Sunday Mop Up 12/31/06

Ummm...can I get back to ya tomorrow?

Saddam Is Executed

Yes, we all know by now, Saddam Hussein was executed early Saturday morning in Baghdad. I was on the internet, chatting with some friends in a public chatroom, when the news hit. My friends were elated, exuberant, joyfully cackling that he was finally dead. Some noticed that I wasn't joining in on the giggling and celebration, and I was asked why I was being so quiet on the matter. So, I explained how I felt. It goes like this:

Saddam Hussein was a tyrant and an evil dictator, it has always seemed to me. He killed many, many people, including his own, in order to maintain his power and status. The blood of these lives covered his hands. And, it was all done in the name of his religion. He excused his actions by invoking the name of his God.

Horrific.

He was hunted down and captured, deservedly so. He was brought to a fair trial and judged guilty of his crimes against Humanity, again, deservedly so. And, yesterday, he was executed. Okay, I can deal with that.

However, I am not going to celebrate the killing of human life. This whole thing is a tragedy. Do I think it should have been handled another way? No. I am not going to second guess and judge what Iraq decided to do with him.

His execution does not bring those he ordered murdered back to life. His execution does not correct the cultural/political quagmire of the region. His execution does not mean that we get back our friends and family that are stationed over there now. What's to celebrate? An evil man is now a dead man?

I choose to think upon the loss of life, I mourn for the dead. I'm saddened that in this day and age, we still think killing each other is the answer - and putting Saddam to death was probably the right thing to do, right here, right now. Just don't ask me to laugh and party over it. I accept that he was executed and is now dead. I understand that he had it coming to him in spades. Karma is a bitch, for sure.

But, I pray for peace.

Life is sacred. All life is sacred. And that means, when we kill a killer, we should do so with a heavy heart. I saw a bumpersticker once that said "Why do we kill people to prove killing people is wrong?" or something like that.

I think I lost some friends on the internet yesterday.

Happy Birthday To Me!

I swear to God, I don't feel this old. I'm very immature for my age. Have you noticed all the celebrities that have been dying lately? I've been thinking about them the past couple of nights, lying in bed, listening to my heart beat in my ears, listening to my breath rushing in and out of my chest. I suspect the older I get, the more I'll be aware of people dying around me, wondering when my time will come.

Some people get all partied up on their birthday. I get quiet. Like on holidays that I love, I turn inward on my birthday and get all introspective and shit. I'm not this way out of depression or anything negative. I'm not at all bummed that it's my birthday. I guess I'm just amazed. Time is ripping past me. Fact is: it's ripping past us all.

How old are you? Do you feel that old?

I open my arms to the Universe and acknowledge, with gratitude, the time I have spent on this planet. I'd like a little more, please. It feels like I'm just getting started.

Meet Bubba Hog!

Full of school spirit, and spiked eggnog, it seems.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

I'm not big on Christmas cards and Hallmark moments, but my wish is for you and yours to have a peaceful and satisfying holiday season. Find comfort in your Faith, your Family, and your Friends.

Big Love,

jim

Isn't it perfect? It is, for me.

This is the full length version of "Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown".

It'll take a while for the file to load.

Sunday Mop Up 12/24/06

Well, so much for spending more time blogging and being industrious and shit. I guess I needed time to be a slug, or whatever you want to call being completely lazy, but I'm checkin' in for my Sunday catch-up. If you don't hear from me until next week at this time, I'll just apologize now.

The Big, Gay Christmas Party

Went to Rich and Dave's for their Christmas party. Jim (meaning: me)was very excited. So excited, I ran out to the Clothing Store For The Portly And Piggly and bought a "festive" shirt for the occasion. The fucker looked great on the rack: a faux suede long sleeve shirt in a deep shade of burgundy. When I fingered the bitch, it was very lightweight and YUMMY to the touch. I took it to the dressing room and even tried it on. It looked good on me and felt FANTASTIC! The fuzzy, buttery texture of the fabric brushed across my pecs and turn my headlights on immediately. With any luck, I'd be passing by hairy, horned up Santas all night as I made my way back and forth across the house to the buffet table, and this shirt appeared to be the perfect invitation to get my attention with a simple tug. I could only hope. Sold!

