Belly

Let me apologize in advance of you viewing this video. I was on youtube looking for videos from the band Belly when I cam across this gem. Youtube is dangerous.

Health Update

I think my doctor is just fucking with me. What he is doing is just pushing me to see how long it will take before I am pushed to the point that I grab by the sagging flesh on his neck and squeeze the last breath out of him. Let me tell you he has come dangerously close.

Yesterday morning (Wednesday) I called his office for the fourth time to speak to the nurse practitioner that had seen me on my initial visit. As with the previous three times I called she wasn’t in the office after I was told she was going to be. WTF? My face started to get hot and I started to sweat.

I will be calm. I will not yell at this woman she is just answering the phone it isn’t her fault that she can’t give me an accurate time when the nurse will be in, she is more then likely retarded, she deserves my pity not my anger. Also it isn’t her fault that the doctor she works for is an inept condescending moron. I will get her to work with me; I need her help right now.

“I was in last Wednesday, Lori told me the rash I have is staph, and it hasn’t gone away. She told me to call if it didn’t go away. I have spoken to Dr. Clapp twice. He told me to speak to her because she saw me initially. This is the fourth time I have called to speak to her she hasn’t called me back. I need to be seen by someone today!” I was curt but I didn’t raise my voice.

“That’s probably a good idea I have something open at 11:00 am. Can you do that?”

“Yes, thank you.”

When I got to the office I was brought to an exam room and told to take of my shirt. This was the first time I had been in this particular exam room. It doubled as his office and was carpeted. Carpet in an exam room does not translate to sterile environment in my mind. In addiction to the carpet the light in this room was so dim I could hardly see well enough to tell what the true color of the carpet was. Just being in this room alone would have been enough for me to find a more suitable doctor regardless of this past week’s frustration.

He looked at the rash, “That doesn’t look viral like I thought.”

No shit.

“Ok now can I see the penile bump? Ok that looks like it’s healing. She gave you some cream for that?

“No it was for something else.”

“Well, you can put that on the bump it will help it heal it’s a steroid.”

“Is it MRSA?”

“It could be a lot of things I’m not sure.”

“Lori told me I have staph is that what the rash is and I have been exposed to two different people with MSRA?”

“I am going to refer you to a dermatologist. It’s not chlamydia or herpes those tests came back negative.”

No shit.

Everything he has said has been in a passive tone like he wasn’t when I mentioned the MRSA this tone changed from passive to dismissive. I know I didn’t spend eight years training to practice medicine, however I do know how to use Google, which you may be unaware, is a treasure-trove of information.

The assistant gave me the name of two dermatologists and instructed me to call her back to let her know when my appointment would be so she could give me a referral. HMO’s are such bullshit.

When I got back to my office I called the first doctor.

“Right the first appointment we have available is in January.”

“My doctor told me I might have a staph infection, but isn’t sure. It’s kind of an emergency, is there anything you can give me sooner?”

“We can only see so many patients in the time we have Sir”

C*NT!

I called the second doctor’s office the woman answering the phone was much nicer. She scheduled me for an appointment for September 16th, still not good enough but I had her pencil me in, she was the fist person I’ve spoken to who seemed to under stand the urgency of the situation. She said she would put me on a waiting list for first available. This office is only open four hours two days a week. Yeah, I am in the wrong business.

My plan was to call my doctor’s office back to see if they thought I should wait or just go to the emergency room. By the time I got off the phone with the dermatologist’s office it was to late to call my doctor, they’d already closed. A few hours later the dermatologist called me back to tell me they could get me in on Saturday.

Today the ex-boyfriend went to his doctor for a check up on his infection and he is getting better. He explained to his doctor that I thought I had it too, but I was getting little satisfaction from my doctor. His doctor told me to call him if I doubted what the dermatologist told me he would bee able to see me right away. I probably should have called his doctor last week.

Women in Comfortable Shoes Prefer the Country

Mauree: I was just driving up 495 and saw two women driving in a U-Haul with a Subrau wagon in tow.

Me: Looks like someone made it to a second date.

Serenity Now!

As it turns out there is a woman in my office that has the same type of infection that I do. She has had it for almost 2 months. According to her doctor it’s a new type of infection that is antibiotic resistant and is highly contagious. It’s called MSRA the more I read about it the scary it is.

