Stiff

After my big work out on Sunday, I took Monday off from exercising. I was a little sore on Monday, but this morning, after a full day of goofing off, I was pretty dang stiff. Made me wonder if taking a day to recuperate is really worth it.

Had the usual for lunch on Monday: Chinese Buffet. It's kind of a ritual with the guys in my department that I eat with. Monday night I went out with Rich and Dave and had porkchops, mac and cheese, and braised cabbage. And THAT was the sensible part. I ordered a piece of banana pudding cheesecake for dessert ( I NEVER order dessert!). Every forkful into my mouth was met with "what am I doing? what am I DOING?!?". I dreaded taking my bloodsugar this morning, but when I did it was 108. Not bad for the pigfest I engaged in the night before.

Lunch today was a huge mound of salad and grilled chicken and a grilled steak from another buffet in town. Hey, the guys I work with like the "feed-trough" concept for lunch, okay?

I leave work here momentarily and head directly to the gym. Dinner will be a grilled chicken breast and salad in front of the "Heroes" episode I DVR'd last night.

A Productive Sunday

Started the day by having brunch with the boys. Potato, egg, and cheese breakfast tacos and coffee.

Then, hit the YMCA a block from my house, where I did my regular bike and walking routine (while watching the Spurs and the Suns on tv). Then, I drove clear across town to the YMCA downtown, so I could steam again. After 15 minutes, I got out, showered off and went to the big pool there, where I did some water aerobics in the deep end for a bit. Totally refreshing! After that, I steamed for 10 minutes more and then showered and headed to the record store.

After much deliberation, I picked up the new LCD Soundsystem cd, "Sound Of Silver". ALMOST bought the new Nine Inch Nails, but decided to wait til next week. I've been throwing money around alot lately.

On the way back to my house, I stopped at the tanning salon and nuked my butt for a mere 10 minutes to begin the process wherein I become toasty brown by summer's end.

Also hit the grocery store and loaded up on grillables and veggies for the week. Came home and grilled a sirloin steak, did a potato YET AGAIN, and sauteed some whole baby carrots. Deeeee-lish!

"The Sopranos" and "Entourage" start soon, so I'll be in front of the tv, ironing a batch of shirts for work this week in a mere matter of moments.

Smart money says I'll be sound asleep immediately thereafter.

Hope you had a great weekend as well!

It's The Weekend!

Slept 11 hours last night. Good grief! But it sure felt good. Had a hearty breakfast at noon (!!!) of scrambled eggs, bacon, and a buttered english muffin. Intend to eat a sensible dinner, since yesterday was a bit of a trainwreck. Heading to the downtown YMCA in just a minute (as opposed to the one a block away from my house), because they have a steam room that I want to bask in for a while after some bike work. Nothing feels better to me than allowing every pore in my body to open up and sweat in all that hot, moist air. A good steam is a thing of beauty.

Friday was a disaster, foodwise. At noon I ate Mexican for lunch, and I ate WAY too much. Knocked back a beef fajita just to get started, then followed with a chicken chimichanga (that's like a deep fried burrito stuffed with meat and cheese) covered in queso (that's more cheese), with rice and beans. Did I mention all the chips and salsa before the food arrived? Oh, yeah.

Rigfht after work, I went to the gym and worked out, perhaps overdoing it a bit from the guilt over lunch. I've bumped up the time on all three of my sessions, and I think I will stop adding time for right now. My back is really sore today. Anyways, it was after 10pm when I got home, and I realized that I was hungry from not having dinner. I stopped at Micky D's and had a QPwC and a fish sandwich with a Diet Coke. Yikes. So very not right.

Still, it's the idea of (almost) DAILY exercise that is my intention right now. Last week I was at the gym 5 out of 7 days. That's a big improvement for me. Getting hardcore about my diet will come later.

Taking A Day Off From The Workout

I woke up this morning feeling a little stiff. Not bad, just a little sore. I've decided to give my myself a rest day today. There will be no stationary bike tonight. I'll be back on it Friday.

Lunch was a bento box at one of my favorite sushi restaurants. 3 pieces of sushi, 6 little california roll pieces, a salad with ginger dressing, a small portion of beef bulgogi, a few pieces of vegetable tempura, and a scoop of steamed rice. Love it.

Dinner will be a grilled ribeye, corn on the cob, and more of that awesome grilled asparagus.

What kind of fresh veggies do YOU like to grill?

It's About Living With In-spir-a-shunnn!


Wound care doc thinks next week may possibly be my last visit with the leg thing. I will be sporting quite a divet in my shin for a long while. I don't care. That scar will be a badge of honor for me, I'm thinkin'.

Workout: Upped each of the three sessions by another minute tonight. I'm a pedaling bastard, I tells ya.

Food: No breakfast (was late fer work). Fried catfish, side salad, green beans, and a modest scoop of red beans and rice for lunch. Dinner was the second hamburger steak, salad, and fresh grilled asparagus - which was TO DIE FOR, it was so good. Washed it down with a Diet Coke. Drank water and coffee throughout the day.

wanted a freakin' cookie BAD this afternoon. Denied.

"iPod On Shuffle" Workout Surprise Today:

"What's the hurry
Little brotha?
Dontcha know that
God loves ya?
God loves ya
And She loves me, too!"
- "Great Life" Goat

Bigger Than My Body

Holy Cow, having tunes piped into your noggin while you are gasping for air and grunting like a pig sure helps the overall workout experience! I think I'm sometimes forgetting what I'm doing and start singing along, much to the chagrin of my fellow sweaters. Maybe they'll just assume I'm retarded.

Workout: three sessions on the stationary bike, like yesterday. Increased the duration by a minute each time. Hey, I'm going SLOWLY here! In between each session on the bike, I get off and walk laps around the basketball court to give my cramping leg muscles a break. Nothing else right now. Today was only workout #4, fer crying out loud. Just showing up is success in my book, at this early stage.

