ONE WORD MEME

You can only use one word to answer each of the questions.  No explanations.

  1. Yourself:  Strong
  2. Your Spouse:  Non-existent
  3. Your Hair:  Brown/gray
  4. Your Mother:  Better
  5. Your Father:  Buried
  6. Your Favorite Item:  Computer
  7. Your Dream Last Night:  Zombies!!!!
  8. Your Favorite Drink:  WhiteRussian
  9. Your Dream Car:  Smart
  10. The Room You Are In:  Show
  11. Your Ex:  Neurotic
  12. Your Fear:  Loneliness
  13. What You Want To Be In Ten Years:  Content
  14. Who You Hung Out With Last Night:  Cats
  15. What Your Not:  Satisfied
  16. Muffins:  Yummy!!
  17. One of Your Wish List Items:  Powerball
  18. Time:  Afternoon
  19. The Last Thing You Did:  Meme
  20. What You Are Wearing:  Clothes
  21. Your Favorite Weather:  Cool
  22. Your Favorite Book:  Memorized
  23. The Last Thing You Ate:  Chicken
  24. Your Life:  Eclectic
  25. Your Mood:  Calm 
  26. Your Best Friend:  Encouraging
  27. What Your Thinking About Right Now: A Smile
  28. Your Car:  Focus
  29. What You Are Doing At The Moment:  Smiling
  30. Your Summer:  Full
  31. Your Relationship Status:  Single
  32. What Is On Your TV:  D.N.C.
  33. What Is The Weather Like:  Warm
  34. When Was The Last Time You Laughed:  Now

Strangeness from the Search Archive, 8-23-08

It’s that time once again where I delve into the deep dark recesses of the Search Archive and pull out some of the most disturbing and thought provoking searches that found my blog. And just so I can feel like I’m doing a service for my fellow man, I will attempt to answer these queries in my own way: with hard research, fact finding, constructive criticism and, when all else fails, full-on bullshit!

were not that different just think differently

Good observation, ass hat! I think that holds true for everyone everywhere.

monhegan island japanese tv

I love Monhegan Island. I love Japanese game shows. What if we combined the two somehow? Strand a group of naive japanese tourists on the island and force them to endure life with the sound of peaceful waves! Make them paint the the majestic scenery! Overcome their anxieties from everyday life! And whoever has an emotional and/or spiritual awakening first wins the game!! Hmm…maybe this is too highbrow of an idea….

beer joke half empty half full

Yes, I know this one: “Some people look at that glass of beer and say it’s half full, some look at it and say it’s half empty. I look at that glass and think “Who the hell has been drinking my beer???“. Thanks for stopping by….

when i wake up in the morning irish song

Ok, this is a little vague. I did my research (google search) and found many possible answers to your question. Artists from U2, the Dropkick Murphys, Enter the Haggis, Donal OShaughnessy and even the Cranberries have done irish songs that feature the line “wake up in the morning”. Be more psecific next time schmoochy!

half full or half empty devotions

Not sure how a search for  devotions or daily prayers found their way to my little corner of the web. Is someone trying to tell me something?

horror hair ventilation movie

Ok, I’m being serious here, please try to form one coherent thought into your searches. This looks like you randomnly threw some words together and hoped for the best. Please, find the time to string together a few brain cells for some meaningful interaction with the interwebs or do us all a favor and step away from the keyboard!

wayback machine cloud nine gentlemen’s club

Cloud 9 seems to be a popular name for strip clubs all over the US. Which one are you looking for? Tulsa Oklahoma? Troy New York? I found on Local Yahoo for Troy New York several reviews that mentioned some problems with prostitution charges that have since been cleared up and as one reviewer chimed in ” The good news is they are back open so show your support for the girls and get down to cloud 9 for some good clean dirty fun! You’ll have a blast.” So I guess check that one out if you feel like travelling to Troy….

melanie punk harvard square

I remember a girl named Melanie from back in the day in Harvard Square. Trust me, she was a grade A bitch! You want nothing to do with her. With any luck, she probably got run over by a bus.

what does sirsy “lie to me” mean?

Finally! A question I can Answer without research. “Lie To Me” is featured on Sirsy’s third album Ruby. I have spoken to my friend Melanie (singer for Sirsy) about this song and she explained it this way (paraphrased): “Staying in a relationship despite the lies and living within the illusion that it’s all fine. Allowing the anger and frustration to just fester and remain unnaddressed while living out the lies of someones professions of love or fidelity.” On a side note, this is one of Sirsy’s few slow songs and nothing cracks me up more than to see happy little couples dance together to the lyrics “Everything you are Is just a lie to me, so lie to me.”

