Gross

Wanna hear something gross?

You know, I was asked that question as a kid all the time by my friends, my brothers, and the occasional adult.  I always said "yes". 

No one asks me anymore.  And, no one says "yes" now. 

Damn adulthood! 

Wanna hear something gross?  Yes?

Good.

So I was riding my bike on Friday night.  Because anything can happen, I carried my backpack which contained my wallet, my phone, and my keys. 

Now, lately, we've had an infestation of crickets in San Antonio.  Big, fat, creepy crickets. 

I hate bugs.

Not only are they everywhere but they seem to always jump at you.  I totally queen out when that happens and me queening out is not pretty. 

So, I was riding my bike around the 'hood, the infestation having completely slipped my mind.  After a very satisfying ride I get home and pull out my keys.  As I pulled the keys out of the mesh pocket on the side of my back pack I felt something mushy.  Something akin to a banana.  I thought to myself, "I don't remember putting a banana in my back pack".

I didn't put a banana in my back pack.  It was a cricket...literally "was".  It would seem that in grabbing my keys I also grabbed a stow away cricket and crushed it in my hands...I had the remnants of a cricket and whatever it's filled with ON MY HANDS!

I totally queened out, screamed, ran inside, washed my hands, washed my keys, and almost threw up.

I had to clean cricket remains out of the mesh pocket on the side of my back pack...do you know how hard that is?

I think I have PTSD now.  I may never recover.  You can now proceed to feel sorry for me.

Thank you.

Left Field

I can't sleep.  I just got back from the animal hospital with Doodoo and I can't sleep.

I have words swimming around in my head that keep me awake. 

Old Fracture
Enlarged Kidney
Mass
Fluid
Amputation
Pain
Metastasized
Biopsy
Cancer

I thought he had a bladder infection.

It's amazing what a full body scan will show you. 

Like necrosis in the hip caused by an old fracture. 

Like the fact that my baby has been in pain all this time and I didn't know it.

It shows you all the evidence that points to a cancer that started at the necrosis and then metastasized to the heart, lungs, and kidneys. 

No diagonsis.  A biopsy would be needed for that.  But, before a biopsby - amputation from the hip down.

But, the look on the doctor's face told me everything.

He gave me pain meds, antibiotics, and an enema.  An enema because on top of everything else, he was impacted which would explain the chronic diarrhea since the day we found him.

That body scan.  Doesn't miss a thing.

My regular vet doesn't do body scans and cats don't let on that they have pain. 

But, today I noticed that he could only walk a litte while before he'd have to lie down.  Up until today, he seemed perfectly fine. 

Necrosis.

I rushed him to the hospital.  1 1/2 hours of tests...

I wanted to ask the doctor that if the mass and organ inflammation turned out to be cancer, would it be treatable. 

But, I just nodded my head while he pointed his pen at the mass on the screen because the words would not come.

Do you see this here?

Nod.

Do you see how large this is?

Nod.

Do you understand?

Nod.

He asked me to take Dewey back in 2 months...to see if the antibiotics made a difference.  If not, then he'd like to amputate to see if the mass and the inflammation are cancer.  I'll have to ask the following questions: "If it looks like cancer and has all the tell tale signs of cancer, what else could it be?" and "If it's cancer, can it be treated?" 

Should I have my cat amputated only to find out that he has cancer in his lungs, kidneys, and heart that cannot be treated?

I don't want to cause more pain than he's already had to endure...especially if nothing can be done. 

"The necrosis itself is painless.  The cancer, however, would be excruciatingly painful", he said.

He's a doctor, not a poet.

I have two months. 

When I make the bed to go to sleep, he'll play with the sheets like normal.  He'll attack my feet at night.  He'll wake me up early to feed him. 

Two months.

Life.  She's a bitch sometimes.

What does yours say?

...in bed.

...in bed.

This cannot be happening...

Cold sores:  Ugly.  Painful.  Stigmatizing.  Gross.  Embarrassing

They're caused by a virus called Herpes Simplex 1, not to be confused with Herpes Simplex 2, which causes genital herpes.  Most people with cold sores acquire them as children and the virus lays latent in their bodies FOR EVER!  Due to stress and illness there are breakouts.  What does one look like?  I'll show you (take the children out of the room):

Big enough for 'ya?  Are u okay?  Do you need to sit down, a glass of water, maybe some smelling salts?

 That's what I have to deal with for the next 10-14 days.  Fuck.  Remember the last post about how stressed out I've been and how I had a stomach bug not too long ago that I'm kind of still recovering from?  You 'memer! All that is the perfect recipe for this:

Any questions? 