Food: Breakfast was a Danactive. Pastrami and swiss at lunch with a tiny portion of potato salad and a dill pickle. Dinner was a hamburger steak, baked potato, and a salad with a Diet Coke. Knocked back some coffee throughout the day: never sweetened, just creamer, thanks.

iPod Workout Surprise (coming at just the right time):

"Someday I'll fly
Someday I'll soar
Someday I'll be so damned much more
'Cuz I'm bigger than my body
Gives me credit for..."
-John Mayer

Love setting it on "shuffle" and seeing what pops up.

iPod, Therefore I Sweat


EXERCISE: Bought myself an iPod to help keep me motivated while I'm working out. Was so excited that I couldn't WAIT to get to the gym after work. Increased my time on the bike by 50%. Loved it.

FOOD: Lunch was at a chinese buffet: wonton soup, beef and broccoli, some sesame chicken, a scoop of rice and two mini veggie egg rolls.

Dinner was two grilled chicken breasts a la George Foreman, and a baked potato. Too tired to put a salad together.

That's alot of food, and I know it. But, trust me, I haven't eaten this sensibly in YEARS.

TMI MOMENT: I know I'm a fag and all, but I think my b.o. smells kinda good...

Not Exactly a WorkOut, But Certainly Hard Work

Spent from 10am until 6:30pm Saturday trapsing through car lots in dealership after dealership, looking for just the right truck. Baked in 90 degree weather under the Texas sun, and test drove about 10 different vehicles. Walking? Indeedy-do. Then, when I found the truck of my dreams, I spent an hour cleaning out the cab of my old truck, preparing to turn it over as a trade-in. Add to that the emotional rollercoaster of haggling with salesmen, their sales managers, and finally a sonovabitch finance guy, and I was damn near dead by sundown.

What I'm saying here is: no trip to the gym, but still lots of activity.

AND, a brand new, 2007 F-150 supercab truck with a V-8, 18 inch chrome rims, chrome grill, and chrome running boards, power-package and SWEET two-tone paint job ("dark stone" and "pueblo gold") now sits in my parking spot. 0% financing. Don't hate.

FOOD: a roast beef and cheese sub at 3pm at the dealership and two tostadas and a Burrito Supreme at about 8pm. Drank water all day but knocked back a Diet Coke at dinner. Not great, I know.


Today will see me meeting with my bear buddies at a BBQ joint for lunch. I will focus on lean brisket and the vinegar-dressed slaw they offer. If I breakdown and sample some pork ribs I won't beat myself up. I love those things.

The gym bag is packed and ready for the trip to the gym after that. A little "quality time" with a stationary bike is in order.

Promise Of A New Day


Happy Birthday to my blog! YAY! It was one year ago today that I began this little journal-thingie.

Okay, enough of this. Things have changed. Life has changed. I have changed. I WANT to change, and I want this blog to change along with me.

Today begins a re-purposed blog. The blog will now be strictly about the journey that I take as I try to become healthier and more fit. Just the facts, ma'am. I have re-joined the YMCA, I have made a committment to work out with friends at their house, I have begun to watch more closely what I put in my mouth (foodwise, smartass!).

Today, I had a DanActive for breakfast, a seafood plate at lunch. I am headed to the Y as soon as I'm off work to pedal on a stationary bike and walk a bit on a treadmill. Dinner will be a salmon fillet, a baked potato (butter only), and a salad.

I'm scared of looking like a total puss when I collapse at the gym, but I'll deal with that fear. I know my heart and lungs are strong, which is a comfort.

It's Friday night. Hope you are gonna have some fun. Here comes the weekend!

Sunday Mop Up 04/22/07

So, I'm all ready to close up shop here, take the shingle down, and call it quits. I listed the reasons here, and I feel good about my reasoning. I make the big announcement, and prepare for Life After Blogging.

Then, I get feedback. Leave it to someone just casually stumbling across my posted announcement, a person I have never heard from before, to not only blow holes in my alibi for quitting, but making a suggestion that hits me in the face like a 2x4. Thank you, Pissed Off Housewife. You humble me. And I accept your advice and your dare.

Starting on April 27th, this blog gets a serious facelift. The focus here will be my health and the challenge I face as I strive to get into some semblence of fitness. I will only post about my workouts, my caloric intake, and any results I gain from the hard work ahead. It aint gonna be pretty and, damn, I know it.

There will be no more commentary on current events, dumbass Youtube clips, or revelations about Life As A Hairy Homo. This blog will only serve as a way for me to be accountable to my committment to get healthier.

I suspect this will bore the living hell out of everyone, so don't be surprised if I disable the comments section so that I don't have to put up with any outside negativity about what I am doing. Besides, even positive comments could distract me. I'm easily distracted, you know.

By keeping the blog going, I will have a record of what I have, or have not, done. I will also have a portal to other blogs that interest me, which is important to me as well. If I am fucking off, I will be able to see it here. You will, too.

So, that's the plan, Stan. I'm as nervous as a whore in church about it. Maybe that's a good sign. I'm still making decisions about how this is all gonna look, but I'm cool with allowing it to develop in an organic fashion. I don't want to spend too much time on the details. Distractions, again.

The one thing I am sure of is that I don't want to continue dealing with the medical issues that I've been dealing with forever. I'm old now, and I'm not bouncing back as fast as I did when I was a kid. I know I'll never be a buff musclebear, but I sure don't want my diabetes and medical issues to take me down. I'm running out of time to get my shit together.

That I'll lose readers is a given. I honestly don't care (tho' I bet I still track you'se guys with StatCounter).

Whoa. Scary stuff.

Cool!

A Decision Is Re-Considered

I'll explain what I'm thinking tomorrow. Meanwhile:

A Decision Is Made

Screw Tuezdayz Cheeze, I've had heavier things on my mind as of late.