When I went to the office and saw the nurse practitioner she told me to make sure I called the office if the rash I have didn’t get better. It didn’t. Friday morning called the office to speak with her she wasn’t in and I got a call back from the doctor. He told me that I probably had a virus even though he never saw me. I told him the nurse told me was staph and that I have been exposed to staph. He thought it would be best if I just kept taking the medicine that was prescribed for me and not bother him any longer.

Monday I called the office again to speak to the nurse practitioner and the again the doctor called me back. For the second time I went over what was going on with me. He told me he would have the nurse call me back because she was the person who saw me with a tone that related he couldn’t be bothered. What he failed to tell me was she wouldn’t be in until Wednesday (tomorrow), which I had to find out when I called for the third time today (Tuesday).

I have made some phone calls but I can’t find a doctor that will see me before the time the nurse is back in the office or I wouldn’t even bother with her.

Is There a Doctor in the House

Another challenge to living in the ‘burbs was brought to my attention today with a trip to the doctor. I have been going to the same doctor for a year and a half. The doctor that runs the practice specialty is cardiology from the people I see in the waiting room most of his patients in their 70’s. Usually I see the nurse practitioner, who I really like. That is until this morning.
I had made the appointment because I have plantar fasciitis, this makes standing for long periods of time very painful. The second reason is I have what looks like a pimple on my penis that is needless to say freaking me out.

When the nurse practitioner realized she would have to examine the area she became visibly nervous. She even remarked, “Oh that’s the real reason you came in.” Of course I wasn’t looking forward to having that area of my body poked and prodded by a woman that had a matronly demeanor that reminded of my mother. However I would much rather endure that type of humbling experience than letting a health issue go long enough to turn into an even bigger problem. Not to mention this “pimple” is prohibiting use of this organ that I rather enjoy using.

“Unfortunately I am going to have to take a peek just to make sure it’s not herpes.”
Unfortunately? Of course you are going to look at it, because if you give a diagnosis without looking at it I am going to report you to the medial board and have your license revoked. And just so you know lady mine is actually pretty nice to look at!

This was not the way to put my mind at ease considering I was already experiencing a large level of anxiety from not knowing what is happening in my body while going through the list of things I knew could be wrong.

She instructed me to remove my pants then place a large piece of paper on my lap, for the sake my own comfort I could leave my underwear on. She left the room to give me some privacy. A few moments she came back into the room and put on rubber gloves.

“Ok now think of something else. Did you have a nice summer?”

“Yeah it’s been OK.”

Are you kidding I’m not a five year old that needs to be distracted so I won’t throw a tantrum.

“That looks good. Yes that looks good as well. You have some red ness on your skin, is that happening any where else?”

“Yeah I have a little rash on my stomach.”

“Ok that’s staph.”

She ended the exam and explained that it was just an infection, she was going to give me round of strong antibiotics that cover several STDs just to be on the safe side. That is the only time during the entire time I was in the office that she put me at ease, but I will still be looking for a new doctor.

It's Done

I finally grew some sack and did it. I broke up with the boyfriend. He took it well and said he suspected that it was coming. Still, I felt like a jerk.

I told him I had a good time hanging out with him but I didn’t feel the same way about him that he was feeling about me. I didn’t want to lead him on into thinking something was happening that wasn’t. Maybe we can still be friends.

He said he knew that I am a very independent person and that having a boyfriend probably wasn’t for me. I am not sure what that means but I am glad he took it well.

I still feel like a jerk.

Thank You Anonymous

Dear Anonymous,

Thank you for your comments on 8/18. As you can well imagine there few things that I enjoy more than being belittled in a public forum, especially when it's done by someone who has little time to identify themselves.

Growing up with Dyslexia I've had to learn how to get around certain things, because my brain doesn't process things the same way other peoples do. This makes proofing things very difficult, luckily I have support of people such as yourself.

It makes me feel special when people such as yourself are willing to point out my short comings.
Just the simple fact that you would take the time out of what I am sure is an extremely busy life to correct me with out any regard to tact makes me feel like you really care.

Thanks again,

Scott E D

It's a Happy Morning

Birdhouse in Your Soul

They Might Be Giants

What Has Wings But Can't Fly?

I don’t have much experience with children nor am I looking for any. When I was a child I preferred the company of adults for the most part and was perfectly happy playing alone. Kids kind of freak me out. This has created an interesting problem since my sister has done double duty in the procreation department by having four. The oldest is a girl the rest are boys, they range in age from twelve to three.