And finally, for any regular readers, you knew this was coming:

boobs.are.fantastic. –

Yes, boobs are INDEED fantastic! Why do you feel the need to punctuate your query with periods? It’s distracting me from your otherwise very concise observation of the gloriousness that is all things boob related.

Guitar or Slipped Discs, Nerve Damage and a Musical Kind of Physical Therapy

 

There it is again. That numbness and tingling in my forefingers and thumbs. For years now, I have had to deal with the randomness of these episodes. I have no idea what brings them on, but when the numbness hits, my hands become weak and uncoordinated. But Dr. Z suggested a novel form of therapy. A little something called rock n roll!

Let me start at the beginning. About 5 years ago, I slipped 2 discs in my neck. The story behind this is a little *ahem* adult, but I feel I need to share this detail in order to explain the injury and my recovery. My girlfriend at the time had come up to spend the weekend with me at my house and we had a romantic time planned involving me cooking dinner and a movie. Nothing too fancy, but it was just the two of us. During the time we dated, she lived almost 2 hours away, so weekends were pretty much all we had unless one of us was on vacation. I was a little sore from helping my friend move the week before, but that didn’t stop me from running into the bedroom when the time was right.

*WARNING* Ye of weak stomachs turn back now!

One of the few things I know I’m good at is oral sex and that is what I have to talk about here, for you to fully appreciate how this injury took place. I was kneeling on the floor with my girlfriend on the edge of the bed with her legs around my neck. I was leaning forward with my head posted almost straight upwards, an awkward position at best. I ignored the twinges of pain I felt in my neck muscles as my girlfriend ran her fingers through my hair, tugging my head closer and upwards, straining the already awkward positioning. And just as she reached her orgasm, she tugged on my head a little harder and that is when I felt it.

At the time, I thought nothing of it. A little neck cramp wasn’t going to stop me from finishing what we started. It truly felt like someone had stuck a white hot needle into the base of my neck. And that was the first time I felt the tingling in my hands. Despite my discomfort, I, like the trooper than I am, went in for the rest of the sexual activities, ignoring my pain. After we had both exhausted ourselves, we fell asleep. My discomfort wasn’t enough to keep me awake….

3AM. I woke up with a start. For some reason, I was gasping for breath. I went to stand up and realized I couldn’t move without searing excruciating pain. I called out to my girlfriend for help. She had opted for sleeping in the living room since my snoring sometimes was so loud, it kept her from sleeping. She came running in and helped me up to a sitting position and as I turned my head to look at her thats when I felt the full brunt of the injury. Pain like I had never known. Searing, blazing pain radiated down from my neck, into my shoulders and down my arms. My right hand was completely numb and barely usable. She helped me to the living room where I crashed into the recliner and after a few minutes of adjusting, realized if I sat straight forward with my arms at my side and didn’t move my head, the pain was manageable. After a few hours of getting used to the pain, I fell asleep again.

Little did I realize that I would be sleeping in that chair alot over the next few months.

In the morning, I convinced myself I felt better and went to work. But by the end of the day, it was pretty clear I needed to go to the hospital. The pain was keeping me from concentrating and a large lump had formed at the base of the back of my neck. Reluctantly, we went to the emergency room.

After finally getting in to see a doctor, I explained how the neck injury occurred: moving furniture last week, oral sex, she grabbed my head, felt the twinge, woke up barely able to move. He nodded, made some notes and said he would be right back.

Five minutes later, another doctor walked in, a “specialist” asking me to describe how the injury occurred. Again, I told the story: moved furniture, cunnilingus, head pull, twinge, agony. He made notes and left.

Another ten minutes go by and in walked two nurses who brought me a gown to wear for the x rays I was going to get. While they were there, they also asked to hear the story: damn heavy book cases, girlfriend a little overexuberant during orgasm, searing pain. They also made notes and left.

Not five minutes later, in walked not one, not two but FIVE residents, all with clipboards, asking to hear to the story. I laughed.

“Are you people just fucking with me or what?” I thought I was in an amergency room and in reality I had stumbled onto the set of “Scrubs”. They admitted that my injury story was quickly becoming the talk of the hospital and they wanted to hear it for themselves. So again, I gave out the sordid details: damn friend who needed help moving, oral sex extravaganza topped off with my girfriend yanking and wrenching my head (now I was embellishing, I know), waking up totally paralyzed and in agony. I think I even faked a tear during that last part. Satisfied, they left me alone.

