June 6, 2006 -An unnamed New York City man survived, but had his hand partially severed, when he wandered down the tracks at the City Hall subway station to relieve himself, only to lose the hand when a train sped by in the darkness.

I spent the entire day hiding out from the heat. I went absolutely crack-a-licious. I've organized all my music CD's. I tossed any software I didn't need anymore, organized my PC games and catalogued all the instructions. I separated all the remaining software and organized it by their storage cases. All of my movie and TV CD's are in one place and all in cases. I edited down my collection of T-Shirts and threw out anything I haven't worn yet this summer. I did a hard reset to my Palm and repaired the photo storage software glitch. Then I downloaded a buttload of music to the player. Oh, and I found a free MP3 ripper and converted some old music CD's to MP3 format. Then I created and filled up an MP3 file. I can't take the credit for it, but somehow I got the new printer I got for Christmas to install properly on my computer and my laptop. Now if I can only figure out how to enable remote printing. Not that I need it, I'm just obsessed. Geek out Y'all! Then I figured out the bills for the roommates and started a few blog posts in advance.

If that wasn't enough I finally put together Jet's doggie stroller. It's the cutest. thing. ever! It's got a basket underneath for SHOPPING! And it came with a detachable cover to close off the mesh when it rains. Jet is off the harness now and just walking with a leash. We've gotten to know each other well enough that I can communicate with him by a little tug or a voice command. Our walks are much more peaceful now but he still makes me laugh every day. In any case, I'm not sure yet of the best way to get him to like the stroller. Somehow I have to make him associate it with "fun". I'll figure it out.

Oh, and Malaysian car thieves steal a finger.

Legendary "Paris Is Burning" star Willi Ninja is reportedly "not doing well" and may not survive the weekend. Your prayers and positive energy would be appreciated. Much more about much more later today.

The Chicago Tribune ran a great article (you may need to register) about HIV+ athletes that participated in the gay games. -via Rod 2.0

I humbly point out the nice little mention I received on The Publishing Spot. Inform, amuse and tittilate. That's all I'm usually trying for here.

Brandon Aguilar posted a very thoughtful piece about sex phobia and the association of sex with shame. His writing is always interesting, even if you don't agree. You should have a look.

Here's a study released by the British HIV Association that addresses not only the issue of risk to "promiscuous" men as well as a host of other factors but also how issues of depression and low self esteem may play a role. Of note:

When the INSIGHT researchers talked to the recent seroconverters who wanted to practise safer sex but didn't, it was their loss of control due to low self-esteem or depression - often leading to alcohol or drug use that affected their ability to make safer sex choices - that was the dominant theme. “It [depression] really influenced my sexual behaviour," said one man. "You go out, you want to be abused almost… you might as well let anybody do what they want to do to you.”

Anyone who smugly sits around clucking that gay men who seroconvert "in this day and age" don't deserve any sympathy should memorize this article and have it wadded up and shoved down their throats.

"The Hoff" creator of the so bad it's good video "Jump In My Car", was reportedly too drunk to be allowed to board a British Airways flight to L.A. At least he didn't pull the same trick he did when he was drunk and refused entry at Wimbledon where he reportedly slurred "Do you know who I am? I'm The Hoff." (sigh) Hoff, you can't call yourself "The Hoff". Not even if you do your own finger quotes. Sorry.

That's it for now. Heading for the gym. There may be a trip to the nude beach in store for tomorrow.

Painkillers: check
Muscle Relaxant: Check
Liter of Svedka and ice: Check

I should be feeling much better tomorrow. This post was gonna be longer but I'm high.

Update: I slept for about three hours before being woken up with horrible spasms around 2:30. They continued every ten to twenty minutes all night. The pain was so intense I started to cry around 5:30. I couldn't fall asleep. I finally went on-line and found some good advice as far as what was happening and some treatments to try. Finally, I found a medication I've had all along and the spasms stopped about 1/2 hr. ago. It's almost 8 am. The spasms have stopped and I'm getting drowsy. I'll grab a few hours sleep and be back tomorrow to tell you what was going on, what treatments are available, and what worked for me. I must be on the mend, Jet just got back in bed with me.

Also known by it's more common name, rectal spasms. The pain they describe as "sharp and gripping" can better be described as someone shoving a hot poker up your ass while you're sound asleep. Chronic cases can recur periodically and mine always seem to coincide with a cyst somewhere in or near the anal area. Sorry. The cyst fills with fluid until it looks like a bike tire with a bubble that will burst. It makes walking incredibly uncomforable as well as sitting and crouching down. After 10 or 20 spasms, any sudden movement or shift of weight is blindingly painful.