So, that night, I get dressed and don the garment. Yay! Atta boy, Jimbo. I jump into my truck, and make a stop at the liquor store. I had been asked to bring some soda and ice. Some Diet Coke, a six of Budweiser, and a bottle of Crown Royal later, I'm at the check out stand asking for ice. Sorry, they don't sell ice. What the fuck? Okay, I'll make another stop at another store. I take my bag full of drink out to the truck and as I'm walking, I notice that, hey, I'm kinda warm in this shirt. I shrug, and blaze over to the nearest convenience store for some ice. The inside of that store was really hot, someone had the heat cranked up. My pits started to melt. The ice was at the back of the store. I grabbed a bag, heaved it up onto the checkout counter, pulled my debit card out, and found out there is a three dollar minimum for using plastic to pay. I went back to the back of the store and grabbed a second bag. I'm kinda cranky now.

I leave the furnace that is the store, lugging the ice and mumbling a curse or two, and hit the cool night air. It's about 60 degrees out and it feels great. This is Texas Winter. Don't hate. I walk with my elbows out, trying to avoid pit stains on my new, festive shirt. Fuzzy, warm, and inviting can turn into sweaty, sloppy, and stinky on the turn of a dime.

When I get to Dave and Rich's, the front door opens and I'm greeted with a hot blast of air. Uh oh. The house is full of friendly, furry fuckers and Jim (yes, meaning: me) is so excited and nervous and warm that the flop sweat POURS off of him. It drips off my forehead into my eyes, off the end of my nose. My pits are pouring funk down my sides and it's collecting at my belt. My burgundy shirt is becoming a burgundy sponge with each passing second.

Dave, God BLESS his soul, figured it out pretty quickly.

"Hey, nice shirt."

"Thanks" I replied.

"Looks kinda hot."

"Yes," I said in a low voice. "...I'm dying." I hoped no one else heard me.

"Let me go get you one of my t-shirts. We're about the same size. I'll be right back."


He comes back from the bedroom with a wonderful "vintage" Budweiser t-shirt in brown, gold and rust. All Hail Dave!!! I run into a back room, peel off the Saran Wrap sonuvabitch that was trying to suffocate me, towel off with it, and pull on the t-shirt. Every pore on my torso gasps in relief. I check my reflection in a picture on the wall. I was overdressed before, anyway. This looks good! My nips return to their fully up and locked position. Jim (meaning: ME!) is ready to party!


Yes, much kissing and hugging and groping and tugging was occurring. Not just me, people! The liquor flowed, fabulous food was everywhere, and very friendly men were being very friendly with each other.

Please don't misunderstand: nothing sexual was happening. A peck on the lips, a snuggle into the neck, a pinch of the nipple, a rub of the butt cheek, sure. But no sex. I know, 'cuz I was watching for it. At one point, Bubba dropped his pants to showoff the tan line across his ass, but he hiked them back up in two seconds. That was it for skin.

That's what I love so much about Rich and Dave parties: The focus is always about fellowship, NOT about hookups. These two guys know more sweet, wonderful people than can be believed. I happily wandered around the house, introducing myself to new faces and shaking hands like a politician. Not a bad apple in the bunch.

I got hit on by a very drunk guy who tagged along with another friend. One of those drunks who gets louder the drunker he gets. He was harmless, but I spent the better part of the end of the party wandering away from him and trying to hide. Still, it was good for my ego, to be chased around a bit.

I left just after midnight, alone, having met a handful of new friends, and swapping phone numbers and email addresses with a completely HAWT San Antonio daddy whom I had lost contact with several years ago. He kissed me and my knees buckled, I swear. We'll see where THAT leads...

I've been invited to a New Year's Eve party, hosted by the same couple that invited me to a birthday party last summer that I missed due to my attendance at Pukeapalooza 2006.

I seriously doubt that I'll be buying a special outfit for that occasion.

[Late Edition Addition: By the way, remind me to tell you the story sometime about going to the local leather bar on Sunday of last week and walking into "Lesbian Night". Very weird.]

The Gift That Keeps On Giving

Just thought I'd post this if you are one of the three people left on the planet who hasn't heard it yet. It's the uncensored version of a video from SNL featuring Justin Timberlake.

Season's Greetings to All Sexual Orientations!

