This is the final entry for This Man's Life.  While this blog will remain active, you can read all the latest ramblings here.

Riding my bike in Balboa Park yesterday evening, This Man stumbled upon these signs posted throughout all of the park.

About a month ago, I'd seen one, but it was near the kids' playground so I paid no mind to it, thinking, "Good, [we] shouldn't be smoking near the kids." But damn it if that didn't include all of the park! And it's not just the park where you can't smoke--it's the beaches as well. I remember when it was in the local news that the city council was debating this ordinance, even then, This Man figured it would be a while before it became effective. Yet, here I was in Redwood Circle, gazing up at this sign--and smoking a Newport!

ARGH! I may as well stay inside. For the record, I'm down for not smoking in bars, nightclubs and restaurants, but no This Man can't even smoke outside. Where's the humanity?! And before I get lectured on quitting smoking, I'm going to (eventually). One day.
And it's sure as hell not today!

Mahalo

Shhh, don't wake the puppy.

After a crazy & hectic week of getting settled into the new place and desperately needing some down time, John invited his friend, Sigma and his partner, Dennis to go to the Hillcrest Farmers' Market with us. Following that, John and I planned to drive up to La Jolla to PetSmart where they were having a dog adoption from the local Labrador Rescue. Even though we were still hesitant to commit to owning a dog together, we were just going to "look".
Sigma and Dennis arrived and brought us this housewarming gift.
"We have to get it ready," they shouted from downstairs. I couldn't imagine what they had for us.
In a cardboard carry box, was this little bundle.
"He's sleeping." Dennis informed us.
I was peering through the cutouts, trying to figure out whether it was a rabbit, a gerbil or--heaven forbid, a kitten. It was this little pup.
"We figured, since you guys might not get a dog that we would get this one for you." Sigma explained. John and I, both were struck--by its realness.
Our little puppy, is battery operated and when you switch it on, it moves to look as if it's breathing. They told us that they'd found it while in San Francisco and thought it to be the perfect gift.
They were so right!
Later in the afternoon, after driving all the way up to La Jolla only to be told that there wasn't a rescue adoption going on--"...otherwise, I would've known about it, " the sales lady told us.--John and This Man were driving back down I-5 when I spotted, way above us, on top of this cliff, Mt. Soledad.
"I don't see what's the point of that memorial being way up there, " This Man began. " I mean, you can't see it from the freeway unless you know where to look and not too many people know how to get up there to it."
It was then, with sweet clarity and the simplicity of a 2 year old, John replied, "God knows."

Mahalo

' Twas the night before moving day
and all through the house.
John was running all over the place
This Man was being a louse (well, not really--but it rhymes).


Up to this point, packing up for the Big Move had seemed to be a bit of a dream, yet I was watching John as he packed, all the while telling myself that this was it. We were moving in together. No, I wasn't having second thoughts about it. It just seemed surreal. This Man was actually going to live with another man. And that's what made me nervous.
How would he handle me? What about my moments when I want total silence? What about those times when I just want to be with myself? How would he tolerate my bad habits?
How? What? Why?
Ohmygod, I was getting anxious again. Once my anxiety resided and I was able to continue packing the kitchen up, This Man grabbed my camera and snapped these pictures of John working like a Trojan.

We were moving in together. And just like that, the anxiety turned to excitement.

Mahalo

I only miss my former friend, Scott because I finally got a new frisbee and wish that I had someone who could play just as aggressively (and FOR HOURS) like he did. I've yet to find such a person.
I only miss my former friend, Scott because I finally got a new bicycle and crave someone to ride all over San Diego with me (until our legs BURNED) like only he could.
I only miss my former friend , Scott because sometimes I miss hanging out at the park, getting stoned and bonding. I still haven't found a replacement.
Whenever I think about how much I miss him, then This Man thinks about how badly he hurt my feelings.

Mahalo

This whole misunderstanding started when This Man sent my friend, Jason the following online message:

To which, he responded with:

I KNOW! This Man was shocked by it also!
Not only that, but he blocked me so I couldn't respond to that message. So I did what any guy in this predicament would've done. I switched to my backup screenname (DON'T act like you don't have more than one online profile--again, I can't be the only one) then sent him this counter response:

Lying in bed with John after dining at a Greek cafe, we were fooling around with his laptop and looking up some word definitions. Over dinner, he'd used a few crazy adjectives (none of which, This Man dares to list here) to describe my personality and when we'd came home, he was showing me their meanings.
But one word that I didn't expect that there would be a definition for what the word, Byronic.
According to the Oxford American Dictionary, Byronic (adj.) means:

• characteristic of Lord Byron and his poetry.
  