My niece I can relate to, she likes boys I like boys, she likes clothes I like clothes, she’s pretty, well you see where I am going here. With the boys I am at a loss I they like Godzilla and getting dirty and playing catch, I once squealed at the site of cute purse. The boys and I have come to a mutual understanding, I will keep giving them things if the don’t irritate me. Although my oldest nephew is fascinated by the fact I live alone and once said that I was smarter than this father, despite the fact his father could buy and sell my ass with the blink of an eye. You know he may be my new favorite.

I haven’t seen them since April mostly because their mother makes me angry but that is a story for another time. Recently we had gathered at my sister’s house for dinner to celebrate my brother-in-law’s birthday. The menu was spareribs and hotdogs to be served on the back deck (that is larger than my apartment) overlooking the pool and with a view of both the ocean and Boston depending on the direction you are looking.

Diner was nice the conversation was light I almost thought I was with someone else’s family, but the over cooked food assured me I was in the right place.

After a plate of spareribs my teeth ached from the pieces of meet caught in them, I excused myself to use find some dental floss. I had to go to three different bathrooms (they have four) before I found what I was looking for in the master bath, which is just half the size of my apartment and in a constant state of disarray. My sister has a cleaning lady yet the house is always a mess. Worse then the mess there is a maxi-pad sitting on the on the sink a big one with wings. I ignored it.

While I was getting the ribs out of my teeth my three-year-old nephew popped his head into the bathroom. Being the youngest he is perpetually happy. He always has a giggly smile on his face that makes you want to pick up and tickle him till he pukes. I fight this urge not only because being puked on doesn’t make for a good time but also I had an uncle that did the same to me, that is until I “accidentally” kicked in the face with a hiking boot on.

“What cha doooin’?”

“I’m tryin’ ta get the food outah my teeth.” My family causes me to speak in dialect rather than my finely tuned cosmopolitan accent.

“Why?”

“’Cause it’s bothahin’ me.”

“Ya tryin’ ta get the fooood outah ya teeth?”

“Yeah.” He walks from the door into the bathroom.

“Why? ‘Cause it’s boterin’ you?”

“Yup.” He picks up the pad.

“Wat’s this?” My sister and I were raised in a Catholic home and as most Catholic children he we taught to loath our bodies and not to discuss any function they perform. My sister is striking out a brave new world with her children by openly discussing things that as an adult I still don’t want to hear. I froze. His eyes were looking up at me for answer and I was at a loss. My first reaction was to call for back up, to pass, no punt, yes defiantly punt.

“Is it a pull up?” Crisis averted.

“Yeah that’s what it is”

“Looks kinda small, is if a pull up fo’ a baby?” He started to unfold it then looked with wide eyes as if he just unraveled one of the great mysteries of life.

“Yup ya right, ‘come on let’s go back down stayis” He picks up the pad as I nudge him to door.

“No let’s leave that he-ah.”

“But I wana show Mummy.”

“I think she knows it’s there.”

It's Not Me, It's You

I am afraid I need to start the phase out of the new boyfriend. Although he has treated me well and I have enjoyed spending time with him there are a few things about him I just can’t get past.

He has a collection of Louis Vuitton bags and other accessories that are probably worth more then my car, which isn’t a problem. If he likes expensive things and can afford them he should have them, but I asked him just how many pieces he had he laughed and said, “ask me ex-boyfriend.” I didn’t need to consult the ex to figure out what he meant considering when we were having dinner with some of his coworkers he told me how much money he makes, with his salary he would have needed 5 year financing plan for just one of the bags (or treasures as he calls them) he has.

Next is his lack of attention to anything that isn’t deeply rooted in three divas, Christina, Mariah, and Kelly. No need for last names he is on a first name basis with all of them. I made a joke about the pictures of Mariah on his my space page “well she is my diva” was his response. Although I will hum along or even sing songs from anyone of these people (which I feel comfortable telling your because we’re friends and I will expect to go no further) there is no way I would refer to any one as diva. Bitch maybe diva no.