There is no set treatment beyond hot baths, hot compresses to the affected area, and a drug called diazepam can be tried in regular or severe cases. The idea is to interrupt the spasm and get your body to relax until they subside. Almost like what you do for hiccups.

I have to say that while the cyst was painful and bothersome, the spasms were about the most painful thing I have ever experienced. Causing me to squeeze my pillow and cry out. By 5 am of the second night I began to cry. The whole time I was taking a combination of muscle relaxants and pain meds that I borrowed from my well-stocked friends supplies. That's what we do around here. If you need a medication right away we call around until we find someone with a prescription who can spare a few pills. It's a pretty good system. Especially if the crisis is in the middle of the night. As I researched the treatment for rectal spasm, I noticed the lone drug they mentioned was diazepam. There seems to be some certain shared traits in the "zepam" family. I had access to clonazepam, which is a seizure medication that has been found to relax people with anxiety disorder. Sounded like it might work. Around 7 am I took a half dose and sure enough, within 1/2 hour, the spasms stopped. I finally slept for a few hours.

Today the cyst was causing the bulk of my discomfort, walking except for around the apartment was next to impossible. I took a series of hot baths, I tried numbing it with ice. I finally borrowed a topical Lidocaine solution to apply. I finally found myself up and around about a half hour ago and set about straightening the apartment. If I've left shit everywhere and don't pick anything up you know The Dutchess has fallen ill. There were empty water bottles, balled up paper towels, gauze pads, hydrogen peroxide, and Q-tips all over. Money and change everywhere. Not a lot of food because I had no appetite through all this.

Another article about the condition claims that 14% of adult males experience a form of this condition during their adult life. One possible cause:

"Proctalgia fugax may be associated with functional gastrointestinal disorders. Abdominal pain and distension, frequent loose stools, and a sensation of incomplete evacuation after defecation have been noted more often in patients with proctalgia fugax. The significance of this remains a mystery."

The very digestive problems I've been trying to clear up.

Sory about the anal/rectal/poo post, but if you've been experiencing something similar and haven't felt comfortable talking with your doctor. You're not the only one. Hope this helps.

Update: The Sequel. Do not read if squeamish.

Just as I finished this post while laying on the bed I noticed something really reeked. At first I thought Jet had taken a dump. I wouldn't be surprised I was barely able to walk him the last two days. Then I realized he was right behind me trying to suss out the smell as well. We exchanged looks, like "What the hell is that?" I rolled over and realized that the back of my shorts and leg were wet. I immediately grabbed some paper towels and gauze. The cyst had burst and to say a deliciously disgusting goop was coming out of me would be an understatment. It was fantastically gross. I couldn't have been more delighted. It took about 15 minutes to get cleaned up and then get in the shower. 5 minutes after that I was happily walking the dog as if nothing had ever happened. Emergency Room visit cancelled. Crisis over. I'm just fine again.

Ohmyfuckinggod--ow!

I spent the better part of today in unbelievable pain. My entire pelvic area hurts and when I was walking around it was spreading all the way down my left leg to my foot. Of course, it's not lost on me that I should be in bed except for walking the dog. And I understand now that walking across town to the Hudson Street piers to see an outdoor screening of Jaws was a stupid, stupid thing to do. But in my defense, I thought I felt better than I did. Even a bottle of Pinot Grigio and some sushi were not enough to dull the pain. In my bed feet off the floor tomorrow. Christ! This hurts. I have a lot to tell you still. Luckily I have a laptop to pull in to bed with me. Look for multiple postings tomorrow. Unless I find pain meds. Then fuck you I'm high.

I'm not someone who is obsessed with hits to my site, but I do check who's stopping by periodically. If I notice an unusual jump in traffic I will go see what's causing it. I'm proud to say I get visits from all over the world. From Yugoslavia to Brazil and even countries in Africa. I try not to think about it too much as mostly I feel like my writing is only mildly entertaining or informative. I would hate to disappoint some gay boy in a country far away who's always dreamed of coming to New York, only to have me make it sound almost boring.