Here's the deal. I had been toying with the idea of closing down the blog for a few weeks now. Then, my fake heart attack happened - an incident where I not only convinced myself, but somehow managed to convince doctors in the ER as well, that I was having a coronary when - in fact- I had just become physically weakened from a previous injury.

Ummm...do I really need to be devoting time and energy sitting around blogging when I should be up, on my feet, off my ass, focusing on my health issues? Isn't there room in my life for both things? Look, I'm a fat guy who LOVES to sit at my pc and fuck around. I don't need the distraction. I need to move from obsessing about this silly blog, to obsessing about my flabby ass.

This last situation merely cemented in my mind what I need to do. Sure, I love playing around with this blog. I like writing. But, come on, I've got bigger fish to fry.

April 27th is the 1 year annniversay/birthday of this blog. It will also be the last day of it.

If anyone would like to continue to keep in touch, I would be honored to do so through email.

It's time for me to get serious about my life and my health and my weight. There's no time like the present.

Until then, I'll mark time by posting a few more things.

Thanks for visiting jimmycity, by the way.

Sunday Mop Up 04/15/07

Hi. It's me, Jim. I've been missing a while, and there is a reason. I'm going to explain it to you, but I have to tell you that I'm not very enthused about dredging through it all. But it is important to spit it out, because what has occurred in the past 10 days or so has a direct bearing on this blog and, if you are one of the handful of regulars who checks in on me here, I feel I owe you an explanation. So, here goes...

How I Spent Easter Weekend by jimmycity

My last post here was about having my wound vac removed. This was on Wednesday and was a very wonderful day for me. No more tubeage and hauling around a black purse that sucked on me continuously. Wednesday was a good day, indeed.

Thursday was an interesting day at work. My boss had decided to take Thursday and Friday off and have a long weekend. The man surely deserved it. He had been doing his job and parts of mine for weeks, as I recuperated from my leg injury. On Thursday, a few issues came up, and I tried to communicate with the Engineering group about resolving them. I wrote emails. I left voice messages. No one bothered to reply. This aggravated me, because I believe that if my boss had instigated the communication, people would have responded. Me, not so much.

Friday arrived and I emailed the people involved again in the morning. Nothing. I left phone messages after lunch. Not a peep. I was pretty angry now, and decided to find a live body and speak to them face to face. I jumped up from my desk at about 2pm, and marched to the other side of the building to find someone with whom to discuss the issue. Did I mention I was mad?

I walk briskly down the long main hall of the building, and as I am striding, I am formulating my choice of words that I intend to deliver to the first person I can corner. As I am walking, I notice that I am out of breath, and slow my brisk walk down quite drastically. I become lightheaded. I stop in the hall and stand with my back against the wall and gulp air in. I cannot catch my breath. Then, the pain hits. My chest begins to tighten up and I become dizzy.

Yes.

I turn on my heels and head back to my facility. I sit in a chair with my co-workers and they ask what is wrong. I tell them I need to go to the hospital. One of the video techs grabs my car keys and drives me to the Emergency Room.

At the Triage desk, they check my blood oxygen level. It's very low. They check my blood pressure: 190/105. They usher me to a chair and slap electrodes onto my chest and give me an EKG. An ER doctor compares this reading with a EKG taken just two months ago when I was last there. The two are very different.

"Mr. City, " the doctor tells me, "I think you have either had a heart attack recently, or are about to have a heart attack."

Cue the anxiety attack. I mean BIGtime. They put me on Xanex to calm me down.

I am checked into the cardiac ward of the hospital. They stuff an oxygen tube under my nose, put a nitroglycerine tab under my tongue and a big, gooey nitro patch onto my chest. They make me chew up a handful of aspirin. They hook up a heart monitor to me so they can watch what it is doing at all times. And they tell me to be patient, I was going to be there until they can run tests on me Monday. This was Friday. It's a holiday weekend, afterall.


See, I don't want to go through telling this all again. I've told every family member, and all my friends this story a billion times since last week, it seems. I could give you a blow-by-blow of what happened, but you already KNOW I don't die, cuz I'm telling you after the fact. But, trust me here, I didn't know if I was going to die back THEN.

My Dad flew in from Florida to be at my side. My friends dropped in all weekend. My family called me every hour of every day. I was scared out of my mind. I cried. You think I wouldn't freak out and cry? I fucking did, buddy.

The hospital staff treated me like I had advanced coronary disease. They had to; they didn't know otherwise. My blood was kept so thin that when they had to give me any kind of shot, I bruised and bled like a stuck pig. They intentionally lowered my blood pressure to around 90/50. It got as low as 85/30 at one point. If I accidentally knocked off an electrode to my heart monitor, my whole monitor would go dead, and staff would come running into my room, thinking that I had flat-lined. Think I was stressed out with all this going on?

I had anxiety attacks all weekend.



It was a long, awful weekend of waiting. My Dad and I got to do a lot of talking, and that was the one bright spot. My father, if you hadn't read before, is the greatest motherfucker God ever created. Fuck that Ghandi guy, he never could have handled my mother. I love my Dad so much I can get a little choked up just writing it. He was there for me, all weekend long. Man, we talked.

On Sunday, I had to watch a video about a heart catheter procedure they were going to do on me on Monday. This is that thing where they snake a catheter up your femoral artery in your groin and go up to your heart to inspect your coronary arteries and your heart. If they find a little blockage and plaque, they can do an angioplasty procedure, which is where they inflate the catheter like a balloon and press the garbage they find up against the artery walls. If they find blockage in a risky area, or find too much blockage, they pull the catheter out and an open heart, bypass procedure is scheduled. I had to sign paperwork stating that I understood I could have a heart attack during the procedure, or that I could stroke out during the procedure.

Cue another anxiety attack.
...anyways...

To make a long, ridiculous story a little shorter, I had the procedure. Not only did my heart look good, NO plaque of ANY KIND was found. Are you kidding me? I'm a fat guy who has lived on junk food all my life. I was SURE they would find a Chicken McNugget lodged in there somewhere. Nope.

