Tuezdayz Cheeze

(no preservatives added!)

Hey, Look! More episodes of two of my favorite internet serials, God, Inc. and Mr. Deity!



God, Inc. - Episode 6




Mr. Deity - Episode 7



Mr. Deity - Superbowl Extra!

Sunday Monday Mop Up 02/26/07

Wow! Is my life ever complicated right now! Folks, I have managed to put myself into stupid situations in the past, but this has got to take the cake.

See, a while back, I managed to take a fall. I tripped over a rock and landed face first on the ground. I was embarrassed and shook up a bit, but that was all I suffered, except for a small, shallow scrape on my leg. A scrape that BARELY bled, I tell you! No big deal.

Well, that was a Wednesday. By Saturday, that scrape had become red and "tight" feeling. I vowed to see a doctor on Monday, because, c'mon, who wants to pay for an Emergency Room visit? Sunday morning when I woke up, the leg was starting to swell up. What's a little swelling? Monday was right around the corner. I'm a diabetic, Jesus, I should know better!

Monday, it kinda hurt to put weight on the leg. I called in to work, and told my boss that I was going to the doctor and I would be in right afterwards. My Primary Care Physician couldn't see me, it turns out, so I was seen by another doctor in his group, who prescribed an oral anti-biotic and told me to take two days off of work and to see my doctor on Wednesday. Cool. Sick days!

Tuesday morning my doctor called to tell me that he had just read the report from the doctor who had seen me and to not wait until Wednesday, but to get my butt into the Emergency Room right away. I went to get out of bed and could barely put ANY weight on my leg now. The leg was red and nasty and, really, pretty scary looking.

When I went to the hospital, they took one look at my leg and admitted me into the hospital. They put me on a Vancomycin (sp?) drip. It appears I was in a world of trouble.

By Friday (that's 3 days later, kids) my leg had not responded to the anti-biotics. The doctor called in some specialists who determined that my infection had turned into an abscess and needed to be surgically removed. Friday night I was wheeled into the Operating Room and they sliced the leg open and dug out the abscess with an ice cream scoop. Okay, I made that last part up, but they did remove the abscess.

Since then, the leg looks a little better every day. I was taken off the "vanc" (that's hospital lingo, ya'll) and put on Oxacillan. But the healing has been slow. WAY slow. While this is going on, mind you, I am flat on my back in a hospital bed and being fed a codeine product for the pain. Well, by Day Seven, the use of narcotics on my drug addicted ass (remember Thanksgiving?) was taking its toll. Yes, gentle readers, I found myself convinced that the hospital bed was trying to swallow me, that I was suffocating, and that my heart was about to burst in my chest cavity. I told everyone who would listen that I was losing my mind and that I needed to get the hell out of the hospital.

At one point, the surgeon who operated on me dropped in to see how I was doing and was aghast to see my leg still red and swollen. He suggested that I either consent to a CTscan to see if he missed anything, or allow him to put me back on the operating table so he could slice me open further to see if he could see if he missed anything.

"Umm...How about we try the CT scan first?" I asked.

"Well, okay" he said, and seemed disappointed. Surgeons, by definition, like to cut things open, ya know. Yup.

So, they scanned my leg and found nothing was missed, so I was released into the care of a Dr. VanHook. This guy specializes in infectious diseases. This is the guy who put me on oxacillan, by the way. When I told him that I was freaking out from being held hostage on a bed that was trying to suck me into Hell, he suggested that he put me on a portable I.V. pump, so I could get home and rest there. This man became my new best friend.

I'm leaving lots and lots of people and things out here, I'm just trying to spit out a general chronology.

So on a Wednesday, 8 days after being admitted, I was released from the hospital. I drove myself to another medical clinic where I was hooked up to the portable I.V. and was sent home. This pump is toted around by me in a black fannypack that looks way too much like a purse. A tube runs from the pump in the purse up my arm and into a catheter (called a "PICC line") that runs from a vein in my arm INTO my chest and UP TO my heart. Yes, that freaks me the fuck out! Really, I need to move on here...

Friday I went to a "wound care clinic". These are the people who are going to supervise the healing of the woodpecker's nest that is the hole in my leg. They installed a "wound vac" - which is a sponge that sucks the fluids outta the hole in my leg and places the stuff into a container on the pump/monitor that fits in a fannypack that looks way too much like yet another purse that I have to tote around. Please try to get the visual here:

Big hairy guy with a tube running up his pant leg and out his waist line that goes into a black purse on his shoulder, and a tube coming out of a second purse running up his shirt and into a spigot in his arm. The tubeage for each invariably gets tangled with the other. The I.V. pump beeps intermittently at me for no apparent reason, and the wound vac pump makes a farty kinda sound now and then.

Do ya think I'm having fun here?

I'll be on the I.V. drip until Monday March 5th. I'll then be on the wound vac for another two to three weeks.

I'm going to try to bundle up these tubes and wires and make an appearance at work tomorrow. Put in 3-4 hours of work a day, nothing too strenuous. My boss and the crew need a break from covering my duties.

