphilis. I am really only worried about the last two of these, although it is my understanding that diabetes doesn’t cause blindness in the manner I am experiencing, and as for syphilis, I have only ever had protected sex and I think I would have noticed some other symptoms in the three months and 25 days (but who's counting) since I last got my freak on. After an entire day of worrying, I finally called my mom. She’s a nurse. She told me to schedule an appointment with my doctor. I hate going to the doctor, so I counter-offered resting my eyesight for a day or two and seeing how that went. She said that was fine and that if I did go blind, I would always have a place … in her shed. Mom is not big on the wallowing in self-pity, as you may have guessed.

Porn Flakes

I was having some minor computer problems recently, and downloaded this free app to try and troubleshoot some of my problems. As I looked through the site, I found a companion program that supposedly searched through files to see if it could find porno on your computer. Since I KNOW I have porno on my computer, I was curious to see if it could find it. After I downloaded the program, I ran it. It took forever (maybe because it’s a lot of porn, or so I thought at the time), and found like 4000 files. Curious to see the results, I began flipping through the screens. Most of what it found was from MS Office clip art gallery. You might be thinking, “Where can I get THAT collection?” but it was actually things that just looked like they might be naughty because of their pixelar arrangement such as: a pencil, a shoe, a baby’s head, someone’s foot, coins, and a hose. It found some porn, too; porn that I had even forgotten was there. Ah, technology.

A danger to myself and others

I just had a bicycle accident. Well, not JUST had: I am not sitting here typing while blood slithers down my arm like a crimson snake. I had my accident yesterday and have recouped enough to describe my grim horror. Actually, it wasn’t so bad, I mean I only flipped over the front of my bike, banged my head on the ground, got a couple of scrapes and lumps, and a lovely patch of road rash on my left side. The accident happened because I tried to wave my thanks to the motorist who was allowing me to pass in front of him; as soon as I let go of the handlebar, I became airborne. He responded by pulling his car over and inquiring if I was okay. After assessing the damage (and very loudly saying, “Fuck!” “God Damn it!”), I told him I would be fine. Then I said, “That’ll teach me to say ‘thanks’” and hobbled to my fortuitously nearby home. It also taught me that I should wear some protective gear. I am now the proud owner of a sassy purple bike helmet, which increases my sex appeal exponentially (what is that mathematical property of zero again…?). However, it will also keep my brain safe. Safe from roadways at least: a device to protect brains from Ann Coulter and other screeching gibbons of the radical Right unfortunately has yet to be invented.

I'm baaack!

And it didn't even require a child's inflatable swimming pool full of cherry Jell-O. That you know of, anyway.

My baloney has a first name

What is it with some straight guys and their frequent utterance of the words “man” or “dude”? I mean, I guess they can’t exactly call each other “princess”, “pumpkin”, “Mary”, “queen”, “Nancy”, “sister”, “homo”, “fag”, or “bitch”. They don’t get to have sex with other men, either. Poor bastards.

Internal Dialogue

So I am working on this huge project, right? And I’m like all not working nearly as hard as I should and this not like a craft project or a home renovation: it involves money, specifically, money that will come to me or if I don’t complete the project, money that I will lose. And I am like “Self, what the hell is going on here? You know how important this is” because sometimes you simply must use that tone when you speak to your self. And my self says back “I don’t wanna! I’m bored! I want to play Zuma!”
“I don’t think that’s it at all. What’s really bothering you?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Yep. I’m lazy”
“Now I happen to know for a fact that simply isn’t true. You work very hard on some things. Why is that?”
“I dunno.”
“I think you do. If you look, you’ll see that you always work very hard when you know you will succeed. I think you are afraid of failing, of not being good enough, so you use these delaying tactics so that instead of it looking like you aren’t good enough, you have an excuse.”
“Oh yeah, well I think you are afraid of success!”
“Preposterous!”
“Well, if you look back, then you will see how you have never really failed at anything in your life. Sure, you have occasional setbacks, things that don’t turn out really as well as you’d hoped, but when was the last time that happened? That frightens you, because it means that maybe you aren’t living up to your potential, maybe you are slumming through your life, blaming all of your problems on me, when you deserve an equal share of the blame.”
“Hmm.”
“Hmm, indeed.”
“So where do we go from here?”
“Thorazine?”
“How about we try something different from everyone else in America, and try to solve our problems without chemical intervention?”
“Fine.”
“What do you say we recognize that while we have not accomplished as much as some, we have accomplished more than others.”
“And that while we may be older than we were, we are still young enough to beat the pants off anyone who comes our way, if we so choose to do so?”
“Sounds good to me!”
“Me, too.”
“See you tomorrow, then.”
“Where are you going?”
“Oh, the id has some kind of chocolate sex orgy going on. Wanna come along?”
“Hell yeah!”

Now I understand why Rachel says I need therapy.

Pain in the head

I am sorry I did not write yesterday. I had a terrible migraine, the likes of which I fortunately experience very rarely. It was the kind where I feel like I am going to vomit, where I can smell blood (without any apparent bleeding), the kind where I can taste sound. I tried to fight it, ignore it, work around it, but when my vision blurred I realized that it had won. Depending on circumstances, I deal with these pains in the head in one of two ways. The first is to lie down in a dark, silent room and put something cold on my eyes. I like to use a bag full of ice cubes wrapped in a towel because I find that it conforms more readily to the contours of my face. My other remedy is the one I used last night: a hot, scented bubble bath. I used equal parts lavender and peppermint, put on the sound of ocean waves, and soaked all of my cares away. Or as many as I could, anyway.