But it did get me thinking about the ways people arrive to my site. Of course, due to a lot of the images I have posted over the years, tons of eyeballs arrive via Google Image search. A lot of those people seem to pop in and pop right back out. Occasionally, someone will stay for over an hour reading 20-30 pages. I'm kind of gratified they find what I've done that interesting and a little creeped out. I also think it's kind of hysterical that nine times out of ten if someone has arrived from an image search and hit on the only spanking picture I've ever posted, chances are they're from England. You Brits love the spankings, huh? Naughty Nigel.

So there's a subfilter on Sitemeter where you can see website referrals based on visits. I thought I would tell you the top 10 Blogs that refer traffic to my little page. I've omitted all image search referrals as well as Google search words. Needless to say, I get a lot of visits when people Google "fat fuck". I'm also not including Technorati nor any pay sites. Ready? The list is in reverse order. The links are off to the right if you want to explore further.

10. Greek gay lolita
9. Acid Reflux: Life & Times of A Poz Guy. (Feel better soon, Brian!)
8. Best Gay Blogs
7. What the .... (and one sexy sum'bitch!)
6. How does one deal? (Hi Mikell)
5. Shades of Grey (there's a connection I can't quite figure)
4. We, Like Sheep
3. Geekslut (that connection, I totally get)
2. Hunter James (who I see out or on the street several times a month but I'm too shy to say hello)

and the number one Blog referrer to me over-all, is: (drumroll)
1. Always Gay. Always.

I thank you all for listing me on your sites. I hope I return the favor on occasion.

Begone you bubble-headed boobie!

Not my favorite day. The brightest spot, I got a full refund for the tickets and bus passes from the failed trip to Hurricane Harbor. A big shout out to Mark Nelson for graciously refunding not only the bus tickets but the park tickets as well. They were still useable, but quite frankly I don't have as big a desire to run around a water park with children and heteros. I know, I know. I'm heterophobic. Sue me. I don't hate the straights, I just don't like to be around them in large groups. (P.S. Not only is Mark Nelson a stand up guy, but godAMMIT is he a blond hunk of hot man.) Now, a prudent man would have put the money back in the bank to pay off the credit card bill due in three days. I failed the test. At least I didn't spend it yet. Well, not all of it.

I'm also in hella-pain. My back is normal sore from working out. I upped my shoulder routine by around 10 lbs. all around. Those muscles that you use to shrug with? Ow. Turns out I shrug a lot. To further the damage to my old body, I did a half hour of cardio on an elliptical machine that totally kicks my ass. The result? Assus Kickuss ensued. Brilliantly, my hamstrings and tendons in the back of my legs were already a little tender. So of course I didn't stretch before or after. That would be prudent. I could barely get down the stairs today. On an unrelated note, that butthole/prostate pain I was experiencing several months ago? It's back. I felt a spasm as I was walking across town and by the time I got to the gym to "check it out" I had had a series of painful spasms and sure enough, felt some swelling. I put traffic cones and an "out of order" sign across my hole. Beyond all that I've had a headache and blurred vision most of the day and I just might be coming down with a summer cold. I've been noticing when I get all whiny like this, with multiple symptoms, it usually means I'm coming down with something. The nice thing is that based on my recent test results, I'm just maybe normal sick. And whiny. But I'll get better.

I've been on the acidolphous and enzyme supplements to try and right my digestive woes for a little over a week. No luck so far but I heard it can take a few weeks, so since I'm not suffering any adverse effects, I'll keep at it.

Apropos of nothing, I hate walking the dog on recycling night. There's so much garbage in so many bags and he has to stop and sniff. every. one. When all I'm really focused on is getting him to poop. Eyes on the prize, as it were. The only good part, is occasionally someone will throw out an odd piece of furniture or cabinet Jet has never seen before. If he's unsure he gets low to the ground and starts to growl as he approaches the killer wingback chair. At which point I reassure him and walk up to it first and put my hand on it or sit down. The result is he walks right next to me for the rest of the walk as I'm the bravest smartest Daddy in the whole wide world. What can I say? (shrug) Ow.