• (of a man) alluringly dark, mysterious or moody.
  

I'm not kidding. It's actually there.
" Hmm, wait a minute!" This Man exclaimed. "Let me chew on that." Instantly, I reached for my small spiral notebook that's always nearby and scribbled down the definition. Then I started getting an idea.
" I think I can work with this." I told John. "How does this sound, 'That's so Byronic!' ?"
HA!
So I'm chewing on that name and I'm thinking about changing the name of this blog.
Chew on it and let me know what you think.

Mahalo

She's blue and she rides like a dream.
This Man planned on buying the yellow 2006 Diamondback Sorrento bicycle that I'd seen for months at the pawn shop in North Park. Finally, with cash in hand, I rushed down to the store only to find that the bike had been sold already! Never mind, that for months that bike was in the window (I know because I checked periodically), but once I was finally ready to commit, it was gone!
Off to Mission Hills Bike Shop I went. Since I couldn't have the yellow bike, I was going to have to spend a bit more instead for the 2007 Diamondback Sorrento in Electric Blue which was cool, considering it was my backup choice.
" We may have it in black, " the sales guy told me. But they didn't.
It didn't matter because finally, I was getting a new bicycle which meant that I could finally get past having my old one stolen (remember that).
My new Bitch. I haven't named her yet, but I will. She rides like a dream and I'd barely made it around the block before a guy stopped me on the street to compliment it.
So here she is.


And for the last time, This Man will post a picture of My Old Lady. I still miss her.



Mahalo

This evening, while on my way to John's house, This Man stopped at McDonald's in Hillcrest for a quick bite. Walking in the restaurant, alone, I had the privilege of this exchange with the cashier.
" May I take your order?" The unmotivated Mexican woman asked.
" Yeah, let me have the...6 piece chicken McNuggets Mighty Kids meal."
" For here or to go?"
" Um, it's for me. I'll have it here." I said and reached into my pocket through the wad of bills.
" Will the toy be for a boy or a girl?" She asked without looking up from the register. And at this moment, I decided to be a smart ass.
" What's the toy this month?"
" For boys it's Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and for girls..."
" Well, give me the girls' toy." I interrupted, "I never liked the Ninja Turtles."
She gave me a sidewards glance, but when I nodded my head, she got with the program. After all, this was Hillcrest, she should've been used to such gender bending.
When I got my Happy Meal, This Man immediately looked into the bag, past the nuggets and past the french fries to the bottom of the bag and there she was. A miniature doll in plastic. Her name is Madame Alexander. She's about 4 inches tall, wearing a white smock with yellow flowers and a white dunce cap also with yellow flowers. With blonde hair that can be fingered to resemble the old Farrah Fawcett-feathered look. She was mine...all mine!

I gave her to John once I got to his place.

Mahalo

So walking from John's house to the condo development that This Man has been doing some painting at combined with playing frisbee whenever I can find someone that wants to play with me and the fact that I've become so conscientious of what and when I eat, I've slimmed down from a whopping 205 pounds and a 36 inch waist to a nice 185 pounds and a 32 inch waist.
But the real fruit of my labor came when I made a pit stop at American Apparel in Hillcrest today and dared myself to try on the new Slim Slacks black skinny jeans.
SIZE 32s BABY!

Hell, I was surprised and amazed. I've always thought that skinny jeans looked great on skinny people and I've even thought that slim-fitting jeans looked great on men with nice, muscular calves, but I would've never imagined that This Man would be trying a pair on. But here I was--in the dressing room, reaching into my backpack and grabbing my camera.
I checked myself out from every angle, mentally thinking about what I could pair these slacks with and where I could wear them to (which was funny, considering I never go anywhere), but it all came to a screeching halt when I dared myself to flip over the price tag.
68 bucks!
Fuck NO!!! Not today, not tomorrow and not anytime soon.
However, if they do put them on sale, This Man will be all over it.

Mahalo

Last night, curled up watching Anderson Cooper 360 and cuddling with John, This Man knew what my answer was.

