Sunday Mop Up

I love Sundays. Whatever the crazy shit that happens Friday night, Saturday, and Saturday night, I try to keep Sunday open to focus on the upcoming work week and try to get my ass organized. Well, "organized" might be a bit ambitious, how about "I try to get my shit together for a brief and fleeting moment"? That might be more accurate. Besides the compulsory "Sleeping 'Til Noon", my agenda usually includes wrangling and taming laundry, ironing that shit once it's clean (I HAVE to iron my shirts. I'm a fat man. A wrinkled shirt makes me look even more like a sack of potatoes than usual), dealing with scattered dirty dishes about the house, corralling the bio-hazard I've left to fester throughout the week and putting the trash out. Often, a trip to the grocery store to load up on Diet Coke, coffee beans, meat products, and milk occurs on this day as well.

I think I'm going to try to work posting here as a Sunday ritual as well. I make no promises.

So, maybe I'll use Sundays as a way to touch on little things that I fail to mention during the week, kind of a clean up of scattered thoughts and loose ends (NOT that I have a loose end, mind you!). Tidy the blog and brain up a bit, as it were. Okay, then.

Lactose-Intolerant Intolerance:

Last weekend, when I was hanging with some friends, we all met for BREAKFAST (okay, it was, like 11am, but still) at a Mexican restaurant for BREAKFAST tacos. Do you see the emphasis I am placing here? Well, as we are all ordering these tacos FILLED WITH EGGS AND CHEESE and Mexicanny stuff, I ordered a glass of milk. Big deal, is it? I guess it was to a friend sitting across from me (a fine friend, by the way, whom I intend to attempt to impregnate someday. You know who you are, and you have been warned!).

The look on his face was of disbelief and disgust, like I had jacked off in the guacamole or something. When the waitress brought our drinks, it was iced teas and Cokes and my big glass of Moo Juice. He couldn't take his eyes off of it. Then, when I washed down a mouthful of chips and salsa with a swig, he couldn't contain himself:

"Ewww! Gross!" he blurted out.

"What?" I asked (wearing a milk moustache, I'm sure).

"Chips and salsa and milk?" he asked.

"Dude, it's breakfast. Give me a break."

Here's the deal. I like dairy products. Always have. I also like doing gay things to gay men and, likewise, I like having gay things done to me. I'm not about to start apologizing for either. If corn chips and milk is the grossest thing you witness me doing, consider yourself one of the fortunate. I promise to brush my teeth before I kiss you, 'k?

moving on...

I'm a Thoroughbred Racehorse, Baby!

During my bout with food poisoning earlier this month, I experienced a pretty sizable fever. Whenever I get a fever, my left leg swells up from mid-calf to my ankle. This is due to a previous motorcycle injury from way back in the early 90's ("The Motorcycle Years") when I was broadsided on my bike, and had my leg broken. I have a rod is in my left femur from this, and ever since, if I get a systemic infection of any kind in my body, I get this case of cellulitus. It looks pretty gross, for sure, but a flight of anti-biotics has cleared the issue up in the past.

So, for the first 10 days of the month, I was on anti-biotics and the leg got better and better with each day. But I ran out of anti-biotics on Wednesday of last week, and the leg was still a (lighter) shade of red and still sort of puffy. So, I went to see the doctor on Friday. I just wanted more pills (note: I dig being on anti-biotics, by the way. My skin clears up, no b.o. - it's wonderful!). What I got was a sonogram (the doc feared bloodclots), a new script for a sulpha anti-biotic, and a script for water pills- Lasix. The doc also insisted that I stay off the leg for a few days. No long car trips. This totally ruined an opportunity to inseminate Mr. Lactose-Intolerant this weekend and, for that, I've been pretty grumpy.

Now, I've never been on diuretics before. I'm familiar with Lasix, because I like to go to the racetrack and bet on the ponies. If you see a horse in your program that is running on Lasix for the first time, and he's worth a shit at all, you bet on that horse. Because they can fucking RUN. I had always figured that they ran faster because they were lighter in weight. Now, I'm convinced that they are running as fast as they can to get the damned race over so they can take a pee. "Piss like a racehorse"? Oh. my. god! I now understand that phrase.

I've urinated three times just since sitting down to write. No, I haven't urinated while sitting here. I've made it to the bathroom. Jesus.

Anyways, those horses and I have more in common now than just being studs.

Two days into it, my leg is looking MUCH better, thank you.

Okay, back to the laundry...