Then, they tested my lungs. Afterall, I could have thrown a bloodclot, causing my shortness of breath. After much to-do, my lungs were fine. Clean and absorbing oxygen just dandily.

What the fuck happened to me on Friday, then?

The doctor explained it this way:

Since the first week of February I have had a drastic reduction in activity level. Hell, everyone was ordering me to keep off my feet and keep my leg elevated, right? Well, that shit had been going on for 8 weeks. Eight weeks of sitting around and taking it easy and sleeping to speed the healing of my wound caused me to become "de-conditioned". I had the wound vac removed on Wednesday, and on Friday I was charging down the hall at work, looking for a fistfight. My body was like "Exertion? Whatchoo talking about, Willis?" My heart wasn't used to pumping like that in a while, and my chest hurt from breathing so hard. No heart attack, buddy. Just extreme fatigue.

Oh my GOD, I felt like an idiot. I was convinced I was going to die, and it turns out that I had just morphed into a giant slug in two months. A giant slug with a perfectly good heart and set of lungs, mind you.Good, yet kind of weak right now.

And THAT'S how I spent Easter weekend. I hope yours was better.

I have more to say, but I'll save it for another post.

Free At Last!

Hi everyone, I just wanted to jump on and share the good news : I was officially detached from the wound vac this afternoon! Finally!

Now, there is still a fairly impressive gash on my leg that will continue, hopefully, to fill in over the next several weeks. Bandages will still abound. But my trips to the clinic will decline to once a week, and I will be dressing the wound and tending to it largely myself.

Turns out I wore that pump for six weeks. Six long, frustrating weeks.

My thanks to all of you who took the time to check in here and leave comments asking about my status, and thanks as well to the surprising number of people who emailed me directly with words of support and encouragement. I am doing the best I can to respond to any and all emails.

I'm gonna go now, because I have phone calls to make. Family and such. I'll check back in soon!

Love,

jim

Tuezdayz Cheeze
(I know it's only Romano, but I like it...)

And now for something COMPLETELY disgusting...



Keith Richards: 'I Snorted My Father'

LONDON — Keith Richards has acknowledged consuming a raft of illegal substances in his time, but this may top them all.
In comments published Tuesday, the 63-year-old Rolling Stones guitarist said he had snorted his father's ashes mixed with cocaine.

In this March 12, 2007, file photo, Keith Richards of the Rolling Stones appears in the press room of the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame induction ceremony in New York. In comments published Tuesday, the 63-year-old Rolling Stones guitarist said he had snorted his father's ashes mixed with cocaine. (AP Photo/Stuart Ramson)
"The strangest thing I've tried to snort? My father. I snorted my father," Richards was quoted as saying by British music magazine NME.
"He was cremated and I couldn't resist grinding him up with a little bit of blow. My dad wouldn't have cared," he said. "... It went down pretty well, and I'm still alive."
Richards' father, Bert, died in 2002, at 84.
Richards, one of rock's legendary wild men, told the magazine that his survival was the result of luck, and advised young musicians against trying to emulate him.
"I did it because that was the way I did it. Now people think it's a way of life," he was quoted as saying.
"I've no pretensions about immortality," he added. "I'm the same as everyone ... just kind of lucky.
"I was No. 1 on the `who's likely to die' list for 10 years. I mean, I was really disappointed when I fell off the list," Richards said.

[Good grief!]

Sunday Mop Up 04/01/07

Remember how I tried to warn everyone last week that I was in a foul mood? Well, guess what?
Same deal this week, too, babies.


The Home Stretch

The wound care nurse who has her precious face in the hole in my leg every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday told me on Friday that this coming up week may see the last of the mechanical contraption that has been attached to my leg for over four weeks now. Has it only been four weeks? Holy SHIT, time drags the fuck ON and ON when you have a medical issue!

AND

I am considering ending my bloglife once I hit my 1 year anniversary. Turns out, I have very little to say. And, if you don't blog yourself, I think you'd be surprised at how much time and effort it takes to keep at it.

But, those aren't the real reasons I may decide to chuck it all. The real reasons have to do with my dissatisfaction with what I am choosing to deal (or NOT deal) with here. I am trying to be real and honest and spontaneous and in-yer-face, and I think I am failing. WAY too often, I am NOT writing about something that has surfaced in my world because it may offend someone who I care about, and who may be reading the blog. I think I screwed up by announcing to everyone I know in "the real world" that I was doing this, instead of just doing it, and letting COMPLETE strangers in on what is on my mind. No, jimmycity is an attention-whore. And jimmycity may have sabotaged his little project because of that character flaw.

And, by the way, being able to shit on everyone is not the only reason I am considering quitting. Another is that I don't think I am putting myself, honestly, onto the page. I can't quite commit to telling you what I am actually like, although I hint around about it. No, jimmycity is a people-pleaser. Fuck, I'm going to be dealing with THAT issue the rest of my life!


At this point, I don't know. I'll keep you posted. Have a good week. Mine is gonna suck (except for possibly shedding the mechanical vampire, that is).


ps. I told ya I was still in funk over here!

Weather Report

It has rained like hell here the past several days. In fact, this Spring has been wetter than most, which we Texans should be grateful for. But no, everyone I know is groaning and complaining about it. Why, for God's sake?

It's too cold in the Winter for these people; too wet in the Spring; too hot and dry in the Summer. They wear me out. It's only from October to November that they shut up.

But, I have noticed that, while I put up with the other atmospheric conditions, I do really enjoy rain.

Ever notice how folks who believe in reincarnation are always professing that they are reincarnated kings or queens, pharoahs or indian princesses and other high-falootin' nobility from the Past?

In my past life, I think I was a duck.

Tuezdayz Cheeze
(made with real dairy!)


Here's the latest episode available of Mr. Deity!