This was some serious shit--even for This Man.

Last night while at John's house, the conversation came up about This Man moving in with him. He'd recently sold his house and would soon be moving onto his property temporarily.
"...and I was wondering how would you feel about moving in with me?" He asked. Just like that.
Quite naturally, I couldn't be expected to respond at that moment, but even while he started listing some of the positives of it, I started mentally listing all of the negatives of it. The crazy part was: there weren't many negatives to list.
This wasn't something that This Man was going to be quick to give an answer to. To better give you an understanding of how serious this was (even for two gay men), this was the equivalent of a straight couple talking about moving in together. As you can see, it's the exact same thing. But with only 2 men!
Early this afternoon, I talked it over with Jay, Lucy & Jason. Then I thought about it. Then I thought about it some more. Finally, I called John and told him that I'd been thinking about it. So had he. To be continued...

Mahalo

This Man heard this Patsy Cline hit last night at John's house. I think that sentence alone tells the whole story.


I'm back in baby's arms
How I missed
Those lovin' arms
I'm back where I belong
Back in baby's arms

Don't know
Why we quarreled
We never did before
Since we found out
How it hurt
I bet we never
Quarrel anymore

Thought I didn't
Need his love
'Til he took it away
Now I'm back
Where I belong
And in my baby's arms
I'm gonna stay

Back in baby's arms...

Mahalo

This Man was a bit surprised to receive an email from John, having been a couple of weeks since I last had any communication with him ('communication' meaning, he'd left the letter on the porch before his trip to Texas). It was an email containing only two words.


That was all it said. So I sat there, looking at those two words and wondering should I or shouldn't I? I could think of a million reasons to do it. After all, it was just coffee. But then I could think of a few reason why I shouldn't do it. After all, it was just coffee.
Twenty minutes later, This Man was still looking at that email. I knew what my answer was. Finally, mustering up the nerve, I hit the keyboard and began rapidly typing my response.

Mahalo

It came in the mail today.

My bill for my visit to the emergency room. Remember when I blogged about having to have the abscess drained from my right knee the day after Valentine's Day?
$826.47!
Are they fucking kidding me? Sure enough when I ripped open the envelope, there it was, everything was itemized, complete with charges and costs. I don't have that kind of money just lying around so This Man will definitely looking to get some sort of assistance for it. But the funny part about this bill was, there's actually a return envelope included, should I decide to just send them a nice check for the total amount.
Yeah, Scripps...just sit there and wait for it. It's in the mail.

Mahalo

Donovan.
Just seeing these pictures got me to thinking about how much you've grown. I'll bet you can't remember these days, but I certainly do. It was January of 2000, you were 3 years old and we'd recently moved to San Diego. You were a little ball of fire! Your mother and I could barely keep up with you. Lucy took these pictures of you with the web cam and sent them to me when I was deployed to the Middle East. I imagine you were running around, in those Blue's Clues pajamas, working her last nerve! Boy, were you a cutie.


Then there was this set. Concerned that there was something wrong with your eyesight, Lucy took you to have your eyes checked. Again, Daddy was on another deployment to the Middle East, only this time it was 2003. She'd sent me an email, entitled "Four Eyes" and to my surprise, there you were looking just as handsome--wearing your new eyeglasses! Your mother told me that she talked with you about having to wear glasses and to help you get over the sudden change, she snapped these pictures of the two of you.

I sat looking at these pictures for the longest time today. I couldn't help but smile and marvel at how everything has changed (some things good and some things bad), but one thing has always remained a constant, Donovan and that's my love for you. Son, you have no idea how much I miss you, how much I love you and how I think about you every day. Seeing these pictures only reminded me of how you've grown into such an amazing boy.
Daddy misses you and loves you more than you will ever know.

This Man got a small package in the mail from Lucy this afternoon.

She'd found an old navy blue Abercrombie muscle shirt of mine and decided to mail it to me. Even though, according to the note that was enclosed, "the weather is chilly in San Diego..." she felt that I may have wanted the shirt. And I did. But the real treasure inside the envelope wasn't the muscle shirt, nor was it the denim iron-on patches, it was a zip disk that she'd found and decided to include it also. I couldn't even remember what was on the disk, but luck was on my side because in this house was an iomega zip drive.
It was pictures. Pictures from early 2002. There were pictures of Lucy. There were pictures of Donovan and there were pictures of me at work when I was stationed on my first guided-missile destroyer here in San Diego.
The first picture was taken while sitting in Radio during a General Quarters drill. We were training for a CBR (Chemical, Biological & Radiological) excercise which is why I have the gas mask and flash gear.