AND

Since it's the end of the year, and we're mentioning Justin here anyways,

I'll post his video for, what I consider to be, the Gay Dance Track Of The Year:

Sunday Mop Up 12/17/06

Howdy, people! Welcome to my Sunday ritual of tanking up on coffee and puttering around Casa del Jimbo with a pitchfork, a fire extinguisher, and a bottle of Simple Green (learned about this stuff from my cleaning lady). And I kind of blog as I go. I call this my "Sunday Mop Up", and you're welcome to hang out, as long as you pick up after yourself. I'm workin way too hard to get my own shit organized, I can't be responsible for yours. Okay? Okay!

Mall (Rats!)

I couldn't put it off any longer, I had to start my Christmas shopping this week. Brutal. Found myself at "The Mall", because Uncle Jim is getting his youngest niece an iPod Shuffle. Yes, I rock. So, I made my way to The Apple Store located deep in the bowels of Clusterfuck Square Mall. Parking was a bitch; fighting the crowds was a bitch; finding where I was on the "You Are Here" map at the front door and then finding "Where The Hell You Need To Go" and plotting my course required a GPS (which I don't have, but I did price them at Sharper Image while I was there and, FUCK, I'll be staying lost for many years to come! Those buddies be 'SPENSIVE!) and was a bitch; and then dealing with my seriously rude and retarded fellow consumers - 9 out of 10 of whom were blathering non-stop into their precious cellphones and just clogging up the lanes of foot-traffic. I want a machete for Christmas, I swear to God.

But, beyond the general irritation of stupid people buying stupid things for the stupid people they love (yes, we've hit the point in the season where my 'Christmas Cheer' has dissolved into 'Christmas Rage', which turns my blood into acid and makes my heart cold as stone. By the way, I turn back into 'Sweetness And Light' on December 26th. Catch me then!), I saw indications of something that I have suspected for a while now and will, no doubt, generate some very negative feelings about me from some of you. I apologize ahead of time for the generalizations I am about to make, but I believe with all my heart that they are TRUE generalizations. And they are:

Young people suck. They are clueless. They are pathetic. They do not possess manners nor communication skills nor social skills. They are The Internet Generation, therefore they are seriously lacking in social development. Now, before you write me off as a square and un-hip old man, who is just jealous of Youth, and bitter that I don't understand the kids of today, let me assure you, I am not talking about how kids dismiss ME, or how I feel disrespected and ridiculed by these fetuses in tennis shoes. No, I'm referring to behavior I am witnessing as these Retarded Offspring struggle to talk to EACH OTHER. They can't do it, people! I wove in and around young person after young person, and what I was hearing was really alarming. Obliviousness. Teenage Wasteland. Sure, it's an old concept. But, I'm telling you, the future is GRIM.

See, back in the day, when WE were young and disinterested in anything beyond our genitals (which we had just discovered and were fascinated with), we had a support system of family and school that forced us to grow up. Kids today are left to their own devices, which happen to be broadband and wireless. Our schools are failing us. Parents, who used to be accused of letting television be a babysitter, can now rely on the internet as well. Our society sexualizes kids and rewards them for merely being young, because society wishes it were young again as well. We are producing an entire generation of idiots. And, one day, they will be running our world.

I know, I know. I'm an old, fat, bitter geezer. I'm as pathetic as you are, just in other ways, kid. But I'm OLD. What's your excuse? I sound just like every old man complaining about the young people of today. I'm the old caveman, grunting about the young cavemen and their folly they call "the wheel". At some point, someone younger and stronger will club me in the head and put me out of my misery.

Meanwhile, leave me alone. You are stupid and worthless (to me). Merry Fuckin' Christmas, morons.

Time: Person Of The Year, 2006

Really? Jesus, we are FUCKED!

Vacation (all I ever wanted)...

Yup, jimmycity is on vacation from now until January 2nd, 2007. I had accrued a ton of hours that I needed to burn before the first of the year or lose all together. Not gonna let THAT happen. So, I busted ass last week and crammed three weeks of work into one, said "Adios, Mofos!" to the crew, and abandoned my cube for a while. The carnage that will greet me upon my return will be severe, to be sure. I'll deal with it then.

And, don't assume that just because I am vacationing from my day job, that I'll be a total slacker concerning my posting here. In fact, I may end up putting more time and energy into it than I usually do. 'Cuz I've got more time and energy now, see?