So Saturday I had plans to go with The Hellcat to Six Flags Hurricane Harbor. They were giving over the park exclusively to The Gays for the entire night. There would be a DJ for dancing. I secured two tickets and managed to snag (more or less) last minute bus passes as well. Normally I don't "do" amusement parks. I'm not a big roller coaster fan and I don't like being turned upside down anywhere but in bed. I've never been to Disney anything. Not land nor world. But put me in the air and drop me in water and I'm so in. Do it in a park full of fags and factor in (I assume) a halfway decent bar and you've got my full attention. So The Hellcat and I (running slightly late) hopped in a cab and sped across 23rd St. to meet up with busloads of homos similarly inclined. Unfortunately the weather report was ominous. Indeed the afternoon was under a severe thunderstorm warning. I was hoping that the weather either wouldn't materialize or work itself out long before we made the trek down to New Jersey. The rain that started as soon as we emerged from the tunnel out of NYC didn't bode well. Unbelievably, not only was it bad, it was dangerously bad. The entire amusement park was closed, and the event was cancelled. I guess the only saving grace was that we were only about 1/2 hour out of Manhattan when the bus turned around and headed back.

So instead of a fun night getting soaked in water and dancing with boys we spent a night getting soaked with vodka, beer and sangria and watching boys dance on bars. Eh, when life hands you lemons ....

Yin:

Heartbreaking news. Christiane Amanpour over-enunciates a report out of Africa, UN estimates over 12 MILLION AIDS orphans in sub-Saharan Africa alone.

Yang:

The Bill and Melinda Gates AIDS foundation announced a 287 million dollar funding that will go to 16 research projects in 19 countries looking to find an AIDS vaccine.

Locally:

John Catsimatidis, owner of the Gristedes chain of grocery stores, is reportedly a major contributor to the campaign of scumbag Senator and buttsex froth Rick Santorum. Two words. Food Emporium. Seriously. As a fag who spends a lot of money, I protest with my credit card.

Gay City News ran a story with the following headline:

"House Takes Up Dead Marriage Amendment"

Now, I'm about as liberal or libertarian a gay as you can be. I'm on record as saying that I think gay marriage is stupid, and as of now, I couldn't be less interested. But I support the right of others to do so. By support, I mean give lip-service to it without putting myself out in any way. But I simply cannot and will not support the issue of dead marriage. I'm sorry gays, aside from the obvious benefits inherent of a partner in a permanent state of rigor-mortis, and mindful of the fact that marrying the dead means you automatically win every argument and always get to pick the restaurant for dinner, I simply must object to dead marriage. I've been in more than one, and they never work out.

My uncle died last week. He wasn't an uncle by blood but by marriage. We weren't especially close, but we spent a lot of time together when I was growing up. He was family. However his wife, my Aunt Tina, is someone I love very much. I don't just love her, I admire her very much. My uncle was mentally ill. I don't mean he was a little off, or got depressed. I'm talking bat-shit crazy. Many, many hospitalizations over decades. Enough lithium to bring down a rhino. My aunt saw him through all of it. She stuck by him through thick and thicker. Divorce was never considered. Indeed, their marriage produced two healthy children, who married and between them had (I think) seven children of their own. If you're imagining my aunt as long-suffering, don't. She embraced life. Her enthusiasm has never wavered and her sense of humor and laugh are strong and infectious.

As you know, I think whenever possible you should mark someone's life, even in death. So I decided to write the following letter:

Dear Aunt Tina,

I'm writing to tell you a story I don't think you know. I thought you would appreciate it.

When I was a teenager I skipped school. A lot. I wasn't really up to anything bad, but school bored me sometimes so I left. Mom and Dad were both working full time, so most days I would just go home and hang out. Invariably, late in the afternoon on many of the days I would skip, I would hear a car pull in to the driveway. The first time I was scared shitless. I peeked out the kitchen window. Who did I see in the driveway? A "junky old car and a junky old Uncle Al". I don't know why, but I immediately relaxed. I opened the back door as Al was coming up the driveway.

"What are you doing here, Uncle Al?"

"I wanted to see if you had a match."

"Um ... well, yeah. Hold on."

I don't recall that he ever came in. Usually we would walk around the back yard. He would tell me that Phil should do this... or the lawn should be cut. Mostly we would just shoot the breeze. Afterward, he would just leave.

He didn't show up every time but often. And after the first time I was never too surprised. He never mentioned it. He never told my father. I'm not sure if he told you. And he never asked me why I wasn't in school. I guess he was happy for the conversation. And the matches. I always wondered how he knew that I would be there. It wasn't until years later I figured that he probably showed up whether I was there or not. And it also occurred to me that knowing Al, mine wasn't the only house he visited. But I for one was always happy to see him. Happy to walk around the yard.

I'm sorry about your loss. I know that you didn't just lose a husband. I know that you also lost a friend. I haven't been home very much for a long time. But I will always remember my afternoons with Uncle Al fondly. Remembering this story makes me smile all these years later. I hope it does the same for you. I love and miss you.