Mr. Deity Episode #9

Sunday Mop Up 03/25/07

Well, here I am again, leg still taped to a vacuum. On Friday, when the hole was inspected by The (professional) Meat Packers of the wound care clinic, there was much to be positive about. The hole is really only the size now of the wound opening, which is a huge decrease in size. yippee. I am ready for this to be over and done with. Yet, the vac continues to suck, and I continue to saunter into work in shorts and sandals. It never ends.

I'm grumpy, and here's why:


TBRU (Texas Bear Round Up)

is happening RIGHT NOW in Dallas. 800 furry men at the Crown Plaza hotel, including just about every friend I have here in Austin, except Bob. Me and Bob. (heavy sigh!)

Got a phone call from Rich, filling me in on all the hoopty-do and thanking me for letting them take my room. I was delighted to help.

See, I know I did the right, adult thing by cancelling the trip. My leg needs to be my focus. If I were up there, I'd be running all over town, up on the leg all day. That wouldn't help the healing process. So, in a way, I'm proud of myself for doing the right thing, but I can't help but groan about missing out.

By the way, it was one year ago this weekend that I first met Rich and Dave. They are two friends who I am very, very grateful have come into my life. I feel like I've known them forever, and the fact is, that I'm still getting to know them. Weird, huh?

I spent some time both Friday night and Saturday with Bob. He says he is doing well, but is having severe leg cramping issues. He sees his doctor on the 28th to figure out what is going on. I'm worried about him.

Wildflowers

I don't know about your corner of the world, but Spring has hit Texas, baby, full force! And what that means is, for the next 4 weeks the landscape of the central Texas area is awash in color from the indigenous wildflowers here. It's really beautiful, and will be completely over in a mere month's time. Yes, flowers don't last long in the baking Texas sun, but we enjoy them while we have them.


"Rehab" by Amy Winehouse

is loaded onto my jukebox at the top of the page. If you haven't heard it, be sure and open the playlist and doubleclick on the song to play it. Maybe it's the whole Britney Spears' thing that coincides with this song that endears it to me. Maybe it's my own trip to rehab. All I know is that I love it. I follow it on the jukebox with my favorite Britney cover. Enjoy!

Okay, one last thing I have to get off my chest and then I'm done for now:



Sanjaya

American Dildo Idol is an abortion of a tv show, and if you watch it, you should be seriously ashamed of yourself. I won't go into detail about why I despise it, but I can link you to a post that I wrote about it last year here.

What I am furious about now is that people are waking up to the fact that it is utter crap, yet are continuing to tune in to see if the skinny twink-ass, pre-op tranny bottom boy is still in the running. Of COURSE he is, damnit! The fact that he SUCKS doesn't matter! He has already proven that he couldn't hum a tune during a blowjob, yet the fact that you are tuning in MAKES HIM A BIGGER STAR. Trust me, the producers of the show are squealing with delight that this buttboi continues to get votes from braindead, sobbing teenyboppers, to mis-guided Howard Stern fucktards. At this point, thanks to all the talk, this kid will get a record deal whether he wins or not, and his overly-plucked eyebrow will be staring at me from the magazine rack at the grocery store checkout line for years to come. Thanks a lot, America!

The fact that I even know this clit's name frightens the hell outta me.

If you have had enough of the sick joke that this disgusting program is PLEASE turn your televisions off and stop talking about it. I'm begging you.

Cree.Pee. Seriously.

Tuezdayz Cheeze
(all natural!)

Red-Eyed Tree Frogs



Is there a cheezy aspect to cute pictures of these rainforest dwellers? Who cares, I like these shots!

I also found a shot of two frogs mating, but this blog isn't always about sex, damnit!

Sunday Mop Up 03/18/07

Howdy, kidlets! It's Sunday, so I am tanking up on java and have begun my ritual of weekly housework whilst I try to piece together a post about my life here. There is comfort in repetition, ya know. That's why I'm such a big fan of both blogging and masturbation. The two are very similar, actually. Anyways...

Make A Little Birdhouse In My Leg (They Might Be Giants)

I SWEAR to you that I am NOT going to go on and on about my medical issues, but some of my peeps have been asking, so I will cough up a quick update.

Every day the leg looks better. The redness from the cellulitis is dissipating and I look forward to being permanently detached from this pump (that farts at me all night long) shortly. No one at the wound care clinic is venturing a guess at it, but my own pretty-fuckin-well-informed-opinion-at-this-point is that I might well be vac-less in just a couple more weeks. Like two, tops. Do you hear me, God?

Friday, when I went in to the clinic and they pulled the suction cup off and dug the foam out and looked around inside, it was VERY clear that the hole is filling in nicely. Even I could tell the difference. And it's starting to feel a little tender around the opening to the wound. This pleases me because, for all this time, as people have poked around and handled my leg, the fact that I had no feeling around the wound really bothered me. Having sensation there again reassures me that the nerve endings are coming back to life.

One really sweet perk of all this crap has been that I have been able to go to work in my cargo shorts three times a week. Yes, Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays I work in shorts and tennis shoes and a big, loose golf shirt. This is so that when I go to the clinic on these days, they can have easy access to my leg. Long pants would be entirely problematic. Let me tell you, working in shorts is the BEST! This is Texas, by the way, why can't EVERYONE wear shorts at work? I vote that we allow it. There are some legs in this company that I am quite curious about.

Bob

Bob is a bear friend of mine who I met through Rich and Dave last summer. We found ourselves naked in their pool together one day and just kinda floated towards each other. Older, quiet, sweet, sensitive, and sexy. I found him utterly charming. When I went into the hospital last month, I was taking care of Rich and Dave's house while they were at a Big Man's getaway in Palm Springs. Since I couldn't exactly keep an eye on the kitties while immobile, I had to call Bob and ask him to pick up my slack Not only did he do that, but he also came to see me the first five days in a row when I was hospitalized. He was a great comfort. At one point, I had him call Peggy to tell her what was going on, and she was very impressed with the guy. In fact, now she wont shut up about him.