After the xrays, the news wasn’t good. They could tell something was out of alignment but because of the swelling and fluid in my neck, the xrays didn’t show too much. Their solution? Stick me in a giant magnet and get a better image. I don’t know if anyone has had the pleasure of an MRI but let me tell you, it was a joy. Like being locked in a coffin that makes loud banging noises for 45 minutes. The longest 45 minutes of my life. I could barely breath and the claustrophobia was building towards a full scale panic attack when they finally pulled me out of there.

The images from the MRI clearly showed the two discs at the base of my neck being shoved forward by the swelling and fluid in my neck. And….there was nothing they could do. Because the swelling was so severe, I would have to see a spinal specialist for a consult on the next course of action, but only after the swelling went down some. I was teased with the knowledge that it could be as easy as the swelling goes away and my neck returns to normal to full blown corrective surgery to fuse the vertebrae, but right now they couldn’t be sure. I had to wait.

Luckily, waiting meant a couple things: time off from work and lots of drugs! Muscle relaxants and vicodin make for a wonderful cocktail when mixed with rum and coke. I hid the fact that the doctors wanted me to stay home and went to work anyway. This lasted for a week until I accidentally took the muscle relaxants and the painkillers together at work. The combination of narcotics and lack of sleep (that recliner was the only way I was able to catch any sleep at all since I couldn’t lay down) came together to cause me to pass out. At work. With customers at my desk. In midsentence. I was showing them where to sign on the contract when, according to the customers, my eyes rolled back and I fell out of the chair. After that episode, my boss had called my doctor and recieved a note, the same note I was supposed to show him to begin with. After a brief discussion about labor laws and doctors reccomendations and how I couldn’t afford to be out of work, we came to an agreement and I went home. For two weeks.

For two weeks, I spent every waking hour in the recliner. My mom would stop by with soup for me and I would entertain myself with hours upon hours of the Discovery Channel. I remember watching marathons of American Chopper, Monster Garage and other educational reality tv shows. In the meantime, the drugs did their job of managing my pain and the swelling finally went down.

I met Dr Sanchez for my first consult and immediately he knew what was wrong with me and even before he looked at the MRI, he pointed to exactly where I was hurting. From his reccomendation, all I needed was a cortizone shot…IN MY NECK! This scared the hell out of me. I don’t like needles to begin with and the thought of a 16 inch needle being inserted anywhere in my body scared the hell out of me.

The day of the shot, I was nervous as hell. They had me lay face down on a sort of reverse recliner with my face in a head rest meant to secure my head so it wouldn’t move. Dr Sanchez, ever cheerfull came into my view and talked me down out of my impending panic attack.

“Don’t worry,” he said, smiling, “you can watch the whole procedure on this monitor”. He pointed to a black and white screen just in my field of vision. “And don’t move because this will be in your neck”, he thrust the giant needle in front of me, “and the slightest error could leave you paralyzed.” He smiled again and went to consult with the nurse. Oh joy, I’m a cough or twitch of my nose away from living in a wheelchair for the rest of my life.

He numbed the area and then began to insert. I watched the needle moving through my body and into the spinal column. Panic! My mind started racing, my heart was pounding and sweat started pouring off of me.

“Get it out please!” I said.

“Be quiet, I’m almost done,” he said in that soothing voice.

“Get it out! I can taste metal!” The panic worsened.

“Only another minute”.

I closed my eyes, tried to control my breathing. The pulse was pounding in my ears. Finally, he released the clamps that held my head. I went to stand up and my legs went out from under me. Dr Sanchez and the nurse helped me steady myself.

“By the way, you may be a little dizzy,” laughed Dr Sanchez.

I went home that afternoon, still in pain. I hoped that the procedure would work.

I woke up early the next day. It had been almost 5 weeks since the initial injury. Five weeks of around the clock pain and numbness in my extremities. I woke up pain free. I couldn’t believe it! I was still stiff, my neck didn’t like the idea of doing a full turn, but there was no screaming pain! And as that week went on, the stiffness subsided, feeling returned completely to my right hand and for the first time in ages, I started sleeping in my bed. Which was a good thing since my spending almost every waking hour in that recliner had broken the poor chair. It had enough of my ass and with a cracking thud, the recliner popped back in full recliner mode and stayed there, never returning to it’s upright position.