In other work related news, I was reviewed by my boss before I left and was given very positive marks. I'll be rewarded with a hefty raise in the new year and a bonus in February that could be quite substancial. Nice way to end a very hectic and stressful year.

So, with all this time on my hands, if any of you gentle readers would like to make holiday suggestions to me, I'm all ears. Invitations for sleazy hook-ups should be sent directly to my email address. Not that I would even consider such a thing! Good grief!

And, finally...

Take "The Book Quiz" 'cuz I just did*, and I'm...

You're Watership Down!

by Richard Adams

Though many think of you as a bit young, even childish, you're actually incredibly deep and complex. You show people the need to rethink their assumptions, and confront them on everything from how they think to where they build their houses. You might be one of the greatest people of all time. You'd be recognized as such if you weren't always talking about talking rabbits.


Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

*snagged from Uncle Dirk who snagged it from someone else.

The Cover of Texas Monthly Magazine's

January 2007 Issue.

Come on, you chuckled. I heard you.

Thanks, Pinkdome!

Go Elf Yourself!

'cuz I did, and it was FUN!

I just made a total elf of myself. Check me out by clicking the link below.

http://www.elfyourself.com/?userid=87e6859b18a9c07bf5072ccG06121610');

HAPPY

"REVEAL YOUR BLOGCRUSH"

DAY!

Since discovering the blogosphere, I have stumbled upon some pretty amazing writers. My initial expectations of bloggers were pretty low; I thought a blog was just an excuse to post a profile of yourself and collect pics of friends and swap inside jokes and, basically, treat the internet like a worldwide studyhall where everyone is passing notes and being as stupid as possible. You know: myspace.

Much to my surprise, I found many "out there" were using the opportunity to really flex their creative muscle, exercise their writing skills, and try to connect with the chaotic world around them. Whether trying to explain themselves and reveal their own, personal story, or feeling the need to comment on current events and editorialize on society at large, I was stunned to find a community of thoughtful, earnest souls who seemed hell-bent on finding their voice on the web. What I found made me want to participate as well. Within six months of wandering and reading around, I fired up my own blog and immediately felt overwhelmed with the job at hand.

Having tried my hand at it, I now appreciate even MORE the bloggers who can write daily and maintain a freshness and wit and keep me engaged and interested enough to come back day after day. So, in keeping with BlogCrush Day, I will now reveal mine.

(by the way, you can click on their pics to go right to their blogs to check them out for yourselves. You're welcome!)

Here we go:

FemaleCrush

Dear Melissa,

Yours was the blog that I read that made me decide that I wanted to try my hand at writing as well. The way you talked about your mother (Johnny Cash) and sister (Martha Stewart) made me laugh and sucked me into your world immediately. Your sense of humor shines through without you ever trying to be funny. When you are sad or down, you break my big, gay heart. I seriously suspect that if we lived close to each other, I would be pestering you constantly to hang out, do things, and force you to call me your best friend. I swear to God, I'll make you love me. I just know it.

By the way, your "Smut Of The Month" always impresses me. Let's call each other and read romance novels to each other over the phone. You read the straight stuff to me, I'll read the gay stuff to you, and then we can have a question and answer session afterwards.


MaleCrush

Dear Bigg,

Maybe it's because I didn't come out until later in life and I can relate to what you are going through that your blog completely captivates me. On nearly a daily basis, your postings knock the wind out of me. Reading you is like getting hit in the solar plexus. The bravery that you display by writing so honestly is truly a gift to those of us who follow you. You so perfectly describe the angst, frustration, confusion, yet tenacity, of a man determined to deal with his issues of sexual orientation (and the ramifications therein) that I am rooting for you more and more strongly with each new post.

You are "Everyman", you are a symbol of a whole generation of middle-aged men who simply demand their Life back, and are finding a way out of their closet to find the Happiness that they deserve. That I find your attitude, demeanor, and physicality attractive is not the focus of my admiration of you. It's your Integrity, your Courage, and your Compassion and care of all those around you that makes me swoon. Thank you for sharing your struggles on this journey with us.