Well, two days after my surgery, Bob noticed he was having some chest pain. He works in a hospital himself, and while on duty, he had some chest x-rays taken. What was found was that he had blockage in three arteries.

Bob was rushed into surgery and had a triple bypass.

I had no idea this was going on until two days after his surgery. I was still in the hospital and he told Rich and Dave to not tell me, because he wanted me to focus on my own recovery. When I was finally told, I flipped, but there was nothing I could do. I was still bedbound. I called him and chewed his ass for keeping it from me. He would have done the same.

He is recovering at Rich and Dave's house, because his home is out in the middle of nowhere and is a two story. Rich and Dave live in a beautiful ranch style single-level home (a mere two blocks away from me) and, being the awesome friends that they are, want to keep an eye on Bob for a while. This pleases me greatly because Bob is now so close to me, geographically.

As a matter of fact, Rich and Dave will be going to a new friend's house for dinner this afternoon, and I will be over at their house with Bob, watching Texas play USC in the NCAA basketball playoffs.

This coming weekend is TBRU in Dallas, and at first I was super-pissed that I was going to miss it. There's no way that I'm going to hang out with 800 hot, hairy men in a hotel while I have tubeage coming out of my body. Not a good look, seriously. But it turns out that I can give my hotel room reservation to Rich and Dave (cuz MY reservation is for a king sized bed, while the best they could reserve was a room with two doubles) and I will be here in town to keep an eye on Bob, while those two get to be the social butterflies that they are. It all works out, is what I'm saying.

An Open Letter To Homosexual Men

Dear PenisPeople,

I have spent a good amount of time as of late, online and on the phone, chatting with many of you. I am noticing something that is really beginning to annoy me and I need to call you on it.

I can't help but notice that when any discussion turns to the female gender, someone in conversation will make a derogatory remark about vaginas or cunnilingus, and the room will go APEshit in disgust. Cruel and unkind comments abound, as if women are some filthy, diseased aberration of our species. The cackling and shrieks of disapproval and horror are both amazingly sad and pathetically ridiculous.

Look, it's a given that, as a gay man, you are not interested in participating in sex with female genitalia. It's kind of obvious, okay? If you were interested or aroused by pussy, I'm sure you'd figure out a way to incorporate some into your sex life. But, that you aren't interested does not make it okay for you to squeal and retch, and say some pretty ugly, arrogant things about females and their bodies.

Are you so insecure about your own sexuality that you have to put women down in order to feel better about yourself? Don't you see that this type of smarmy, ignorant bigotry is the very thing that gay culture has been fighting against ever since one caveman dared to touch another's monolith? Wait, those were apes...forget that metaphor...

I'm stunned when I hear a gaggle of fags cringing and pontificating upon the dirty and gross aspects of oral sex upon a woman in one breath, only to fantasize and masturbate to talk of licking and rimming a man's BUTT in another. Are you freaking kidding me?

Here's my point: All sex is gross. It's primal, it's messy, it requires a good shower afterward. All of it. Heterosexual or Homosexual. Body fluids, textures, and smells occur every single time, no matter who is involved. Not everyone is going to be enthused about everything, sexually. So, you get to pick and choose what works for you. But your choice of expression is not superior to any other, my friend.

And, chances are, you are no expert about vaginas. Sure, they bleed every so often but, dude, you shit out of YOUR hole daily. You've got nothing to feel superior about.

Please, knock it off.

Sincerely and in a very gay way,

jimbo

Hey, That Bill Maher Is Funny!

From last night HBO Real Time, re: General Pace's "gays are immoral" comment:

"Say what you want about the gays, at least they know when to pull out of a shithole."

Tuezdayz Cheeze
(be sure and try the swiss!)

I nearly missed the deadline this week. Cheeze on Wednesday would be SO wrong!


Mr. Deity Episode #8

Sunday Mop Up 03/11/07

So, it's another Sunday and I'm still in the same ridiculous routine with my leg as I was last week. Don't get me wrong, progress is being made but, Jesus on a Ritz cracker, the progress is SLOW.

I'm going to step up my work hours next week to six hours a day, and continue to struggle with how to be productive there and keep my leg elevated. Not an easy trick, I'll tell ya.

The wound vac continues to suck me (not in a 'good' way), and every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday I go to the wound care clinic and professionals stand around and stare into the hole and 'ooh' and 'ahhh' and assure me that things look good. As far as I'm concerned, things won't be 'good' until I can chuck this mechanical vampire and get my old, dysfunctional life back.

Look, I'm doing my best to keep a positive attitude here. When dealing with my healthcare providers, I am one little ray of friggin' sunshine, I swear. They smile at me, and I smile back. We talk and joke and laugh and all that crap. And then I get by myself, like when I'm loading my ass into the truck to get back to work, and I'm dealing with the tubes and wires and machine in the purse, and I just want to SCREAM. Motherfuckingsonofabitchshitpisser!

Then, I take a deep breath and offer my thanks to the Universe for all the blessings I have. I know I've got it easy and that it's all good. I know that I am a lucky fuck and things could be alot worse. I know I'm being a baby.


But, more than anything else, I'm really tired of talking about this stuff. I'm certain that you are tired of hearing about it, too. But this is what consumes me at the present. So, this week I'm just going to wave to you and blow you a kiss and promise I'll be back soon to talk about something OTHER than my medical nightmare. I need to get back into bed and get the leg elevated here pretty quick, anyway.

I'm hopeful that you people are making up for my lack of sex by humping like bunnies out there. Please, kids, do me a favor and fuck someone today. You know you want to.

Big Love!

Since I'm Always WAY late in posting about National Events:


Ann Coulter is a Cunt.

Hey! SHE started it!