In this picture was my old watch team around December 2002. Our ship was on deployment so it's safe to say that we were in or around Hong Kong. We were standing the mid (7p.m until 7 a.m.) watch of a 12 on 12 off shift and even though it looks as if we're doing nothing at the time, we were actually working our asses off! From the left is Oziel, myself, my dear friend Shandra (we were reading an issue of Maxim) and Sindra's on the phone. Our radio shack was soooo cold, which is why they're wearing jackets and Oziel has the hat on. This was the best watch team that I ever had! Each one of them was smart and an expert in their specialized areas.

Mahalo

Last night, This Man was having a conversation with my friend, Ty. He was going on about why the men that he'd met online would lie about so many trivial things. He just wanted to understand their thinking.

"It's because they think that you're too stupid, " I explained. "That you're either too horny or too stupid to notice."
I imagined him doubled over in laughter.
"When a guy lies about his age online, Ty, it's because he thinks that you'll be too stupid or too horny to see that when he said he was 35, he actually meant 55. When he looks as if he's gained 20 pounds between the time that he sent you a picture of himself and the time that he shows up at your doorstep and he's hoping that you won't notice because [he thinks] that you're too stupid to notice such a thing."
I continued like this for a few minutes.
"When you see online photographs that look a little bit too perfect, it's because they're thinking that you'll be too stupid to notice. When a guy tries to invite you over for "just a massage", he's thinking that you'll be too horny or too stupid to stop him from going further. Simply put, you're...too...stupid!"

Mahalo

Remember the one day when you felt your sexiest? It maybe was that day when,--even though this may sound a bit shallow-- you looked your most attractive. It's the day when you're proudest of your physique, your skin glows, your hair does what it's supposed to and you radiate confidence. Your smile is the brightest and damn it--you just look so fucking fantastic! Even you would want to do you.
Well, a couple of days ago, This Man experienced that first hand. And while everything else going on in my life is chaotic (I'm 33, I've lost everything, I miss my son and things haven't been going according to my plans), this moment came after I'd gotten out of the shower and was getting dressed. Rather than let this moment pass, I figured I would snap some pictures of myself. There was just enough light coming into the room, but sunset was rapidly approaching so I knew that I would have to hurry (I hate taking pictures using a flash). So I suited up. I broke out my leather harness, which I hadn't worn since Leather Pride in Palm Springs last year, grabbed a leather slapper--What?! Don't act like you don't keep a leather slapper lying around your house for those spontaneous fetish spank sessions. I know I'm not the only one--so stop playing-- set the timer on my camera and snapped.
5 frames. 10 minutes total. That was all it took.
Perfect. Even if This Man says so.

I thought about cropping out the background, but the more I looked at the shots, the more I liked the grittiness of it. It's kinda raunchy, but tasteful. Kinda shocking, but erotic.
Hmmm, sounds like somebody that I know.
So here's the new picture of the day when I felt my sexiest. Here's what you don't see in that picture:
1. I'm wearing white calf socks and Adidas slip on sandals.
2. I need a hair cut.
3. I smacked the hell out of my right hand with that leather slapper.
4. I was playing music by The Killers in the background.

Mahalo

It was around 1o:30p.m. when This Man decided to go for a stroll.

It was a bit chilly outside, so I had to wear the heavy parka and hopefully it wouldn't start raining while I was out. A few blocks from University Avenue, I ran into this woman on the sidewalk on the brink of tears.
She was trying to light a blunt--with some matches!
" Here. Do you need a light?" I offered.
"My fucking daughter pisses me off!" She started after taking a strong pull off of it and instantly passing it to me. I hit it also.
"What happened?"
"My daughter...she's 19. Tonight she was with her boyfriend and I told her--I live around the corner, over near Walgreens--so I asked if her and her boyfriend could drop me off on 30th. Then, that bitch tells me, 'Mama, you can't just TELL people to do stuff for you; you have to ASK!"
While she was telling me what happened, I took a long hard pull and let the smoke fill my chest. I don't particularly like blunts, especially when rolled with unflavored tobacco paper.
"...so I just told them to stop the car and let me out. I'm so sick of her and that low-life boyfriend of hers."
That woman and This Man were sitting in front of the art galleries on Ray Street, totally unaware of the people strolling across the narrow street from us. She continued going on and on about something, but I could feel that effects of that blunt taking over.
"Well, thanks for the hit, " I told her. It was time for me to keep moving.
"Thanks for listening to me and thanks for the light." She said. I noticed that she was no longer about to cry. Hell, I imagine because she was baked.