Kerry Healy Massachusetts’ Lt. Governor, who is now running for the Governor’s seat in what will be a hotly contested election, is clearly not one of his divas. Not just because she lacks the general savor-faire and charisma of the top three reigning divas, it’s because he had to ask me who she was even thought his neighborhood is plastered with campaign posters saying who she was and what she was doing. More accurately he wanted to know, “Why are there Healy posters everywhere” and “Who’s that again?”

Then there is the fact that he doesn’t drive, it’s not only that he doesn’t have a car which is the case with may people who live and work in Boston, it’s that he doesn’t have a licenses. He grew up in NYC then moved to Boston for college, there was never a real need for him learn. I understand all of this but I can’t up help resent that when we see each other I have the drive the 18 miles to his place. Only once has he offered to take the commuter rail out to make it easier on me.

And all of his friends are gay men and involved are involved in the bear community, while I wholly support the right to be as fat, hairy and look as tough as you want, I find the faux masculinity of it all grating. Growing a beard, wearing knee high Doc Martins, a black T-Shirt and a utility kilt or ripped jeans doesn’t make you more of man, it makes you a queen who is into dress up nothing more. How this relates to our relationship is keeps referring to me as being “woofy” a common bear term. I may need to loose a few pounds, I have body hair, and I could probably even pass for straight but that is just because of who I am not because I have a need to belong to some club or because I feel I have to celebrate the things that would get me chastised by shallowness of most other fags.

Lastly it is because of the way he talked to a woman working at the Chinese takeout place he frequents. She was boxing up our food he told her, not asked her to put hot sauce in the bag. I asked him if his mother had taught him to say please his response was, “not to the wait staff”. He did the quickest back pedal I’d ever seen when I told him what he said was ugly and I reminded him that the woman probably lives in the same neighborhood he does. He didn’t seem to care about what he said to her, just what I thought about it. Then went on to tell me he has a reputation for being rude to waiters.

I know that I am not without my faults. I am incredibly impatient, inflexible, and quick tempered. However I it seems that views of life aren’t inline enough to make a lasting relationship.

I Am Stretched on Your Grave

I am stretched on your grave and will lie there forever,
If your hands were in mine, I'd be sure they'd not sever,
My appletree, my brightness 'tis time we were together,
For I smell of the earth and am worn by the weather.

When my family thinks that I'm safe in my bed,
From night until morning I am stretched at your head.
Calling out to the air with tears hot and wild,
My grief for the girl that I loved as a child.

Do you remember the night we were lost
In the shade of the blackthorn and the chill of the frost.
Thanks be to Jesus we did what was right
And your maidenhead still is your Pillar of Light.

The priests and the friars approach me in dread,
Because I still love you, my love, and your dead.
And still would be your shelter through rain and through storm
For with you in the cold ground I cannot sleep warm.

I am stretched on your grave and will lie there forever,
If your hands were in mine, I'd be sure they'd not sever,
My appletree, my brightness 'tis time we were together,
For I smell of the earth and am worn by the weather.

To Out or Not To Out

A few months ago I hooked up with a guy that I have talk to online several times. Things went as planned, but there was something hauntingly familiar about him. Being that I live about 10 miles from the town I grew up in I get this feeling often. We are also talking about the type of place where if you move out, you will eventually move back. The reason for this I’m not entirely sure I have yet to figure out my own reasons for coming back here.

He was using the shower when I solved the mystery. I went threw his wallet and read his drives license. Just kidding. The thought crossed my mind, but I didn’t need to invade is privacy, I actually remember. He is the brother of a friend of my ex-girlfriend and also the cousin of the ex-girlfriend’s brother-in-law. Ah life in a small incestuous town.

Last I heard of him he was living with his wife and two children. Had I remembered who he was before we hooked up, I surly wouldn’t have gone through with it. I’m no home wrecker nor am I saying that after one tryst with me he would see the light and leave that woman, that’s a total lie I am saying that, but I still don’t go down that road.

I decided I would let him know I knew what I knew then he’d know too and feel really bad for doing what he did. Not often do I have this type of power over someone else, I needed to savor it.

“Are you from Lynn?"

“Yeah, I am. Are you?” his tone was suspicious.

“Yeah is your last name ‘something long and Greek’?”

The look on his face was more then just stunned, it said, “If you just said what I think you just said I am going to dismember your body and cut it into tiny pieces, it will take months or even years for them to find the pieces if even find all of the pieces which they won’t because I have military training. In the many, many, many times that I have hooked up I have never been as scared as I was from that look, but I am sure he realized that I would scratch one of his eyes out with the voracity of a an angry drag queen as soon as he was close enough to me with a knife because he smiled, a scary smile but a smile still.