It's very embarrassing.  I hate leaving the apartment when I have one.  Even worse, I'm a receptionist so everyone that walks through that door gets a gander at it.  I've had all kinds of reactions from complete indifference to looks of alarm and disgust.  For 10-14 days, I'm a leper. 

I see my doctor today.  I'm soooo going to beg for a prescription for the generic form of Valtrex.  Everything I've read says that you can take a dose when you first feel the tingle (it all starts with a tingle) and there won't even be a blister!  Que nice.

And for the record, here's a list of all the celebrities that stand in solidarity with me on this:

•Alexa Chung
•Alyssa Milano
•Anne Heche
•Bill Clinton
•Billy Idol
•Brad Pitt
•Britney Spears
•Colin Farrell
•David Beckham
•David Hasselhoff
•Derek Jeter
•Elle Macpherson
•Fred Durst
•Janet Jackson
•Jessica Alba
•Jessica Biel
•Katie Holmes
•Kim Kardashian
•Lauren Hutton
•Liza Minnelli
•Lucie Arnaz
•Mariah Carey
•Mary Kate Olsen
•Michael Vick
•Moby
•Nicole Kidman
•Paris Hilton
•Pamela Anderson

Okay, so there are a few sleaze bags on this list but some of these folks are very respectable people...I mean, Bill Clinton...he was leader of the free world for 8 years!  I think you get the point. 

So, it's off to work.  Without a car as it's in the shop.  But, I won't stress out about it.  No.  Or I'll end up with another one of these:

Really?

So I pooped and I'm not going to die...yet.  Good news indeed.

But, I have to say that life is a little shitty right now. *drum roll, cymbal crash*

I've had a series of unfortunate events lately.  It all started with my trip to NY during which my luggage was stolen and I lost some nice clothes, a camera, and an innocent monkey who I'm sure did not want to spend the rest of his life fighting against coalition forces with Osama Bin Laden and his posse.

Then, I get sick.  I have the stomach bug from hell...diarrhea, cramping, fever, and a generally ill disposition. The cats hated me for a week.

After that, one of said cats gets a bad case of cystitis and he has to go in to see the extortionist...er...vet.  Bitch was not cheap.  The vet, I mean.  I'm glad it wasn't anything serious but every morning after that has been a delightful one trying to get this kittie kujo to take his meds.  He's a biter. 

Then, my intestines decide to take go on strike.  Ugh...we're still in negotiation.

AND FINALLY, my car has started smoking out it's ass end when I drive it.  I'm pretty sure it's something minor that my mechanic can fix for a reasonable price (at least that's my sincere hope) but I'm gonna have to bike it until it's fixed which is a real pain in the ass in this weather...

So, I'm going to bitch about it on here and you're gonna take it...take it bitches.  Take it.

Okay then.  Much better now.  No more complaining.  Done.  Don't laugh.  I'm serious.

Blogging can be so liberating sometimes.  Here's something I found on Christian Nightmares that me feel a little better today.  Watch it and laugh, my sweet sisters.  BAAA!!

 

I miss it...

...pooping, I mean.  I haven't pooped in 5 days and I'm going to die.  I'll miss sitting on a porcelain throne reading what otherwise would be uninteresting reading material.  It feels like it was just yesterday...'cept it was actually Wednesday of last week.  I KNOW!  And it hurt like a motherfucker that time!  Oh Lawdy did it hurt.  I said to myself, "I'll never be top gay scout"....

So, now I'll sit here and wait to die a violent death.  I knew this day would come.  But, not like this.

I've already told the cats.  They took it pretty well.  A little too well.  I could have sworn they were looking at paint swatches and carpet samples when I left this morning...

It would seem that fiber has failed me.  That bitch.  That lying bitch.   

So, this very well may be goodbye.  Yes, you can have my porn collection.  Be good to it. 

So, if you'll excuse me, I think I'll walk toward the light now...

I said to myself, "Hot diggity damn!"

Sometimes I wonder if I'm too sex obsessed.  I think about it pretty often.  It's my understanding, however, that most men think about sex all the time.  And, I think it's especially true of the gays.  Men, Men, Men!  All the time with the men!

Sometimes it's exhausting. 

Now, I don't want to be vulgar but you all are a bunch of nasty bitches anyway so here's goes.  I've heard of couples that are able to have sex more than once consecutively and spend hours doing it.  I've never had this experience.

Until now. 

I soooo earned my badge.  Now, if I can just get my "bottoming" badge, I'll be top gay scout.  Gay scouts, you ask?  Yes, it's true.  We have den drag mothers and we go on camping trips that are very environmentally friendly as we all sleep in the same tent and the same sleeping bag.  We even sell cookies.  But, not just any cookies.  They're laced with liquor and bitterness.  We have 'Thin Twinks', 'Hung Samoans', and 'Fagalongs'.