Here's a cute little widget that Melissa was turned on to, so she turned on the rest of us who read her. Since I love explaining me and describing me to anyone who will hold still long enough to listen, I had to generate one of these babies about myself. If you think it's neato too, click on the link at the bottom and do one of yourself for yourself.

Read my VisualDNA™ Get your own VisualDNA™

Medical Update

I just had to jump on today and announce that I had the PICC line removed from my chest yesterday and I am no longer having to lug around the portable i.v. pump, pack, and tubeage.

Was so happy, I kissed the nurse when she got the catheter out of me, and she blushed beet red. I'm a dynamo of sexual energy, ya know...

Still have the wound vac attached to my leg, and have to deal with carrying around that purse for several weeks yet. No biggie. Feels like progress to me, man.

By the way, I forgot to go the scoreboard for sick time tracking:

Tracking My Sick Days in 2007 : 12

That blows, considering we aren't three months into the new year yet. Let's hope I'm done being a mere mortal for a while, huh?

Tuezdayz Cheeze
(smile when you say it!)

It's "The Jeannie Tate Show"!

Soccer mom JEANNIE TATE hosts a talk show from her minivan.

Sunday Mop Up 03/04/07

Look, kids, I know I'm not exactly pumping out the posts, but give a fag a break, huh? I am currently lugging around two separate pumps connected to my body by tubing, and I am supposed to be lying in bed with my leg propped up at all times. Just getting to the bathroom to pee is a logistical nightmare, never mind sitting at my pc, yammering on about my plight while my leg swells below me. I'll spend some time today doing it, because it's SUNDAY, after all, and I cannot handle the cluttered chaos around me. 'Organization' is hardly my strong suit, to begin with. You should see the jumble of tubes, wires, and machinery I have become. That I haven't yet unplugged something accidentally and bled to death in a thick puddle of ooze during sleep is simply astonishing.

Word on the street is that I may get to unplug from the portable i.v. pump on Monday. This would make Life As I Know It MUCH more manageable. I'll be attached to the wound vac on my leg for several more weeks, as it tries to suck the hole in my leg into filling from the inside out. A smartass friend thinks all I need is some wood putty to get the job done. When I relayed this to the nurse at the Wound Care Clinic, her response was "Never seek medical advice from Pinocchio".



I'm hobbling around doing some much needed laundry, slurping my bucket o' coffee, and clearing Casa del Jimbo of remnant bio hazard from another week's worth of Bachelorhood Gone Awry, and babbling a bit to you about the things that have been kicking around my skull as of late. I loosely label this phenomena as 'thought'. So, here goes this week's installment:

Anti-biotics

Maybe I have said this before, and I apologize if I am repeating myself, but I LUVS me some anti-biotics. My complexion is ever-so clear ( I haven't had a zit in friggin' weeks), any chance of b.o. is non-existent!

Bloodwork Results

My PCP insisted on drawing blood and doing lab work on me before releasing me to work a sparse 3-4 hours a day at my job for the next two weeks or so.

[Yes, in between drs. appointments I am hauling my tubed ass to work for a few hours a day now. It's kinda cool. I show up in flip flops and cargo shorts and have a drs. note insisting that I keep my leg hoisted up (on my desk, mind you) while cranking out work on my desktop. Right about the time that shit starts to hit the fan on any given day, I get to announce that I'm going home to rest. Why can't my job be like this all the time?]

Well, the bloodwork results are in, and I don't mind telling you that I RAWK! My LDL, HDL, and triglycerides were well within range. My overall cholesterol was 181 (down from 218 in the Fall). My a1c (longterm blood sugar level) was 6.3 (down from 6.8), and my fasting blood sugar was 102. My doctor's nurse is a sweet little thing named Chris who LOVES to lecture me about my numbers had nothing to bitch at me about. She, instead, congratulated me. But I think she was a little disappointed that she couldn't crawl up on her soapbox about SOMEthing.


Okay, all this crap about my medical status is even boring the shit outta ME, so I want to tell you about someone I met while in the hospital. Get comfortable, this may take a bit.

Ligia
(pronounced "LE.hee.ah")

She was my day shift nurse for three days in a row during my hospitalization. She is a 65 year old Colombian woman who is fairly new at this hospital. Ligia used to be a psychologist and had a private practice while she lived in Colombia, many years ago. As a young woman, she studied and got her Ph.D, from a university in Paris, France.

Ligia was married for 19 years to a Colombian man who was a corporate bigwig with Esso (now known as Exxon) Oil. As she tells it, leaning in and whispering into my ear, he was "an asshole. He cheated on me constantly. He was irresponsible with our money. He refused to grow up. He gambled, he drank, he ran around with whores." But, in Colombia, divorce was not socially acceptable, so she remained married to this man while her career as a cognitive therapist (for the 1% of the Colombian population that could afford such a luxury as counseling) flourished. She learned quickly to put back her own savings for the future.

She would tell me about her life as she tended to me. The more I heard her story, the more I was fascinated by her. I asked lots of questions. She never refused to answer, sharing these personal things as she emptied my urinal, perched proudly upon the table next to my bed ("Oh!" she would coo, "Your kidneys are working wonderfully! This is a good sign that you will recover quickly!"), strip and change the sheets on my bed while my fat ass was still in it ("If I had known how to do this while I was still married, my husband would have never wanted to get out of bed. Ugh!" And then she'd lean into me again and say, in a hushed tone, "He was an asshole."), or give me a sponge bath because I could not stand up to get into the shower at first. Her story made me forget about my aching leg, if only for a little while. It also took my mind off the embarrassment of being helpless to tend to myself.

Ligia and her husband had a daughter who wanted to attend college in the United States. Ligia's parents had residency in New York state, having moved there years before, and the daughter was attending class at NYU, studying fashion design (I think). During the daughter's first year of school, Ligia came to the U.S. to visit. It was her first time in America.