DirectorCrush (this blogcrush is about my love of a blog's concept and execution and is, therefore, gender neutral)

Dear Jessica,

I know nothing about you personally, but I must tell everyone I can about your blog. It is nothing short of genius, in my humble opinion. That you have this skill to take politics, economics, religion, philosophy, psychology, sociology, and pop culture and distill everything down into simple charts, graphs, and mathematical equations jotted down onto index cards BLOWS MY MIND! If you held an IPO on your brain, I would invest in you with every cent in my bank account. Somehow, I think you have the power (and the equation) to change/save the world. I have never seen a blog that compares to yours in purity of concept and perfection of vision. I am in awe.



Runners up:

FemaleCrush: The Dresden Dolls Diary

MaleCrush: Too Disgusting to Contemplate, Too Compelling To Ignore

DirectorCrush: Post Secret

Last Night

We are sleeping. I am in my usual position : on my left side, left arm stretched out under my head, being used to prop up my pillow, which is stuffed between my shoulder and my ear; my left hand dangling off into space; my body hanging onto the last 18 inches of mattress.

The rest of the queen-sized bed is his.

With all that room at his disposal, he is still pressed up against my back. I'm dozing in and out of consciousness, but he's out like a light, sawing logs. I feel his warm breath on the back of my neck, and his body spooned up against mine. This feels glorious, I think to myself. I am awake enough to realize that if he pushes forward on me, I'll topple off of the bed. So, I push back on him a bit. Not roughly or aggressively, I'm just trying to shift my center of gravity back towards the safety of the middle of the bed. I'm kind of "counter-snuggling", but I'm also trying to protect myself. Our feet are inter-twined under the heaps of blankets.

He grunts and leans into the pressure I exert and throws a leg over mine. The man is a total Bed Hog. I smile and turn my body so that I am on my back. I snake my right arm under his pillow and stretch it out along the length of the headboard. Instead of being burrowed into my back and neck, his face is now plowed into my armpit - a favorite position of his. I hear him breathe deeply and sigh a contented sigh, taking in my musk. He throws an arm across my chest and pulls himself even deeper into me. I nearly chuckle outloud.

I am now wide awake because I am on my back, but I am loving the moment. I bend my right arm and lightly stroke his back. He is warm and moist from sleep, and his hairiness across my arm and my palm always arouses me. I wouldn't dare wake him, but I squeeze him in my arm a bit, just a slight, one-armed hug.

He fights this and pushes my arm away. He turns away from me now and I catch a glimpse of his face: sound asleep yet smiling a little smile. He always looks like a little boy to me when he sleeps, all puffy-faced and hair-tossled. Instead of his nose in my pit, he has now pushed his ass up upon my right hip. He's using my shoulder as his pillow, and pulls the same arm down now onto his chest and holds onto it in an embrace. His hot breath is on my bicep, and I feel his lips brush the hair on my arm. I think I feel a kiss.

I look down and see that my cock is mere inches from his ass crack. That's all the visual I need, and I begin to get hard.

I have no intention of waking him for sex, but I can't help but reach for his buttocks with my left hand. Ever so lightly, I place my hand on a hairy cheek and feel the muscle in my palm. Glorious. The heat of his flesh is amazingly erotic. My dick twitches. I turn my head and kiss him on the back of the neck.

He flinches from being tickled by the beard on my face, and scrunches into a fetal position, pulling his ass away from my hand. He reaches for the covers and creates a barrier between our bodies. He finally speaks.

"Knock it off..." he croaks. And, just like that, he is back to sleep.

Shame on me! How could I be so selfish?

I roll back over onto my left side and find my place on the ledge in the darkness. I sigh heavily, feeling rejected and misunderstood. I should have known this would happen. It always does. I close my eyes to fall back asleep. As I'm drifting, the phone rings...



When I open my eyes, I see the clock says that's it's 6am. The phonecall is from work, calling to report a problem. I turn onto my back and look across the expanse of my bed. The far side is still undisturbed, as it usually is. The far pillow still sits neatly atop the comforter on that side. His side. He's been gone for nearly two years now, and yet I still dream of him sleeping next to me. Just every now and then. They are infrequent, these dreams, but intense.

I sit up and rub my eyes, wondering if the dreams will ever stop. It still feels so real.

And I still sleep on the edge of the bed.

Do You Have A BlogCrush?