In the end, the cortisone shot was all I needed. No fusing, no surgeries, no neck braces. Just a simple shot and I have been pain free ever since. *knock on wood*

But, the one thing that I have had re-occur is the numbness. The doctor told me that once discs slip, they are never the same again and I would have intermittent periods where something will aggravate that nerve cluster and symptoms of my injury may reappear.

That brings me back to the numbness, tingling and weakness. Every once in awhile, my hands go numb. I can’t give you an exact cause or under what circumstances this happens, but it happens. Weak, numb and uncoordinated, my hands feel like tingly dead weights. These occurrences don’t last long but they are enough to worrry me.

Five years later, I expressed my concern to my doctor about the numbness. I didn’t want to bring it up but the day of one of my annual physicals, I had numbness. Reluctantly, I opened my mouth and explained the occurrences and how they were worrisome but not life threatening. He smiled. My first thought was “Oh god, he just saw dollar signs didn’t he?” I cringed, awaiting his reply.

“Have you ever played an instrument?”

What an odd question. Not what I was expecting from my doctor.

“Well, I have played bongos and congas in the past, the trombone til I realized asthma and wind instruments are not a good mix and,…” I hesitated. I had played the bass as a goof a few times but nothing too serious. “And the bass…” I mumbled.

“Ah,” he said, smiling that smile again. “Pick up the guitar. It will help you build up strength in your hands, help with your coordination and be a great exercise for you to work through any numbness or stiffness you may encounter. If nothing else, learning a new skill will take your mind off of what you can’t do. Know what I mean?”

I felt myself grinning. “The Guitar? Seriously? I can’t even read music….”

For the past few months, been talking it over with my musical friends. Should I do this? Will it really help the way the doctor thinks it will? And the answers I got from all of them was a resounding “YES!!!” Some are offering me lessons, others have advice on what to buy for a starter guitar and one has spare equipment he isn’t using he wants to give me (a stand and a bag) to encourage me to do it.

I was barely through describing how I was shopping for guitars before my friend Scot was setting up times for us to jam together. And I haven’t so much as plucked a string yet! So far, I have been in and out of all sorts of different music stores, getting advice from all fronts and I think I have it narrowed down. I’m looking at three different guitars. I need a good beginner guitar and something I won’t out grow too quickly.

The first is an Epiphone AJ-100. Cheap, comes in a variety of colors. Basic.

The second is an an Epiphone AJ-200S. Nicer details but only available in one color. Step up from basic.

Third we have the Epiphone AJ-200SCE, a beautiful guitar with a few accessories above and beyond both of the my other choices.

All are steel string acoustics. I was going to go the classical route but I was talked out of that by my musician friends since steel strings will bring you a step closer to an electric guitar, which is a whole other level I don’t even want to think about yet. But my friends are blindly encouraging…not realistic, but encouraging.

So for my physical therapy, I am going to be tossing down around $200 to $500 dollars and learning this new skill. I never knew that my love of music would come back to show me a little love too and help me through my discomfort. I always knew rock was good for the soul, but never dreamed it would be good for the body as well. So get ready people. George is getting his axe this weekend and, maybe in a year or so, if I can learn how to fret properly and figure out how to do cords, maybe learn to sing, buy some leather pants and get alot of tattoos…maybe, just maybe, you may see me rock out at some point….maybe. 🙂

Loneliness or Going to the Movies Alone Sucks

 

Nobody to laugh with.

Ok, thats not true, I have plenty of people to laugh with. Plenty of people who make me laugh and apparently I make them laugh too. I love the company I keep: a motley crew of musicians, artists, amazing women, good friends…family.  But the other night at the movies, I found myself missing something.

I go to the movies alone alot mainly because I have a weird schedule compared to my friends. My time off is hit or miss at best, depending upon if I’m kept late at work. One thing I hate about this job is the uncertainty of closing time. If a customer comes in late, everyone stays late, even if they aren’t buying anything. It makes planning anything with friends or a date extremely difficult on a work night.

Wednsday night, I went to see ‘Tropic Thunder’ for the 10 pm showing. All my friends had work in the morning or were already out and about with other activities. So I was off to movies all alone. Not a big deal. I try to get to the movies early because when it comes to stadium seating at these new fangled theaters we have, the center, first row of the upper leavel is the perfect spot: no obstructions in front of you since that is where the walkway is and the speakers are situated all around you. Perfect seating for the single guy.