So, that's the basics of what is going on. I hope it explains my absence. I'll try to get back on track with the blog here. I know I have some stuff to share for Tuezdayz Cheeze. God Bless YouTube.

I DO want to tell you about this amazing nurse I had. She is from Colombia and I fell madly, deeply in love with her, and I'll tell you why another time.

Meanwhile, nibble someone you like/love on the ear and standby for further instructions.

Did Ya Miss Me?

Holy Shit! What an ordeal! Hi, gang! I'm back, sorta.

Your favorite hairy, furry, fantastically masculine fag has been in the HOSPITAL since Tuesday, the 13th! Yes, yes, 8 consecutive days of being chained to a hospital bed, flooded with narcotics and anti-biotics,including a quick visit to the Operating Room where they cut out a chunk of deadly funk from my leg.

Much to tell. But not now, I'm afraid. I have been sent home, but still have a portable IV drip pump connected to me. Strict orders to remain in bed (MY bed, at least!) through the weekend. So, sitting here blogging is kinda a No-No. I just wanted to post SOMEthing to let the three readers who check in here know what is going on. Before the weekend is over, I will post more of what I've been going through because hey, "Reality" doesn't count until you've blogged about it, right?

For now, just know that I've missed you and look forward to getting back into the groove again. The blog groove, I mean, of course. If you have another groove you want me to get into, feel free to drop me an email.

Bye for now, babies!

Sunday Mop Up 02/11/07

It was a rough week. Seriously. I'm house/cat sitting for friends who have run off to Palm Springs for a Big Man weekend and then are spending some time in Las Vegas; it was my second Friday of all-day database training for work; and I managed to fall off of Sex Mountain. That's right, and no, I'm not going to explain the last part.

So, I'm bruised, sore, my back has gone out on me again from the way I torqued it as I fell (nearly) to my death, and I have a sinus headache. But, it's Sunday - so I have laundry laundering, I have coffee cafeinnating me, and I have this opportunity to catch you up on All Things Jimbo. Well, selected things, anyway. Feel free to take notes.

Newsflash: Jimmy Likes Pussies!

Cat sitting has just solidified my decision that I want a cat of my own. Of course, no cat I'll ever find will live up to the coolness and righteousness of Chico and Gracie, the two badasses whom I serve this week, but that's okay. These two animals would make any non-cat lover reconsider their position. Just the best. I'm gonna head to the shelter this Spring and rescue a deserving feline.

Databitches

Okay, I get the basic concept. You build your tables, you develop your forms, you create your queries, you run your reports. As far as I'm concerned, you can also use a razor to remove my eyelids, stuff the keyboard sideways up my ass, and stab me in the neck repeatedly with a ballpoint pen. Any of these three activities are more entertaining and interesting to me than the anal-retentive process of building a database. This is what my boss and my boss's boss want me to get into, become an expert at, and live for? Uh oh, I'm in big trouble here!

Part of the problem is that I have to use a pre-existing database, built by the Director of Programming, on a daily basis. Well, the more I am learning how to properly build a good database, the more I am seeing the problems with the actual database that I use. A database, by the way, that the Director is very proud of and completely territorial with. I am to learn about these things so that I can better use it, but will have no power to change, or fix, what he's got. A little bit of knowledge is a dangerous thing, folks, and I am already seeing flaws. I have been advised by my boss to keep my mouth shut about this. C'mon now! Me? Keep my mouth shut? God help me.

Peggy, Texas (revisited)

I hadn't seen My Favorite Margaret, the Peg O' My Heart, since before Christmas - quite a ways before Christmas, I do believe. With the nasty weather of late, I had yet to make my way back to Houston to exchange gifts and hang out as I should have. We do a pretty good job of keeping in touch on the phone, but in the past few weeks I had not picked up the phone to call her and things got strangely quiet from her as well.

I should have known there was something wrong.

Peggy called me this week. She went in for her mammogram two weeks ago, and they have found three masses in her breasts. This is a woman who underwent a partial mastectomy 7 years ago for a single lump.

I freaked, as I always do. She calmly and cooly told me that she intends to have a full-tilt double mastectomy as soon as possible. When she told me, I clenched so hard that my cock retreated fully and completely into my abdominal cavity. I still don't want to think about it for too long.

Her doctor's still want to do biopsies and proceed with caution. Peggy does not. She knows what she wants and she wants it to happen NOW. Far be it from me to argue with her. I knew what I needed to do. I jumped in the truck and drove to Houston to be with her.

We spent yesterday together, laughing and talking. She gave me my Christmas and birthday gifts, and then we went shopping for hers. We found a killer pendant that she will put on a chain, and a matching pair of earrings for her. She's all about these little jewelry wholesalers in Houston on a street called "Harwin", I think. Anyway, the gift exchange was awesome, and we followed it up with a trip to a little Japanese restaurant called "Zake" (there's an accent over that 'e') on Shepard and West Alabama. We feasted on baked avacado, gyozo, lamb chops, and grilled duck breast. Oh.My.God!