So, the fabulous Ms. Sizzle is hosting (well, co-hosting, along with her very perky and witty friend Sandra) a "BlogCrush" on December 15th. I LOVE this idea. I will be participating, meaning that on Friday you can check in here to find out who I have a crush on. I have decided to separate my crushes into 3 categories: MaleCrush, FemaleCrush, and Director. The first two will be personal diarist-type bloggers. The last is for a blog that is all about concept and construct, not about personality.

Here's an exerpt from The Divine Ms. S, from her post explaining the idea :

"So, I've been asked what technically IS a Blog Crush? It'd likely include some, if not all, of the following:A) You can't wait to read what they post next. B) You want to be friends with them. C) You think they are the cat's meow. Meow!D) You might find them attractive- physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually, whatever floats your boat.E) If you met them in person, blushing might occur.If you have to really think hard about who your blog crush is, you probably don't have one.

THE RULES:1) You can have more than one crush (but please refrain from naming your entire blogroll in an effort to keep everyone happy).2) You must reveal it on December 15, 2006 on your own blog.3) Boys can crush on boys. Girls can crush on girls. Boys can crush on girls. Girls can crush on boys. This has little to do with our sexuality and more to do with being bloggeriffic."

If you would like to participate, be sure and click on the link above to post a comment on her blog that you'll be involved. Everyone will want to check out what your choice/choices are, ya know.

I think the thing I dig most about this is that it gives us all a chance to shine a spotlight on blogs we particularly enjoy with folks who may enjoy them, too. If you've found someone you think everyone should check out, here's a way to spout off about it. Ya know, the blogosphere is jammed with tons of stuff, some that is genius, some that is utter crap. I rely heavily on the blogrolls of bloggers I am impressed with to point me to other cool stuff. So, I look forward to seeing what/who others are groovin' to and following.

Do You Ever Read The Comic Strip "Mutts"?

Sunday Mop Up 12/10/06

Holy shit! Woke up this morning with a headache that will NOT go away. Because of the cool weather here in Texas, my heater is coming on deep in the middle of the night. I think the dry, nasty heat has cooked my sinuses. This headache is, I suspect, baked mucous membranes in my noggin. Yuck! and Ow! Shall we proceed? Let's.

My Hypochondriac Tendencies

Back in the late summer/early fall, I went to see my doc for my regular bloodwork check-up. Because I'm a Type II Diabetic, this happens every 4 months. I sit down, and some brand new, green-behind-the-ears phlebotomist digs around inside my arm for a vein to tap. The vampire with skills can usually hit pay dirt with only a few jabs and minor flailing about. This is a rare occurrence. What happens more often than not is that I get someone who couldn't hit the broad side of a barn with a bazooka. One arm gets drilled, multiple times, followed by the other arm, also unsuccessfully, until it is determined that the first arm was the better candidate after all and we go back to playing Hide and Seek on it. The part that I hate is that I have a major, fatass vein that runs right across the top of my left kneecap. You could tap that buddy in a second and it would produce like a maple tree in winter. No, we can't do that. You don't draw blood from a Diabetic's legs. Too high a risk of throwing a bloodclot, they say. Okay, keep stabbing me, then, what the fuck.

Ummm...I got a little sidetracked there. Sorry.

So, the last time I got my bloodwork done, my doc announced that my cholesterol was a little high and he wrote me a script for Lipitor. I shrugged. High choloesterol is bad, right? Okay, give me the pills. He stressed that I needed to come back in 6 weeks for follow up bloodwork, 'cuz this stuff can fuck with liver function. I go back, my cholesterol is down from 218 to 184 and everyone is happy.

Until yesterday.

Yesterday I'm driving around in my truck, listening to talk radio (I officially turned into an 'Old Geezer' when I realized I prefer listening to AM talk radio to FM rock and roll. This happened about 5 years ago and I'm fucking SICK about it), when I happened upon a show about healthy lifestyles and alternative medicines. The host was busy explaining the advantages of incorporating goji berries into one's diet. It was interesting, and I made a mental note to Google it when I got home. Maybe someone makes goji berry preserves that would go nicely on toast in the morning, who knows?