The 'Hung Samoans' are best sellers.  But, you have to break them in half to eat them if you're a gagger.

Soooo, yes.  I met a guy online about a month ago and after meeting I got the distinct impression that he had very high nerd levels.  But, he was kinda cute, very sweet, and it was totally obvious that he worked out - he had great posture and very nice forearms. 

We had a few dates and we both had a great time.  He has a garden, he has a cat named Baltimore, he makes his own ginger ale, and he does a side splitting impression of Julia Child.  He told me from the get go that he liked to take things slow.  Which, for a pair of gays, we did.  But, I guess after taking it slow, he runs like Forrest Gump...Forrest Fucking Gump! 

We are VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY, sexually compatible.  Now, I like a good 'ol fashioned, sweat inducing, wake the neighbors, make the bed creak, sore muscles the next day romp in the hay.  I do.  But, three times in one night and then again first thing in the morning?  I was a little scared after that.  I was afraid my dick would fall off. 

Then what would I do?  I'd be top gay scout, that's what.

So, this morning, we had breakfast and talked for about two hours.  Then, we got a little frisky again, but not aerobic.  We went for a nice walk and then he went home.  Which was actually kind of nice.  I had the rest of the day to myself and I probably won't see him for a week or so.  Absence makes the dick...er...heart grow fonder. 

That's what they tell me.

Soooo sex.  Sex, sex, sex.  How much of one's time should it take up?  How important is it really when you're dating?  I think it's one of life's greatest pleasures and I feel sorry for the poor suppressed souls that never have it.  So, I guess I place quite a bit of importance in it. 

Why do I ask?  Well, a while back I met a guy that was a great catch.  But, after a few weeks of dating, I realized that the sexual attraction wasn't all there...at least not for me.  I felt guilty for it.  But, I just don't think it would be fair to the other person if I tried to make something work without sufficient attraction.

Well, for now, I'm still basking in the afterglow.  Aside from being an animal in bed, he's very affectionate and he left quite a good impression on me.  We'll see where this goes.  As for me, I'm going to go soak my sore muscles in a nice hot bath...eat your hearts out jotas.

I'm gonna get mines...

I want this t-shirt.

Because I am.  I don't believe in a heaven or hell so this is all I have to look forward to. 

AND, I have a list.

*ahem*

1. My uncle George (minister uncle who hates gays and free thinkers and who was recently caught stuffing dollar bills down some greasy stripper's thong)
2. My brother Pablo (who called me a faggot during our last conversation and is delightfully superstitious)
3. The Texas State Senate and House of Representatives as well as the Governor's Mansion if it's ever rebuilt (because they want to make being gay illegal again and make marrying gay couples a crime and because as far as I'm concerned, our whacko governor should live in a trailer house) 
4. Sarah Palin (because she just so happens to be Sarah Palin)
5. Gerard Butler (because he won't sleep with me)
6. Oil company executives (because they're ruining the world)
7. People who drive Hummers (because they're putting money in the oil company executives' pockets)
8. Terrorists (because they need to calm the fuck down already.  For these nasty motherfuckers, I'll bring the ghosts of all the people they've killed and we'll deal some justice)

It's a tall order, you say?  It'll take an eternity, you say?  Well, that's exactly how long I have to get it done. 

Be warned.  DO NOT PISS ME OFF...or you'll end up on this list.  I'll be the cucuy that haunts your nightmares.  Fear me.

Vyvanse: When you just need to calm the fuck down and get shit done.

Soooooo....I have ADHD.  Wait, what was I saying?  Oh, yes, ADHD with a big 'ol "H".  I forget everything, miss important details, lose things, run everywhere, talk really fast, interrupt conversations, and procrastinate in the worst way.  Diagnosis confirmed.

But, I have a friend on my side.  His name is Vyvanse and he looks out for me.  I took this little pill yesterday and today and boy did I get shit done around here.  I actually enjoy finishing tasks and making lists and planning ahead.  I WANT to do it.  I can ignore outside stimuli until I've finished what I'm working on.  It's weird but wonderful.

However, the medicine makes me feel like death warmed over.  The withdrawals are a bitch.  I have a hard time sleeping, sometimes I get chills, and I have no appetite, and I have to drink water like a fish or I'll get really dehydrated.

What's a girl to do?

I've been trying to get away with only taking the medication when I'm especially distracted.  But, I'm beginning to think that it might benefit me to take it daily, minus the weekends of course.  I know there's ways to cope without the medication but they don't work for me.  I can keep calenders and planners and lists but they usually get lost or ignored.  I can meditate, but it's never even put a dent in the hyperactivity.

Catch-22

Cystitis, leave my baby alone!