Mahalo

"I'm going to the Redwing to watch the Oscars." This Man told my friend, Jason and my house mate, Jay.

I'd been looking forward to Oscar Sunday since this past December. And while there was a time when I would've watched the Academy Awards with Lucy, this was the first year that I would be watching them alone (technically).
Oscar Sunday. Sure it's exciting to watch the Red Carpet show and see who's wearing what and to get commentary on the nominees. This year, I planned to show up at the Redwing Bar & Grill just as the show started, thereby forgoing the long, drawn out pre-show. I couldn't have time my arrival better (I showed up just as Ellen DeGeneres was delivering her opening monologue). There was only a handful of people in the dark bar, watching the show on 3 flat screens and on 60 inch television. I found a bar stool and settled in.
About an hour and a half later, Jason showed up. He was going to meet his online friend, (read, trick) Ryan to play darts. An apple martini in hand, he settled in and munched on some free KFC ("...but you have to drink something!" the bartender informed me) that the bar provided.
"Ryan's getting fat, " my friend, Jason (forever the critic) started. "He's gained some weight since I saw him last."
"And you're saying this as you're scarfing down a 2 piece chicken dinner with a side?"
"It's a 3 piece, honey!"
I hadn't planned on drinking but here's how it started. One word: karaoke.
Somewhere in between the nominees for Best Art Direction and before the Best Supporting Actress categories, some queen got the idea to set up for karaoke.
"Okay, I think I'm ready for that beer now!" I declared as soon as one guy started singing. Budweiser number 1. No one was really paying attention to this queen trying to sing some horrible song, but once George Clooney came on stage to present the Best Supporting Actress award, things became serious.
"Shut that music off!" Jason screamed. Suddenly everyone was focused on the televisions.
"...and the Oscar goes to--Jennifer Hudson for Dreamgirls." And like the people in the Shrine Auditorium, everyone in the Redwing erupted into cheers and applause. I got chills! I was so excited that you would've thought that This Man was going to get an award also.
Mike, Jason's ex, joined us shortly and things started to really take off. Even Jason (who normally wouldn't be caught dead in a bar like the Redwing) looked as if he was having a good time. Even when he had to dash home for a brief conference call with his office and even when he promised that he would be right back, you have to imagine my surprise when he actually did return.
Sometime between one of my numerous trips to the outside patio to smoke, I'd ran into an old buddy, John (not the one that I was seeing recently) who I hadn't seen in almost 2 years. A ball of fire, he was still as feisty as when I'd seen him last.
"Oh my god! It's been, what--damn near 2 years since we've seen each other?!" I was so excited to see him. So we hung out. I introduced him to Mike and Jason, who by now were feeling super-festive (not to mention all over each other) and we all had a great time.
Initially, I'd planned on going to the bar, watching the awards then coming home, blogging about it, then going to bed. Instead, I stayed at the bar longer than I'd planned, I met more people than I'd anticipated and all around had a fantastic time. It felt good and I definitely needed it.
Once we finally left the Redwing, Mike drove Jason and I to Extraordinary Desserts and treated us to something sweet. Afterwards, it was home for me.
So that was Oscar night at the Redwing with some friends. And now here are the photos.
Jason and Mike looking adorable (and a bit drunk).

Jason had his boxing gloves in his car. It was a mishap waiting to happen, but the picture is cute actually.

Jason, Mike and myself.

The three of us and some drunk & frisky queen.

You gotta love Extraordinary Desserts!

Mahalo

My friend Jason.