She LOVED it here. New York City was like Paris in her youth, only 5 times bigger. She was surrounded by Culture and Art and Freedom and Choice and even more, Family. She had missed her daughter, and was delighted to spend time with her parents. She had initially intended to stay two weeks. She stretched that into a month. She called her office in Colombia and pushed her waiting clients' next appointments back further and further.

At this point, I asked her if she felt bad, or guilty, about not being there for her patients in Colombia.

"Guilty?" she asked, "About what? My practice was day after day of listening to rich businessmen, and mostly kept housewives, complain that their children did not love them, although they were never home to spend any time with their family, that sex with their spouse had become routine and uninteresting,and that they were so depressed because they cannot afford yet ANOTHER house with a swimming pool and maid staff. My life was all about handing out anti-depressants to the self-centered Rich. These people weren't interested in working to improve their lives. They wanted Happiness brought to them on a silver platter. They thought they could buy Satisfaction and Contentment through me. Let them wait for me a little while longer. I needed a break!"

When Ligia phoned her husband to announce that she was staying in the States longer, he became anxious. It looked bad that his wife was gone for so long. He worried about what people might think and say.

"He asked me how much longer I was going to stay and I told him, half-joking, that I might not ever come back. This really got his attention. He said to me, 'Ligia, I miss you. I need you! How about I come up there and spend a week with your parents and our daughter, and then I take you to Orlando for a second honeymoon? We will spend a week together, just the two of us, and then we will come home together. I'm sure I can arrange to take the time off from work and my busy schedule.' Then, he asked me if I would like that."

"I had heard that 'second honeymoon' promise for years. He didn't miss me. He wanted me home for appearance's sake. To stop the gossip, I'm sure. He was coming up to take me back. To make sure I came back." She broke into a whisper, leaning in, "You know..."

"Yes, I know." I jumped in, whispering back. "He was an asshole!"

We both burst into laughter.

The night of his arrival, the whole family went to LaGuardia to meet him, Ligia, her parents, and their daughter, waited to welcome him to New York City. But the plane did not arrive on schedule. Arrival was set for 9pm. At 10pm, families of the passengers of the flight began asking questions and getting restless. They were told that the flight was delayed. At 11pm, an announcement was made that all friends and family of passengers on the flight were to meet in a conference room at one end of the terminal. Once there, officials from the airline announced that they had lost contact with the plane over the Gulf of Mexico. It was unclear what the status of the plane was, or where it might be. Everyone was told to return home, and the moment anything was known, they would be telephoned.

By the time they had returned to her parent's home it was 1 am in the morning and there was a message on the answering machine. The airline was alerting the media that the flight was "lost and presumed crashed" into the Gulf.

In the following days, helicopters were sent to cover the flight path of the plane. In one area of the Gulf, a large oil spill was found. Upon further inspection, luggage and clothing from passengers of the flight began popping up at sea level. The evidence confirmed the suspicion. The plane had crashed, and there were no survivors.

"When it sank in that he was dead, I realized that I had an opportunity. I had no more reason to need to return to Colombia. I wasn't happy there. My family, my future, was here in the United States. I packed my bag to go back to close my business, to sell the house, to tie up the loose ends a week later. As it turned out, my husband had put all of his insurance policies into his mother's name. She got the death benefit from Esso, she got the proceeds from the sale of our house, he even bought flight insurance for the flight that crashed. He bought that insurance every time he flew. It went to his mother. I didn't get a dime."

I was stunned. "You got nothing?"

"I didn't need his money. I didn't want his money. I had my savings. When I returned to Colombia I was the talk of the town. You see, when a woman becomes widowed, it is custom to grieve and wear nothing but black for five years. Five years! I was finished grieving after five days! Can you imagine me in black for five years?!? I got off the plane in Colombia wearing brown slacks and a red blouse. I didn't care. I was there to bury that part of my life. His mother..." she stopped and chortled, "was furious!"

"I closed my practice, and returned to the United States, and decided it was time to change careers. I went to school to become an RN and that is what I do now."

"Isn't that a big difference in pay?" I asked, blinking.

"Oh," she laughed, "Very big! But I have plenty of savings. I invested my savings and it continues to grow. I make enough money to pay my rent and buy my groceries. I love my job. My life is very full. I get up every morning at 4am and have a breakfast of egg whites, a piece of toast, a piece of fruit, and a little piece of cheese. Then, I go to the gym and walk 7 miles on a treadmill. Then, I sit in the sauna for 20 minutes which I adore, and then I swim for a bit. When I get to work here at 7am, I am fully charged up and alert and ready to tackle the day. I see young people stumble in to work, hung over and exhausted. They eat doughnuts and sugared coffee to wake up, and can't understand why they feel so lousy.They stay up all hours, with the parties. I am in bed by 9pm every night."

"But, wait" I said, "I don't understand why you, a Ph.D in Psychology, would give up your education and training in that field to become a health care provider who spends the day wiping butts, cleaning up vomit and blood, and working in an environment of sickness and disease. I see patient after patient like myself: frustrated, angry, and in pain. Why would you choose this world over the world you left?"

"Oh," she smiled, "the difference, for me, is that the body is a wondrous thing. If given the chance, the sick body will always try to heal. But, the sick mind will sometimes refuse to heal. Sometimes it does not want to get better. I choose to work with this amazing, beautiful thing we have called our body. Watching the sick heal is an inspiration to me."



I have spent a good portion of my life discounting my body. I like to tell people that our bodies are just the bags we live in. But, Ligia has make me think about the astounding miracle that these things we live in really are. The superficial beauty of them has no relevance to the awesome determination they possess to stay alive and vital. We abuse and forsake ourselves with so little thought. Our bodies have to combat a world full of contaminants and dangers and sickness, but it also has to combat a sometimes sick, sometimes unthinking mind. Its war is external AND internal. Isn't that amazing? Isn't that beautiful?

One of my favorite sayings is: When the student is ready, the teacher appears. I think I was ready to meet Ligia.

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.