“Right I thought the name on your email was familiar.”

Good he knew I knew.

“Yeah we only met a couple of times.”

“Right in the 80’s with your brother.”

Oh no, I don’t have a brother.

“No I know your sister S. We went to school together I used to date Tracy her best friend. I met you at your parents’ 25th anniversary party. Then again at their house a while later.”

“Oh.”

He laughed a bit nervously, then started to pace as he dressed. It’s one thing to be recognized and have the ability to say no you must have been mistaken, but it’s certainly another thing for someone to say I know you I know your parents, aunts, uncles and cousins, there is no way out of this one.

“This is a bit awkward.”

“Not for me it isn’t.” I pressed my luck and smiled.

“I like your place do you mind if I look around?”

“Sure.”

While you’re looking notice how close the neighbors are, close enough to hear me scream.

He walked from room to room he looked out all the windows then opened the back door inspecting almost every inch. He kept making mindless small talk avoiding saying what I knew was coming. I was getting creeped out.

“How good are you at keeping secretes? ‘Cause you know my family doesn’t know and I’d like to keep it that way. My life is private. Please don’t tell anyone.”

“Yeah no problem.” He stared at me for a couple of seconds the way the godfather would if he had just asked you to do him a ‘favor’ to make sure you understood the gravity of the situation.

I passed the test. He walked tword the door.

"Email me you are interested in doing it again"

I smiled eventhough I wasn't.

Immediately I got on the phone to call Tracy to tell her what happened. No harm in telling her since her and his sister S had a falling out years ago when Tracy married S’s old fuck buddy. She was shocked. He is the last person she would have expected to be on the receiving end of something she’d rather not think about. She also voted him most likely to commit homicide and assured me the story would go no further. It turns out the family with the long Greek name is not the most open minded group. Also she was able to tell me that he and his girlfriend not wife broke up quite some time before our afternoon together.

He called me twice the following day, twice the day after that, he didn’t leave any messages. On the tried day he called me again I answered, he denied calling me at all the two days before. He asked if we could me again, I told him I didn’t have time. That was the end of it.

I hadn’t even thought about him till last Thursday when I was going through the names on knowthyneighbor.org which lists that names of people who have signed a petition that to have the MA state constitution amended to define marriage to be between a man and a woman only, even though the constitution clearly states the State can not create first class and second class citizens as such an amendment would. There was his name listed with his parents address. I called Tracy to confirm the address and that it wasn’t another relative, because there were two other families on the street with the same last name. Tracy confirmed he was the only one with his first name.

Now I am faced with a serious dilemma. I am all for the outing of closeted politicians who vote against gay rights legislation. There is absolutely nothing wrong with plastering their names in every corner of both the physical world and the cyber world. However, I am a bit more reluctant with a private citizen. Is it appropriate to send his mother a card that says: Congratulations your oldest son likes to take it in the ass?

Oy Goyum!

Friend One: After a long description of the friend of a friend he doesn’t like he ends with, “She’s such a yenta”.

Friend Two: Confused and very serious, “Wasn’t that an 80’s movie with Barbara Streisand?”

Friend One: “No sweetie that was Yentl.”

Friend Two: "Are you sure?"

Your Golden Years Should Be So Good

A few years ago my mother worked for a local hospital, part of her job was to help transition patients of the hospital into some type of long-term care facility. Her job required her to be “hands-on” with the people she was helping and often visited them in their rooms to explain the options they had.

One afternoon she was working with a patient who was sharing a room with another woman both women were in their seventies. As my mother was explaining how she would be able to help the woman she was working with a nurse came into the room to prep woman’s roommate for surgery.

The nurse closed the privacy curtain. She told the roommate she would need to be shaved before her procedure. Upon inspection of the area to be shaved the nurse with a bit of surprise in her voice said, “You don’t seem to have much hair.”

“Well, grass doesn’t grow on a busy street dear.”

I Have a Boyfriend?

I have a boyfriend?

No, that's not right. It's not a question.

I have a boyfriend!

No, I don't want anyone one to think I was desperate before.

I have a boyfriend.

Oh shit this probably means I can't sleep with any of his friends.