Tom

You'd think, without a job, I could post daily. And I do have things to tell you. But I'm too lazy to do a whole post. So I'll distract you with hot men from my "cuties" file.

Tom Welling (and his package) from an episode of Smallville.



What's not to love?


Got Meat?

Recently this, this and some well documented unpleasantness with a deaf retard of my own got me thinking. What do (I'm assuming) HIV- people think they're accomplishing when they try to "remind" you or point out to you that you have HIV? Not only is it totally lame, it's also about the stupidest way you could try to insult me. Oh my gosh! I have HIV? Wow, you really put me in my place with that one, well done and "totes hilar". Dumb ass! Like I'm not reminded every morning when I take a handful of pills. Like I'm not reminded when I pick up a big box of mega-multi-vitamins that will only last a month. Like I'm not reminded when I finish an hour of cardio and shower and apply the testosterone gel I have to use every day. I'm HIV+? No shit! I totally forgot about that. Oh, you've so ruined my day. Good on you!

Oh, and I love how they talk about how you're gonna die soon, or about your grave, or how they're gonna see you in your grave. And they always seem to work in how they don't feel sorry for anyone who turns up HIV+ in this day and age. It's funniest because they're usually about 100 lbs over what even a generous doctor would call a healthy weight. Or they mention how they ended up passed out in bed with a cheese sandwich stuck to their heads. Let's see: Type 2 diabetes, heart disease, alcohol rehab, high blood pressure. It may be another 15 years, but remind me to make fun of whatever "totally preventable" disease you come down with. I'll probably say something totally "edgy" like "Hey, remind me next time we talk to bring some insulin." You see? ... because I totally busted on you by, like ... you know mentioning your insulin. Oh, I'm such a funny bad-ass. Stop! My sides!

The fact of the matter is, deadly virus coursing through my bloodstream aside, I'm pretty confident I eat better than you lame overweight monkeys, I know I sleep better. I've spent a lot of time addressing my mental health and over-all happiness, to the point where I've conquered the bulk of my major fears. I don't smoke, I don't abuse drugs. I walk up the five flights to my apartment and usually have to wait while whomever I'm with recovers. My heart is healthy and I daresay I could last twice as long as you on any piece of fitness equipment. Statistically, I'll probably outlive YOU Fudgy The Whale. But if you think Being HIV+ hasn't forced me to think about my own mortality, you're just plain stupid. And that's the difference between us. I'm not scared. Of dying. Or of living. Unlike you. You're totally scared. Of illness. Of facing life. Of staring down death. And you think by mentioning death you'll scare me. But I know your dirty little secret. You're the one who lives in fear.

I was feeling restless and was thinking of doing a mini tour of some East Village gin joints. I consulted this weeks fag rag, counted the 87 dollars in my pocket and then checked my checking account. Nothing sounded inviting enough to spend all or part of my 87 dollars. I decided to have a couple cocktails in my air conditioned room and get up early to walk my dog before the heat gets really bad. I had an offer last night to get together with a POZ bottom and his 22 yr. old POZ "twink" friend. I'm assuming that's the truth I have no idea. I decided I wasn't in the mood and it was too hot. I'm getting old.

Took the dog for his last walk of the night. It got noticeably muggier from this afternoon. It's about to get fucking hot. I've officially retreated to my room. The weather icon above my system tray has a red thermometer with red heat squiggles radiating off it. I have air conditioning, cable TV and a DSL connection. My dog is farting. And right now he's either having the most incredible dream or a seizure. Hello summer.

The Body.com has a great article about how you can get better results from your HIV treatment with some very simple lifestyle changes. Not to be indelicate but I've been having some digestive issues that, while tolerable, have been impacting how I run my day. For the first few hours of every day I always make sure I know where an available bathroom is. I assumed it was just something I had to deal with, but it seems I may find some relief. I'll keep you informed.

In other news, The NYC Health Department is reporting a significant jump in HIV cases among gay/bisexual men under 30.

A transgendered girl enters kindergarten in Florida.

The gays even custom build their retirement homes.

HIV/AIDS patients still at risk in post-Katrina New Orleans.

Let's check the numbers, shall we?

Vitals (blood pressure, cholesterol, liver function) Textbook normal.

I weigh a scale-tipping 146 lbs.

I'm slightly anemic. Again.

Viral load: Undetectable

T-Cells: 570

Yay for me.