There are times when he truly has the power to amaze This Man! This evening was one of those times. He worked from home today because he'd been a bit under the weather and I'd agreed to stop by his house to check up on him on my way home from the doctor.
"Where are you?" He asked. I was about to commence my 30 block stroll from First Street in Hillcrest down to 30th Street in North Park. "I'm hungry. Let's get something to eat."
We agreed to meet in the middle (Park Boulevard & University Avenue).
Of course, we started with our usual argument of where to eat. I usually opt for someplace where the food is good but cheap whereas he goes for restaurants where the food is good and the patrons are young and attractive. This time we compromised and settled on Brians'.
We were looking at our menus when he noticed a nice looking guy, sitting at the counter, eating a starter salad. He was alone.
"That guy is hot!" I should point out that Jason has a thing for young, slim, fresh faced bois and sitting in front of us was exactly his type!
"Why don't you go up and talk to him, " I was still looking at my menu. "He's by himself. Why don't you go up, introduce yourself and invite him to come and join us?"
"I can't do that."
"Why not? He's by himself, what's the worst he could say?"
"Why don't you show me? Teach me how I should do it." Jason and I tossed this around for a bit.
" Just go up and say, 'Hi, I'm Jason and I was wondering if you would like to come over and join me and my friend over here since you're eating by yourself'"
"Okay, I can do that." And he did. He got up, walked over to the guy, introduced himself and invited him over.
And it worked! The guy came over, slid into our booth and joined us.
Turns our, our dinner companion was from Tennessee and he was in San Diego for his six month tour in the Navy Reserves. He was 28, a bit on the shy side, married (yes, married) and he was cute. But he was nice. Jason and I even managed to get him to relax and actually laugh a little (which was no easy task, I mean you try being a White guy asked to join two Black men at their dinner table and see if you relax) .
The conversation flowed and the three of us had a great time. Finally we settled our bills and parted ways. Jason and I still can't remember what his name was.
Back at Jason's apartment (which he got the place looking fantastic), he informed me that he was expecting a guy from Dallas at any moment.
"He's coming into town and I told him that he could stay in my empty room for a few days since he was new to this city and was looking for a job. He reminds me of when I first got to San Diego."
I instantly thought of the last 'roommate' that he'd offered his home to and prayed that there wouldn't be a repeat of that. The guy showed up half an hour later and actually seemed nice. Like Jason and myself, he was from Texas so that was a big plus. He started moving his things in. At first I thought that Jason, who isn't big on animals (namely cats) would frown on the small dog, but he was cool.
Again, I was amazed.
This evening, once This Man got home, I chatted with him on Gay.com.
"You know, " I typed. "You truly amaze me sometimes."
I explained that it was refreshing to see Jason going outside of his normal self. At Brians', he would've never have went up to a total stranger and invited them to join us at our table, normally opting to gawk at an attractive guy from a distance. Not tonight. And though he swore that he would never get in another roommate situation again, he was opening his home up to a guy who truly seemed to appreciate the gesture. Again, something that truly wowed me about him.
"I don't see what the big deal is," he typed back.
Here's the big deal, Jason: contrary to what you think, sometimes you truly have to power to wow me. The last thing I typed to him during our Gay.com chat session (he'd went to bed by then because he didn't respond) was, "You are truly a wonderful person and don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

Mahalo

I found this flier in the front yard.

Whoever he is, he sounds like someone worth getting to know.
So I did. I checked out his myspace site and This Man has to admit, his music is hot (my favorite track is Never Enough)! If you're reading this, go check him out.
He sounds like someone that's on the way up.
Mahalo

This Man was in the kitchen, washing dishes, when I saw him drive up.
I thought he'd left for his trip to Texas already. But here he was. I had no idea what I was going to say, but it didn't matter because by the time I realized that John was coming to the door, just like that, he was heading back to his car.
Then he was gone.
On the porch was a letter with my name on it.
It was over. Actually it was over on Saturday evening, but I'd been struggling with whether or not I could forgive and thereby truly forget and continue the way he and I were going or was it best that we stop and go our separate ways.
I stood and read the letter, then re-read the letter then finally just folded and put it back in its envelope and went back to what I was doing. Should I call him and let him know that I'd gotten the letter or should I just leave it alone? At first, This Man thought about calling John, but finally I decided to just leave it alone. It was over--I was fine and he was fine.
And that's all there was to it. Period. End of discussion.

Mahalo

This Man finally decided that it was becoming increasingly frustrating using initials when blogging about my friends, family and loved ones. So I've decided to start using first names only. The writing's starting to get a bit better as well.