Then, the host got a call from someone asking about chromium picolinate. This pleased me, because I know a little about the stuff. It's actually a trace mineral used as a supplement by some to help regulate blood sugar. I've always been told that it's not too effective. Then, the caller mentioned he was taking this as well as Lipitor and the host freaked out. Freaked out.

So, I learned that Lipitor is a statin, and although statins do, in fact, help lower cholesterol, they are suspected of causing memory loss, liver disfunction (which I figured), muscle wasting, and heart attacks! What? I turned up the volume and leaned forward as I drove. I started to sweat. The host stressed that there is a big debate in the medical arena right now as to whether higher cholesterol levels are truely an indicator of heart disease, or an indicator of OTHER issues that may be the determining factor in heart attacks and stroke. He begged the caller to talk to his doctor about finding other ways to deal with his cholesterol than using statins.

All the while, I'm gripping the steering wheel with one sweaty hand, which is starting to go numb, and holding my chest with my other, trying to 'feel" for signs of an impending heart attack. Then, I remind myself how my legs have felt so weak lately. I've got big, strong, tree trunk legs. They've got to be to hold this body up. Of course they have felt weak, they are WASTING AWAY! Fuck! I need to call the doctor's office! What's the clinic's number, again? OH MY GOD, I can't remember the phone number to the clinic! I've got ALL the symptoms!

In a panic, I switch the radio over to an FM classic rock station. "Don't Fear The Reaper" by Blue Oyster Cult fills the cab of the truck. I can't listen to that song without flashing on the SNL skit with Will Ferrell and the cowbell. But, this time, I wasn't laughing. NOW, I won't be able to listen to it without thinking about the time I convinced myself I was about to have a heart attack.

I just turn the damned radio off.

I swear, I'm calling my doctor tomorrow and we're going to have a little talk.

Margaret Cho Makes A Video

There's nothing more charming than a group of women, many lesbian, dancing and singing along to a song about their vaginas. Word!

My Puss

Okay, I'm Back To Normal Again

After just a couple of days of shennanigans, Blogger seems to be giving me "compose mode" again, which allows me to do things like post pictures easily again.

Whew! Aren't you glad?

Fowl!

Kind Words

Hi, just wanted to share something that happened here at work.

I have to interact with many different personality types in my job. I guess we all do, as we make our way through the world, come to think of it. But, I pride myself on being able to get along with people. As a PeoplePleaser, I strive to make whoever I come in contact with relax and connect with them, ya know? Yes, I want everyone to like me. It's a sickness. But, you probably know this about me already. No news for most of you reading this.

But, I've had to deal with a new client this fall. We have launched an "Education On Demand" channel on the cable system. This is a channel that offers programs about everything from being a smart shopper, to communicating effectively, to basic math and history courses. There is programming aimed at children and teenagers as well as adults. Lots of different kinds of stuff on this channel, and the idea is that, for 99 cents, a viewer can click on a program, watch it, and learn about stuff. How to take tests, how to buy a digital camera, the origin of Kawanzaa, that kinda stuff.

The person I have to deal with in getting this content onto the channel is a Ph.D. by the name of Amanda. I am her main contact with the company. Well, that's not completely true, she deals with the Director of Programming with things contractual. She calls me to have me explain how the Video On Demand system works, what the most efficient way to roll out content is, what I can do to make things easier for her, what she can do to make things easier for me, and how we can make her vision of Smarter Couch Potatoes a reality. If we can build a good model here locally, the plan is to roll this channel out to other divisions regionally.

I'm kind of intimidated that she's a Ph.D., okay?

Well, she calls today to ask me some questions, and I do my best to be helpful. In the middle of our conversation she stops me.

"Can I ask you a question?" she asks.

"Sure", I reply.

"Do you write? I mean, are you a writer?"

"A writer?" Suddenly I'm worried that she has found my blog and is about to scold me for my foul language when I post here, or ask me to be a little less gay on the internet, or something.

"Yes, you have such a wonderful way with words, I just figured you were a poet or wrote on the side."

"Shit! Wow! What a nice thing to hear. No, I'm not a writer. But thank you for the compliment." I think I blushed right through the phone.

See, I'm pretty insecure about the fact that I never finished college and got my degree. I don't have a bunch of regrets in my life, but I think that may be one of them.

Well, anyway, I've been kind of floating in air all day since.