The theater filled up quickly. This was the first night of “Tropic Thunder” and aparently, I wasn’t the only one anxious to see it. As I sat there, half asleep in my reclining seat, I spotted a flash of red hair out of the corner of my eye. For those who don’t know, red hair is one of those things that automatically turns my head. I have no control over this reflex, it just happens.

She was shuffling down the aisle towards me and the empty seats next to me. Red hair, straight and almost to her shoulders. A small leather jacket, short little skirt and Chuck Taylors. She had to be in her mid 20’s at best. She looked over and smiled at me.

“Are these seats taken?” she asked.

I shook my head, “Nope, not at all.”

I relinquished the arm rest and she sat next to me, her friend ( a blond chick I hadn’t even noticed) sat in the far seat.

“Hi, I’m Carrie,” She said. “These are the best seats in the place. I’m usually here earlier and sitting where you sit. But (randomblondchickwhosenameIforget) was running late.” She rolled her eyes at her friend and we all laughed.

For the next 20 minutes, we talked, flirted, and had a great time making fun of the trailers and commercials before the movie started. We talked music and the local music scene. We compared notes on shows we had been to and it turned out she had recognized me from a few different events around Dover. 

“I usually remember any redheads I meet,” I told her.

“We didn’t meet, but I remember you doing photography at the Paranoid Social Club show,” she said.

What? How do you remember a detail like that about someone you never met? She must have a godlike memory.

The movie started and the laughs were non-stop. Throughout the film, we laughed together, repeating the jokes sometimes to each other. At some point in the movie, she started grabbing my arm and when she was laughing really hard, leaned her head against my shoulder. I remember thinking “Wow, have I finally clicked with someone? After all this time, so out of practice and a little clueless, did I just meet someone?” My heart raced at the prospect. My mind started doing a little checklist:

Red Hair: check!

Funny: check!

Music Lover: check!

Funky Fashion Sense: check!

Curvy: hell yeah!

I wanted to know more. So as the movie ended, I turned on my phone, determined to get her number. I turned towards her, smiling. In my head, I was trying to think of the right way to just ask for her number, something I’m never good at. Do you try to be ironic and funny about it or just straight up ask? I can never figure that one out….

The seat was empty.

I looked towards the exit and saw a flash of red go through the door.

Nothing. Not even a good night or a goodbye.

I felt a thud in my chest as my heart sank. The evening had been such a tease. This is what I was missing, something as simple as having someone to share a little laugh with. And just as quickly as I had gotten a taste of it, it was gone in a flash again.

I sat back down and watched the closing credits alone.

Tropic Thunder or How I Giggled My Ass Off Last Night

The disabled and retarded or learning disabled people are NOT the joke. I just want that out in the open right now. The advocates for the disabled asking for a boycott are completely wrong in their assumptions about this film. And I say assumptions because it’s obvious from their statements that they haven’t seen 5 minutes of the movie. Just want that out of the way now….

I have been looking forward to this movie for quite awhile. Poor Ben Stiller, he hasn’t had a decent movie since Meet The Fockers. I don’t count Night At The Museum because that was a genre film (kids) with a built in audience that was going to go whether it sucked or not. After several stinkers in a row, I was rooting for Stiller to pull one out of his ass. I’m happy to say that this film just plain rocks!

From the opening mock commercials and trailers to the end credits with Tom Cruise dancing, (yes, dancing) I was laughing non-stop. I don’t want to give away any spoilers, but this film effectively skewers Hollywood and really dumb actors and the people that enable them.

Ben Stiller stars as a washed up action hero (Tugg Speedman)  trying to get some sort of recognition. In doing so, he created ‘one of the worst films of all time’ called Simple Jack, in a vain attempt to get an Oscar. This poor choice does come back to haunt him, and not to give anything away, but he does get a little taste of hell because of his poor choices. This war epic in Viet Nam is his chance to restart his career. Stiller plays the clueless actor as he did Derek Zoolander with less mugging and more “buying into his own hype” kind of dumb bravado.

Joining him:

 Jack Black as a drug addict gross out comedian (Jeff Portnoy) another genre actor (his movies involve fat people and farts) who wants to prove he can really act. Ends up in the throes of withdrawal throughout the film.

Brandon Jackson as a rapper (Alpa Chino) trying to cross over into acting. His raps are notorious for including copious references to womens vaginas.

Jay Baruchel as a young actor (Kevin Sandusky) who is the only one who actually read the book, the script and attended boot camp as preperation for the film. He is the straight man to all the pampered and spoiled actors around him.