Mahalo

Once This Man had made it to John's house and after I'd shared my story of torture at the hands of the doctor on duty at Scripps Mercy, John told me about his trip to Las Vegas. He'd taken his niece to Vegas for her 18th birthday (how cool is that). Then he presented me with a souvenir.

Quite possibly one of the--if not, the coolest souvenir that I've ever gotten from anybody. It's too cute to so much as flick an ash into it. It brings to mind a story that I'll share.
One Saturday, John and This Man went strolling through Hillcrest (for lunch and to grab some bread and pastries from Bread et Cie) and on our way back to his house, we passed a woman who was walking a small Yorkshire terrier.
"Hello princess, " I leaned down and said to the petite dog. Instantly, she sat and looked up at me.
"Wow!" The Yorkie's owner said. "She never does that."
"That's because she recognizes royalty when she sees it." I told her. Both she and John laughed. When we turned the corner onto John's street, This Man said, "It's true. Royalty recognizes royalty. I acknowledged her [the dog] and she knew what to do."

Sitting here, looking at the picture and seeing the actual ashtray to my left, This Man can't help but smile; just like I do whenever I look at the fur that John gave me for my birthday.

Mahalo

So by Thursday evening, This Man realized that this bite on my right knee wasn't getting any better, but rather was getting progressively worse. The pain and swelling was starting to go down my calf and I could see my skin starting to redden. It was time to make an executive decision.
I had to go to the emergency room.
While heading to Hillcrest, I chatted on the phone with my friend, Jason. I hesitated about going to the E.R., but by the time I hung up the phone with him--I knew I had to go. So I walked the 2 blocks to Scripps Mercy.
There's a reason why they call it Scripps Mercy hospital. It's because [they] don't have any.
As expected, the emergency room was crowded and I figured there would be a long wait. The triage nurse (she was a real sweetheart) examined my leg and told me that I would definitely need to be seen and given an antibiotic for the wound. Now it was time to wait.
Next, I was called over to fill out my paperwork and get billing out of the way. During the wait, This Man called John, who was flying back into town from Las Vegas.
Hey John. By now you should be getting off of your plane and being held up and harassed at the airport. I'm just calling to let you know that I'm at Scripps Mercy in the E.R. and from the looks of it, I'm going to be here for a while. Anyway, rather than stop by my house, just swing by the hospital and we'll go from there. I left that message on his voice mail.
By the time I called John (his flight had been delayed) and Lucy (in Texas), tried to read a few pages of my book (Impeach the President: The Case Against Bush and Cheney), watched Animal Planet (it was on the waiting room television) and grew tired of being restless, This Man along with three other patients was escorted to another waiting room. We were told that we would be seen shortly.
In the second waiting room, it was me, a lady in a wheelchair and a young Mexican boy, who'd broken his right arm and injured his left pinky finger in P.E. class. Finally, after blindly watching an episode of Law & Order: Criminal Intent, I finally was escorted to a bed to be prepped for the doctor. Sitting on the hospital bed with the hospital gown on (thankfully, I decided on clean underwear, heck thankfully I wore underwear PERIOD), This Man started snooping around and snapping pictures of myself. Then the doctor showed up. She looked at my leg and informed me that it was an abscess. In other words, I had a boil on my knee.