Big Girly-Girl

Okay, I just jumped on to admit that I actually teared up tonight during "Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip". I swear, I don't get people who won't give this show a chance. It didn't hurt that it was an episode called "The Christmas Show" and featured one of my all-time favorite Christmas songs, "Oh, Holy Night". The "...Fall on your knees..." line in that song has put a lump in my throat ever since I was a kid. Combine that song with a tribute to the City of New Orleans in the wake of Hurricaine Katrina, and some heart-tugging character development between a couple of characters on the show and Jimmy got teary.

Big. Girl.

(I think the last time I got emotional watching tv was during the finale of "Six Feet Under" when Claire drove off into the horizon and we witness the collage of what happens to all the characters in the future. I fucking BLUBBERED during that.Not just "wept" mind you, I'm talking "snot-bubble BLUBBERED". Thank GOD I was alone at the time!)

"Heroes" continues to amaze me as well. For someone who detests "Prime Time Network Television", these two hours on Monday night on NBC are delighting me to no end. Who knew?


[Late Edition Addition: I'm also a sucker for "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas". I may be loading Jimmy's Jukebox up with some Christmas Crap through the end of the year, cuz I just love that kinda shit. We'll see...]

Sunday Mop Up 12/03/06

Whoa! I wasn't sure I'd even get to the Mop Up this weekend. Things have been hectic. As it is, it is well after 7pm Sunday night and I'm just getting a handle on my laundry. While I await the next load to dry, how about I knock out the easy-to-relate stuff to you. Please notice this posting's Mountain Fresh Scent (thanks to Clorox)!

Peggy, Texas

Ran out to Houston to visit My Favorite Margaret as she gets her blood thinned at Methodist Hospital. Man, what a place! Swank, swank, swank! Looked like the Hilton. A guy played Christmas songs on a baby grand piano in the lobby. Her room had tile floors, crown moulding, and cherrywood furniture. If and when I get the bariatric surgery, I wanna come here. Sa-weet!

She's doing great, and looks wonderful, by the way. Well, until she pulled the oxygen tube off of her face to talk with me. Thirty minutes after that, she was weak and breathless. Silly woman. She put the oxygen back on and she perked right back up.

Her clots are disolving slowly and she hopes to go home sometime next week. Have I told you people how much I love this woman? She's just the sweetest, gentlest soul I've ever known. I'm a better person from having known her.

Houston Traffic

Dear God! What a nightmare! It was like "The Road Warrior" but with pick-up trucks and small, japanese cars. If you live in Houston, I have a question: How have you managed to escape being killed on your highways? My balls are still lodged somewhere in my abdomen from the fright of it all. Austin drivers are bad, no doubt. But they just drive fast. In Houston, they try to kill each other at 80 mph. It's sport.

Beta Blogger Bullshit

Looks like I've screwed myself for upgrading to the "new" blogger. Suddenly, I can't switch back and forth from "compose" mode to "html" mode. There's no "compose" mode at all anymore, near as I can tell. Which means, if you're a bit of a moron as I am and aren't fluent in html, things like adding pics and changing font size and color are gonna be a chore. The good geeks at Blogger are pestering me to switch to some new-fangled template (which I did for a few minutes) and the whole structure of this page was flushed. I freaked and back-pedaled as quickly as I could.

I'm back to the old template for now, but posting aint as easy as it was just, like, the last time I posted. I'm pissed. If you blog here and are considering upgrading to the beta version...I'd think twice.

Comsumed By Christmas

The countdown is on and here's the part of the season that I dread. It's "Keeping Up With The Joneses" and "How To Be A Patriot" and "Save The Economy" all rolled into one big marketing burrito - with a side of "The Baby Jesus", just for good measure.

The pressure to spend, spend, spend is intense. I'm already hearing from friends and co-workers how relieved they are that they are done shopping. Done? Good grief, I haven't even started! The local news will remind you nightly how many days are left to fight the crowds. The hosts on the Home Shopping channels are twitching and barking at us like they are on crack.

What if we spent a Christmas just telling our friends and family how much we loved them, found a quiet ritual to express our spiritual beliefs, and decided not to bother blowing money we can't afford to spend by buying each other stuff we don't need?

I suppose The Economy would tank, we wouldn't be good Americans, and the nextdoor neighbors wouldn't think we were cool.