And finally, Robert Downey Jr as Kirk Lazarus, a multi Oscar winning Australian method actor known for his bad boy behavior and totally immersing himself in a role. For the role he plays in the movie within the movie, he dyes his skin to appear as an african american and takes on some sort of mish mash of southern accents and ghetto slang that he carries throughout the film. He is incredible. While Ben Stiller is billed as the director and star of this film, Robert Downey Jr is the true (albeit incredibly misguided) heart of this film. He steals every scene he’s in and handily satires a whole genre of actors who take themselves too seriously and act poorly towards the public (I’m looking at you Russell Crowe and aparently so was Robert Downey Jr). Despite the wrongness of his character (white actor in blackface) you soon forgive him for that for the earnestness with which he portrays this actor.

Being a movie buff, I loved all the inside jokes poking fun at everything form Oscar bait films (“Never go full retard”, while offensive on it’s face, is a very true assessment of the Oscar system) to overzealous execs who care more about money than the well being of their actors. The overindulgence of Hollywood and these actors is demonstrated at the “Hotel” in Viet Nam that they are staying that. It has obviously been redone to resemble something out of a rap video producers wet dream.

The jokes in this film come fast and furious at times but rather than the scattershot approach of the films of Will Ferrell and Judd Apatow (keep shooting till we improv something funny), Ben Stiller’s script and jokes are on target every time. There are a few that fall flat, but that may have been more due to repetition than to the joke not being funny. (my humble opinion) The acting is strong from everyone in this film and quite surprising. On a personal note, please Tom Cruise: take more roles like this! I actually liked you in this film and that hasn’t happened since…ummm…maybe Minority Report?

And although a few of the running gags wear thin (I’m looking at you Jack Black) I have to say that the ending was a pleasant surprise and I honestly can’t wait for the dvd to see what was cut out of the film.

If I had to rate this film, I would give it 4 STARS out of 5.

Timing or How to alienate yourself at Chipotle

 

Oh, the people I offend….

A friend of mine is a huge fan of this chain. For a year or so, I heard her wax rhapsodic about the gloriousness that was a Chipotle burrito. The savory goodness, the heat, the satisfying almost euphoric feeling she got from completing a meal there. Her level of food worship bordered on cult -like for this palace of all things burrito. Being a big fan of the burrito experience, I envied her and her trips to this magical place where burritos brought one to a semi-orgasmic state.

When word reached me that a Chipotle was opening near me, I must admit, I got a little excited. And not just near me, but right down the highway from my workplace, well within driving distance on my break. I went in on the day they opened and I haven’t looked back. For a “fast food” chain, they beat the pants off of anything you can get that involves golden arches, talking chihuahas, little girl with pigtails, castles, or creepy guys in royal garb and silly masks. Continually made fresh all day long, the ingrediants are delicious and the line is fast and efficient. With only 3 items on the menu and a vast amount of choices to customize them any way you want, you can eat there every day and if you so choose, not have the same meal twice. Ok, that may be a bit of hyperbole, but you get my meaning.

I am a burrito bowl whore. Instead of getting the traditional burrito wrapped up in a tortilla, you can have all the ingrediants piled together like a sort of casserole in a bowl for the same price. This gives you the biggest bang for the buck since the server is trying to fill the bowl and not worrying about overstuffing a tortilla and making a huge mess. Here is what I always get, in some variation:

Carnitas (slow roasted pork from organically raised pigs), rice, pinto beans, fresh tomato salsa, tomatilla green chili, roasted corn chili, cheese and a little lettuce (ya know, because I’m health conscious….). This concoction has proven to me that yes, there is a spicy heaven and it’s name is Chipotle! Just the right amount of heat to get you to sweat a little, but not enough to overpower the amazing flavor of the food. Ah, the food, can we talk about the Carnitas? Oh lordy! Crispy sweet exterior, the juicy meat just falls apart like the best pulled pork you have ever had.

This past sunday, I decided to splurge, after over a month of denying myself, and I went in for a burrito bowl. It was a beautiful afternoon, a far cry from the massive thunderstorms we were told were coming. SO I decided to sit at one of the tables outside in front of the restaurant. The place was packed but I managed to find a spot in the middle of the large group of tables. Surrounded by families out on a beautiful sunday afternoon, I parked myself in their midst.

The chairs at this place are a little strange. Not only are they built for people not quite as wide as me (damn, I can’t lose fast enough) but they also pitch your legs upwards so to sit in them, you are almost hunched over. And to make matters even worse, the tables are way too low. So to use the table affectively, you have to lean over it. This position compressed my lower body together and about 5 minutes into my bowl, disaster struck!