I have two cats, Dewey and Oliver.  I've never thought of myself as one of "those" pet owners.  You know the ones I'm talking about.  They buy their pets expensive sweaters and only give them bottled water and take them to see animal counselors. 

Not mis gatos.  They walk around the house buck naked, all they get is tap water, and they're pretty much responsible for their own emotional and psychological well being.  I'm not a good listener. 

Oh, but I love them.

People say that cats are cold and aloof.  Some are.  But, not my cats.  They greet me at the door and snuggle with me at night and sit with me when I cry.  They're my buddies.  AND, they love strangers.

Yesterday, I had to take Dewey to the vet.  He has cystitis, which is an inflammation of his urinary tract due to an infection.  It's the second time he's had it in 6 months.  At first, the vet thought he might have diabetes.  The tests came back negative, but I was worried there for a while.  The vet said that he might need to go on a prescription cat food that will prevent any further bouts of cystitis.  Can you say, "high interest loans"? 

Let me take this opportunity to tell you about my Dewey (or DooDoo as he's know to his closest friends). My ex and I found him one day outside our apartment building.  He was very loudly and very boldly begging for food (which he still does).
We fed him every day for about a week.  I'm a soft touch.  What can I say?  Finally, my ex convinced me that we should take him in.  We did.  For that reason, he was always more my ex's cat than mine.  When we broke up, however, he didn't want to take him because he proved to be quite the handful.  Bastard.  My ex, I mean, not the cat.  You see, Dewey meows too loudly, he runs around the apartment at 1:00 in the morning making all kinds of noise, he attacks my legs at night when I move them under the covers, he's forever starting fights with Oliver, and he has occassional bouts of diarrhea that reek to high heaven. 

So, I took him and now I can't imagine my life without him in it.

I hate it when he's sick and he's not his usual self.  He's so uncomfortable.  How do I know?  A mother always knows.   

He's still strong enough to fight taking his pill, though.  I've had to butter it up, put him between my legs, and shove it down his throat.  (That's what she said).

I hope you get better soon, mijo.  Papa loves you.

Heeeeeee's back....

...to the great relief of my nonexistent faithful readers.  So much has happened since I last posted but I'm not going to tell you about it because it would take too long and it's really not that interesting. 

Alcoholics Anonymous.  Does that ring a bell at all?  It should.  Because you all drink to get through this blog.

I know all about it.

Alcoholics Anonymous.  There's a big convention here in San Antonio this weekend.  50,000 sober individuals are expected to attend.  That's one big ass bandwagon.

AND *whispers* apparently there's a big gay and lesbian AA party tonight at La Villita which is this quaint little village area downtown that's supposed to be the remnants of the first settlement that would eventually become the fabulous metropolis we now call San Antonio. 

According to my sources, or rather, source, which is my friend "AA" who used to be in AA but realized that he totally didn't need it but is still in contact with someone on the inside, gays who can't drink are total sex fiends. 

It's true. 

I'm one AND I drink.  I can't imagine if I was a dry gay.  I'd pounce on anything with a penis and a five o'clock shadow.

So, my friend is going to this little alcohol free shindig and he'd like for me to come along. 

I'm totally doing it! 

First, *still whispering* I cannot fathom the idea of gays congregating without the presence of alcohol.  It's like Pentecostals having a service without the Holy Spirit who I imagine is exhausted afterwards and totally thinks about calling in for the following Sunday.  Anyway, this alcohol free idea blows my mind and I want to witness it for myself.  I'd take pictures for proof but some bastard of a cab driver took my luggage during my trip to NYC.  Didn't I tell you?

I hope the transmission goes out on his car and he loses his career as a cabby and is reduced to selling diarrhea inducing hot dogs from a greasy cart in Central Park.  *spits*

Second, he assures me that there's a disproportionate number of hotties at these gatherings.

Third, I want to try one. 

Speaking of, have you ever been to a gay tasting.  It's great.  Most hottie gays pair very well with whipped cream, ice, hot candle wax, and jock straps.  Sometimes, there's wine with cheese and crackers.  Unless it's an AA affair and then it's just cheese and crackers with tonic water or Sprite.

I wonder, though, if my plan is unethical.  I mean, this gathering is a celebration of sobriety which I'm sure has been a matter of life or death for some of these individuals.  I'd hate to desecrate the sacredness of this gathering.  But then again, you know those gays.  Most of us can't turn off the cruisy even if we try.

Also, I wonder if they'd be able to smell the alcohol in my life.  I mean, there's gin and tonics at Sparky's, wine at Candlelight, Margaritas at Mexican food joints, and Dos Equis (dressed of course) everywhere else.  They'll think I'm a sham, an imposter.  Then, no one will sleep with me.  Ugh.

Well, no harm in giving it to the 'ol college try.  My plan is in place.