So I ducked in to a movie theater thinking about taking in a film and beating the heat. I sometimes leave things in the hands of fate, and indeed I took it as a sign that the movie I wanted to see was starting in 5 minutes. The movie? The Devil Wears Prada. My review? Loved it! Meryl Streep was twitchy and actor-y and very very Meryl. I was obviously the only big gay around me in the theater as some laughs drew outright guffaws from me. And the clothes! The thigh high leather boot ensemble? To. Die. For. It was a homo wet dream I tell ya'. Why are you still reading? Go!



Still here? Good 'cause I'm not done. I got in to the theater in time for the trailers. Two things I noticed. They've made a movie based on the book of one of my favorite authors Augusten Burroughs. Running With Scissors opens this fall, I think, and it looks like a pretty faithful adaptation of the book which I'm only 3/4 of the way through but quite enjoying. I found an old trailer. The new one is better.



About the title of this post. I found three things online, all Real World related. Another trailer they ran was for a film called The Last Kiss. The actual trailer was eh, but of note is that one of the lead characters is being played by former Real World-er (London cast) Jacinda Barrett. I've always thought of her as Nicole Kidman lite, but she seems to be getting roles.

Second, former Real World-er (Miami cast) and big old 'Mo Dan Renzi was recently interviewed by Best Gay Blogs. I like what he had to say about keeping it simple and small. Blogs, that is.

And deliciously, current Key West Real World-er, anorexic, depressive and burgeoning problem drinker Paula Meronek was arraigned on a misdemeanor assault charge after a drunken domestic dispute that culminated in her biting her boyfriend as he attempted to keep her out of the house. How's that therapy working out for ya' Paula?

Blood work results tomorrow. I hope my two T-Cells are OK.

Most doctors will tell you it's not a great idea to mix Ambien with alcohol. I would like to amend that and say it's perfectly all right to mix a little. Say 3 drinks followed by 10mg. Not only did I sleep like a baby but you could light me on fire right now and I wouldn't get upset. La-la-la!

I had to replace the USB cables to my camera and my Palm. Someone that lives with me and barks has been secretly chewing computer cable. I kept getting error messages that my USB devices weren't being recognized. I uninstalled and re-installed software for several devices until I found out the true culprit. Just so you know, you can replace anything like that very easily on EBay. It's a snap.

Not that he deserves it now but I also ordered one of these for Jet to tool around in.

It's an All-Terrain stroller and I can use it to take him on the subway as well as the ferries and it should be good enough to take him on Metro North and The PATH trains as well. It wasn't that expensive. Besides, I'm a Daddy and I'm gay what did you expect? If they made doggie credit cards he'd have one.

Talk about getting your kitten punched. It would make me purr too.

-via DudeTube. Video created by Joe Phillips.

After describing my extreme reaction to mosquito bites, one or two of the little fuckers got in my room last night. I woke up in tthe dark scratching like a motherfucker. I covered what bites I could find with hydrocortizone and then sprayed on repellant. Of course, it was pitch dark so I sprayed myself in the face first. By morning I woke up and counted eight bites on my right chest, shoulder and down my arm. I'm a walking welt.

The guys from City Gym Boys calendar.

from my (alleged) drunken, drugged up night of frivolity. Unfortunately, The Hellcat was not so lucky. He finally crashed with a combination of Ambien and a couple other sleep-inducing pharmaceuticals only to wake up several hours later to find that his dog, who has been recovering from an injury, got some sort of bug and shit, way more shit than such a little dog should have in him, all over the bed, the mattress and The Hellcat. The dog tried to cover up his accident by moving sheets around, which of course only spread the disaster. Quote The Hellcat: "I felt like the bread in a poo sandwich." He got up, disgustedly cleaned up a little but was so grossed out he jumped in a scalding shower. While he was in there, the dog pissed on the living room floor. Good morning.

I on the other hand woke up with only a mild case of post cocaine-use depression. But I remember what that was like so I was able to ride it out without much fuss. Today I'm back to "normal" and I plan on doing some shopping, picking up a book that was ordered for me, stopping by the gym for some cardio and if there's time going to an outdoor movie showing. Not sure if we'll bring wine but cocaine is not an option.

You're welcome. And god bless America.

Get drunk on white wine and vodka/sodas with The Hellcat. Nor did I do bumps of cocaine and stay up until 4 am singing karaoke via The Oxygen network. Because grown men don't do that.