It was quiet, only the sound of the wind or the occassional passing car disturbing the munching sounds and quiet conversation going on around me. Everyone seemed happy and content as well they should be in this spicy paradise. Then, I felt a little gurgle in my stomach. Nothing major, but it was there. Now, I’m not one to gross people out, but when your body gives you that early warning sign of impending doom, it’s wise to listen.

Another gurgle. Hunched over the table, I began to eat quickly, reasoning if I ate quick and got out of there, I wouldn’t embarass myself further.

Another gurgle, this one loud enough to turn the heads of the people at the next table. I smiled at them, pretending not to notice and tried to finish up my meal. They gave a weak smile back and returned to their food.

The meal was almost complete, only a bite or two left. I leaned forward for the final bit of tasty roasted carnitas goodness when something happened. A bomb went off. Being hunched over, compressing my body the way I had, combined with the introduction of spicy food had created a perfect storm of gaseous anomolies to come together within my body that needed a release. The slight gurgle had built and built until it could be contained no more. An ill wind was about to blow and boy did it ever.

At first, I thought I could contain it, as you do when you are in mixed company. I always hold it in at the bar, on a date, at the movies, etc because why subject other people to my own personal funk? But no, this would not be contained.

Without much warning, my ass made a horrific noise. This was no ordinary fart. This wasn’t a rip, a butt trumpet, no wind was broken, nothing tooted, no gas was simply passed, nobody was playing the colonic calliope and it definitely wasn’t silent but deadly. This was an atomic blast. This was Hiroshima. A noise something like how you imagine a bass drum would sound if amplified several thousand times erupted from my backside followed by a solo on the tom toms.

Horrified, I froze. EVERYBODY was staring at me. I felt my face flush red. I swallowed the last bite of my bowl. Wiping my chin, I looked and smiled at the family in the next table. The wife was making a face like I had just peed in her salad, the husband was trying to contain his laughter but their child was the one who broke the ice.

Pointing at me, the little angel said, “That man farted!!”

The whole patio erupted in laughter. I could feel my face getting redder and redder from embarrassment, but I laughed along with them. I stood up to go when the husband from the table next to mine said leaned over and said, “If I were you, I would head to the restroom and make sure that blast didn’t include anything unwanted.”

I nodded and smiled. OK, these people were allright. I was so horrified at embarassing myself and these people just laugh off my bodily functions indescretion. Feeling somehwat relieved (literally and figuratively) I took his advice and headed to the restroom. Luckily, no accidents had occurred and I was able to go on with my day. But I did take one precaution: I snuck out the back of the Chipotles because  the last thing I wanted was a repeat performance as I was leaving.

Doormat

 

I chickened out last night.

One of my biggest character flaws in this little life of mine is my naivity about human nature. I always expect the best from those around me and no matter how badly someone fucks up, I’m there for them to get them back up, dust them off and help them straighten everything out. Despite knowing that the pattern is bound to repeat, I stick by my friends because in my mind, there is a seperation between my friendship and their actions. This is how I maintain friendships with opposing factions of friends. As far as any controversies and drama are concerned, I’m neutral territory. I’m Switzerland. I stay out of the gossip, stay out of the stories and base my opinions on how someone is with me. Last night, though…last night, I began to think maybe I should have listened to the rumor mill.

My first time meeting you was at a concert. You were dancing with everyone in the crowd and having a great time. You were funny and hard to miss being taller than most of the women in the room. We talked for awhile and you made me laugh. As the night wore on, you got hammered and I lost track of you but the next day, you added me on crackspace. A few of my friends pulled me aside when I mentioned your name.

“Don’t get involved with her,” they said. “She uses and abuses all her friends. She gets absolutely trashed every time we go out and you will end up babysitting her every single time.”

I dismissed these charges against you. You had made me laugh. You had gotten inside my heart, and since I expect the best from people I call friends, I didn’t think you would abuse my friendship and my trust.

I was wrong.

Several times now this pattern has repeated: sober and fun, absolutely hammered, disapearing and then re-appearing with random guy, having to rescue you from random guy and then making sure you got home safely and didn’t pass out on the front steps. All the while, I found myself making excuses for your behavior. You had a hard week. Your ex was hounding you. Etc, etc, etc. Then I realized that these were your excuses, your excuses for drinking, neglecting your childs needs, hooking up with random dudes, I was just voicing them again as a means to justify my sticking around. I wanted my friend safe, I wanted to make sure you made it home safely and without getting assaulted by some random guy whom you made out with at the bar who thought he was taking you home. Someone had to look out for you and since you had no intentions of looking out for yourself, I had to do it. I let you use me. I was a doormat.