Since I have yet to find a mattress that I like and that I can afford, when we got back to her place, she made me stretch out on her new Spring Air and crawled up next to me, while we talked about Life, a little about Death, and even some about Reincarnation. It was nice. I love her, and I told her so.

I'll head back when she has her surgery. Meanwhile, she is continually on my mind.

Writing Checks

Do you ever do this anymore? Not me, it seems. I pay my bills online and use my debit card for purchases. I just noticed today that the only time I will write a check is when I order a pizza. I ordered a pizza today. Pepperoni, mushroom, and onion. I'll save you a slice.

Anna Nicole Is Dead

She sickened me. She infuriated me. And now, I mourn for this twisted and wasted lost life.

Such pain, such greed, such desperation: such a tragedy. I said it before, karma is a bitch.

I hope she has found peace.

Tuezdayz Cheeze

(refrigerated for your protection!)

Time for a new installment of God, Inc.

I am keenly aware that I am looking like a religious fanatic to some of you, and a blasphemous heathen to, yet, others. Truth is, I'm a spiritual kinda fag with true appreciation of Comedy. I love any kind of look at our faith in Organized Religion that reveals its inherent man-made flawed syntax, corrupt infrastructure, and hand-me-down dogma which is expressed in a humorous way. This series and "Mr. Deity" are sweet, funny, and thought-provoking.

My "Higher Power" finds this shit a hoot. If you don't think God has a sense of humor, you haven't really been paying attention to the world, or your life, lately.

Amen.

Episode #5

Stupor Bowl

Yes, I watched...some. I'm sorry, that American culture has turned professional football and the NFL into a religion really disturbs me. Do we really need to stretch this out into a 10 hour event? Good grief! No, I'm a college football kinda guy (and, quite frankly, the hype and business pressure exerted there is nearly ruining it for me, as well), I just (barely) tolerate the NFL.

I missed The Big, Gay Super Bowl Party in order to sit by myself at home and watch a little, squirm in my chair, and flip over to The Puppy Bowl III on Animal Planet (where, quite frankly, I laughed out loud at an Instant Replay and when an "official", all decked out in the black and white uniform, ran onto the field to clean up a "personal foul" with a bag-covered hand), and then flip back again when I realized what I was doing. Holy shit, that's just WAY too gay!

I caught the half-time show, and thought Prince was incredible. When he busted into the cover of the Foo Fighter's "Best Of You", I was reminded of what I had forgotten all these years: Prince can fuckin' ROCK, buddy! Remember back in the day when the Prince vs. Michael Jackson argument was all the rage? You know, who is better? Who is more talented? Is there any doubt now? Prince writes, produces, plays the hell outta the guitar, dances, entertains, and performs! Sure, he looks like a fem little twink, but the guy is LOADED with talent.
His name is Prince. And he is funky. Loved it.

When the game resumed, I found my attention wavering yet again but refused to check back in on the puppies. I just channel surfed and dropped back in on the game ocassionally. I was secretly rooting for Chicago. I'm not surprised that they lost, tho.

All in all, I'm glad the season is over. WAY too much hype. As a culture, our priorities are really fucked up. Don't tell me these guys are "heroes". I don't buy that crap. They are over-paid athletes who are worshipped for the money they represent.

It was nice to see two black coaches, Grandpa Billy, and weird Uncle Prince all work it. I felt bad that those over-priced studs had to slug in out in the rain, I guess. Still, the strangest thing was that I had to fight with myself to keep from going back to watching puppies jump, run, chew on toys, and sniff each other's butts instead.

Sunday Mop Up 02/04/07

Seems I've lost the will to blog lately. Yeah, yeah, work has been hectic - c'mon when is it not?- and I'm all worried about this training class I signed up for, but that's no excuse for not having the discipline to sit down and vent a little here and sharing my psychosis with the world. I know this.

I'm just the kind of guy that sometimes likes to be quiet. Not talking, not communicating, can be therapeutic for an extrovert. Sometimes I enjoy the silence.

This is spilling over into my relationships with my family and friends as well. I haven't been hanging with my buds, I am avoiding talking to my family on the phone, the past two weeks have just been "quiet time" for me.

If you were here with me, I'd invite you to curl up on the bed next to me so we could drowse and nap and talk and be totally silent together. I'd tell you some secrets, and try to get you to tell me some of yours. I'd thank you for being my friend, and snuggle into you and apologize for being such a slug. I'd hold you in my arms and just enjoy the feel of your body close to mine.

And, every so often, I'd bitch about the housework that I am avoiding. You'd get sick of that pretty quick and tell me to get off my ass and get busy. I would grouse about it, but insist that, while I am up and being productive, that you lay right there, so I can run back to you, in between chores. SOMEone's gotta be the slacker. If it can't be me, then it's got to be you! Please. I'll go throw a load in the wash, start the dishwasher, and be right back so I can kiss your neck. Okay?

Thanks for understanding.