"We're (as if I was going to assist her) going to have to lance it. That means, we need to..." she began.
"I know what it means." I told her. Which didn't matter because she was already filling the syringe with anesthetic.
"Okay, I'm going to numb this..."she was telling me this as she was doing it. Rather than wait a couple of minutes for me to feel numbness, right away she started with the scalpel, slicing into the abscess. "Now we drain the pus..." Again, she's telling me this--not before she starts, but as she's already pressing on my swollen knee and shin.
At this point, I have to tell you, This Man was screaming through clenched teeth in pain!
"I CAN FEEL THAT...I CAN FEEL THAT!" I grunted. She repeated the whole process, only before she started, the doctor told me that maybe it wouldn't be so bad if I wasn't looking at her actually do the process. So I leaned back, clenched my eyes shut, gripped the sides of the bed and grunted.
Once I finally opened my eyes, all I could see was blackness. But the pain didn't stop there. Now that she'd sliced it and lanced it, it needed to be packed. And she packed it--just as roughly as she'd lanced it.
"You need an antibiotic. I'll prescribe one right now." And just like that, she was gone!
Another nurse showed up minutes later and informed me that he would be going over some instructions and giving me an antibody.
"...in your hip." He said. Okay, now we have my right knee which feels like it's been sawed at with a butter knife and here we have this nurse (who, I swear I've seen at Beer Bust Sundays at The Hole) snapping on a pair of latex gloves and gearing up to give me a shot in the--I don't care what they call it, it's in the ass. "And you're all set. Here are some instruction on changing your dressing and locations of clinics that you can go to should you have a problem. Or you could come back here. Do you have any questions? No? Okay, then you can get dressed and go."
I struggled to put my jeans and shoes on. Now, my right knee was in pain and so was my left ass cheek. It didn't matter, really because all I wanted was to get out of there. I was doing a kind of limp & slide movement and eventually I made it back to the E.R. waiting room.
Out of the double doors, This Man could see that it was still crowded, but there was only one face that I was searching for.
John's.
He'd just arrived and was at the desk, asking where I was. He grinned when he saw me.
"You look like you're ready to get out of here."
"You have no idea!"
And through the sliding glass doors we went.

Mahalo.

My horoscope today:

If amping up you career isn't on the top of your to-do list right now, it should be.

There it is. In black and white. Plain and simple. Time to get crackin'.

It all started with this damned spider bite on my right knee.

Last Saturday, while working in the yard of John's house, This Man was bitten by, what I later concluded, was a spider. The bite left a nice, aching bump just slightly to the right of my right knee cap. Not paying any attention to the growing wound, Monday the bite grew and was pretty red and that's when I realized that it needed to be looked at.
"You need to get that looked at immediately." John precautioned.
"Oh my god, you HAVE to go have it treated." Lucy told me from Texas.
"...Yeah, you might want to have it checked out." My housemate, Jay, advised.
Rather than travel all the way to La Jolla to the VA hospital and rather than endure the emergency room, This Man decided to walk around the block to the neighborhood clinic.
This was late Monday evening.
The first guy working at the clinic briefly dismissed the red bump as merely an insect bite. "You'll be fine," he said. "Just put some calamine lotion on it [for the itching]." I ran into John, showed him the bump and he recommended that we go back to the clinic to have it looked at.
Back at the clinic (again) and that's where I saw him. It was Raymond. My ex.
He didn't see me.
That was a good thing.
The charge nurse informed me that the doctor had already left for the evening and I would, in fact have to return tomorrow, seeing as I would need to get an antibiotic. "Come back early tomorrow morning, " she advised.
Tuesday. 8:30 bright and early. This Man strolled back to the clinic and that's when I saw him again.
Raymond. Right there behind the counter. He was smiling.
" I thought that was you! How have you been?"
We stood there in the foyer of the building and exchanged pleasantries. He was good. I was good. Not much had changed. His mother was well. Even though we lived in the same neighborhood, Raymond and I hadn't seen each other since we'd called it splits back in early December.
"I still think about all the crazy times that we had," he told me. We did have some fun times together. We also had some turbulent times...some dramatic times and it was those that caused us to break up.
"I miss you," he said. That scared me because he was looking me dead in the eyes. "Do you ever think about me?"
How do you think I responded?


Mahalo

To my "buddy" Scott:

I can't even begin to describe the anger that I felt after I left the park and your house today. In fact, I should confess that the only reason that I didn't kick your ass, while we were walking down Texas Street was simply because I was walking with your bicycle. I've never and will never tolerate anyone talking to me the way that you did. You were totally out of line and I hate that you put me in the position, where I have to question our friendship. At first, I thought that cool down period would've allowed me to gather my thoughts before I spoke to you again, but now that I think about it, no amount of cooling down could ever tame my raging temper.
If there's one thing that I'm sure of it's this: all of my friends have faults. That's true , I know this and I accept it. But I would never, ever dream of telling any of them the things that you said to me. I would never stoop so low as to attempt to belittle any of them to make myself feel somewhat superior.
It's because of all of this that I've decided that I can no longer be friends with you. Initially, I said that the only way I would talk to you would be if you were to apologize for what you said, but now... I don't even need the apology. Anybody that tells me that they think pretty poorly of me just isn't a person that I need in my life.

(Just so you know, the only reason that I used these two pictures for this post is because I know how much you detest them.)