Last night.

Last night, I faced some hard truths about you. I love you when you are sober, we have a great time hanging out and the laughs just don’t seem to end. We have shared some good times and I wish there were more of those. Those are the memories I treasure and the reason I stuck around. The good times with you. But last night, the ugly truth of who you are came to light.

You are an alcoholic and you seriously need some help because your life is just spinning out of control. You need help and it won’t be coming from me.

Yesterday, you texted me, asking to go out. I suggested going to the beach after I get out of work, nothing I love better than walking in the surf after dark. You agreed and we made plans to meet up. When I finally got to you, I knew it was a mistake. You came running out to give me a hug and I could smell the beer already. Talk of just the two of us hanging and chatting and going to the beach was long gone. You slurrred about going to someones house for a bonfire. I reluctantly agreed. You introduced me to some hillbilly redneck you had hooked up with a week before. I knew what was coming. Like watching a trainwreck in slow motion, I saw the whole night unfold in front of me. You insisted he come with us to the beach. I immediately disliked this loudmouthed redneck and didn’t want him in my car, but you were insistent, I relented and we all headed to the beach. You half passed out on the way there and several times, I had to stop you from flashing cops as we passed them. The hillbilly kept egging you on and running his mouth. Took all my strength not to reach back across the seat and smack the shit of him. After wandering the beach, we headed back and then, you did something that completely surprised me: you hopped into the backseat with the hillbilly.

I lost my mind at that point. All I could see was red. To be honest, I don’t care who you hook up but you don’t do that in your friends car. Don’t use me as a chauffeur. If all you wanted to do was hook up with this guy, and had no real intentions of hanging out with me, you should have been an adult and had him pick your ass up and never involved me. My first impulse was to pull over and drag both your drunk asses out of my car and leave you there on the side of the road. The thought of you walking 30 miles in the middle of the night actually made me laugh. Maybe that would have finally sobered you up. Instead of dumping you out of my car, I cranked the radio up and floored it, making it back to that guys place in record time.

The hillbilly staggered out of my car and wandered over to his parked truck and began to loudly urinate on the side of it. Yeah, all class this guy. You really know how to pick ’em, hunh? I pulled all of his crap out of the back seat. “Is that everything?” I asked.

He nodded, almost fell over.

“Yup”, he slurred.

“Good” I said and slammed the doors shut and drove you home. At your place, I grabbed all your stuff for you, helped you find your keys and helped you inside. You were cheerfull, even friendly now. You thanked me for being such a good friend to you and proclaimed that it was “all good”.

I shook my head. “No, it’s not”.

Confused and ready to pass out, you stretched out your arms to give me a hug.

“All good?” you asked sounding like a child. I relented and gave you a hug. I sat there in the dark with you. I wanted to say so many things. I wanted to say this was the last time. I’m not your babysitter, I’m not your chauffeur and now, now I wouldn’t even call you a friend. You used me. And worst of all, I let you use me. What did I think I was going to get out of this friendship/relationship if this is how it always is? How can we enjoy the good times we have when the rest of the time you are this slobbering drunken mess? Do you know how much it breaks my heart to see you like this? Do you even give a shit? Does it cross your mind how much it hurts to see a friend just destroy themselves? Do you want to change? Somehow, I don’t think so.

I stood up, my back to you and headed for the door.

“Talk to you tomorrow”, I heard you say.

“No you won’t”, I said opening the door. I realized this was the last time we will speak. I can’t repeat this again. I can’t be there for someone who doesn’t have any of my interests at heart. I can’t be your doormat. And I can’t help someone who has no interest in helping themselves.

“Goodnight”, you mumbled from the dark behind me.

“Good Bye,” and I headed out the door, making sure it was locked before I closed it. I never looked back.

These are the things I wanted to say last night. But I chickened out. You were drunk and none of it would have mattered nor would it be remembered. So I’m going to quietly delete you from my life. No returned phone calls, no returned messages. If I see you out at a show, I’ll be polite. But our friendship is over. Please get some help. I love you, my friend, but you have burned off my good will and friendship and have destroyed the respect I once had for you. Please, I hope you realize someday how you are killing yourself and I hope you find some peace for the pain in your life that doesn’t involve obliterating yourself. I’ll miss you.