From October 9, 2008
Yesterday morning at 5 am I start vomiting blood again. And it won't stop. Again. I called the office & they paged the doctor on call. She called me and told me that no, this was NOT normal and to meet her at the ER. Fantastic.
I jump in the car and get down there. She checks around in my throat and determines that part of the wound in my right tonsil hasn't been fully cauterized and as the patches are coming off it's bleeding and leaking into my stomach. So she fills a needle with lidocaine, shoots up my tonsil, and cauterizes. I am sent home. On my way home, two blocks from my house, I spit blood again. I turn around and drive back to the ER. The surgeon I saw that morning was in surgery but wanted me to gargle with ice water to knock off the clot on my tonsil and stop any bleeding, and she would be over when she was done. I do this and am sitting in the waiting room spitting clear into a cup for about an hour. Then it's blood again. Alot of blood. So I'm vomiting blood again and I'm trying to gargle ice water at the same time to stop the bleeding and they put me in a room and decide to give me an IV.
The nurse says she's going to take some blood and she gives me an IV at the same time. In the bend of my arm. That is the worst place. I hate it there, do not want it there. Then she refuses to put a piece of tape over it so I can't see wheere it's going into my skin because it really makes me uncomfortable. She said they need to be able to see the injection site incase something goes wrong with it. I say awesome, thanks. I stand up at the sink to try and gargle more ice water and I have a panic attack. I can feel the IV fluid in my ear and my face, I'm suddenly light headed, my heart is racing, I can't breathe, I'm yelling and gasping for breath and looking around the room for a call button. The door is wide open but no one is hearing me and I am just losing it. I crumple over on the gurney panting Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, and things seems to be calming down, as a nurse comes by and asks if she heard me calling out. Um, yeah. Ya might have.
The surgeon shows up, I lay down normal on the gurney, I'm hooked up to all kinds of machines, she pokes around in there some more looking for the bleed spot. But I'm not bleeding anymore. I get up and jump up & down some, dance around, sit down with my head between my legs, massage my throat, suck really hard on a straw trying to make it bleed again so she can see exactly where it's coming from. No luck. So she fills another needle up with lidocaine, numbs up a larger swath of my tonsil, and cauterizes deeper and wider than before. This time there's the smell. The stench of burning flesh and it makes me want to vomit. If you've never encountered this smell count yourself lucky. I got the bonus of it being in my mouth which comes with it's own unique taste. Fucking nauseatingly disgusting. We determine that our work here is done. They unhook me and send me home telling me if this happens again to of course call the surgeon and come back.
So I drive home. And I sit down. And my hands are still covered in blood and that stench is in my nose, and my throat is sore and I'm scared to cough or talk and I keep spitting into the sink to make sure there's no blood. But that's no gaurentee of anything. I was spitting clear at the ER and then started vomiting again. I just pray to God that this is it, this is over. There was no stench the first time she cauterized that morning so I'm hoping the job is really done now. I have a popcicle that kind of comes back up, and come vicodin. I'm assuming it's alright to take since no one told me otherwise. On & off the phone with my parents. Lay down on the couch and fall asleep.
So far, no more blood. No more nausea, still a lot of pain. I'm more confident that things are alright now, but I'm still scared. Vomiting blood is horrible and I've never had a panic attack before and I am just done with all of this. Don't ever have your tonsils removed. No more surgeries, no more needles, no more blood. Please God, let this all be over now.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Blood Simple
From October 08, 2008
I spent yesterday afternoon violently spitting up blood. You ever done that? It's motherfucking terrifying.
So I had my tonsillectomy a week ago. Everything went swell, mom and dad were there to take care of me, lots of liquid Vicodin, lots of popcicles and pudding, Gatorade and movies. The first day was rough but then things smoothed out. It was relaxing, calming, entertaining and full of wonderful drugs. This weekend I went to Urgent Care because I couldn't breathe and they diagnosed with my pneumonia. Beautiful.
Yesterday afternoon I'm sitting on my bed, watching the Sex and the City movie, eating some pudding, when I started coughing. No big deal: cough a little, you figure you're coughing up some phlegm and you swallow it. I did this like three times and then my brain flashed with the remembrance of reading info about possibly coughing up blood after this surgery. When I coughed again I spit into my hand and sure enough, bright red blood.
I jump up and race into the bathroom and spit up some more and then it becomes more and more and more. It's coming out of my nose, it's pouring out of my mouth and now it's coming in waves. I run back to my room and grab my phone. I call Melody. She's my roommate and a doctor. I get her voicemail. I call the hospital as they were a recent call in my phone. I tell them I had a tonsillectomy a week ago and I am spitting up blood. They asked me if I called me ENT. I'm like I AM SPITTING UP BLOOD! It's gurgling out of my mouth while I'm trying to talk. She said to be sure to call my ENT, and either call 911 or go to the ER. I say cool, will do.
Stuff starts coming up with the blood. All this bloody gunk, and it's sticking to my tongue and it still won't stop and it's still coming out my nose. What if I lose too much blood and I faint? I have pneumonia, am I coughing up lung? Did I fuck over my liver with too much Vicodin? Did something go horribly wrong in the back of my throat? Am I dying? Is this going to stop? What the FUCK is going on?! I had tried to maintain my composure and a level head about this for as long as I could but I was done. I'm in terrified panic mode. Who do I call? I have to call someone. I can't call my mom, she's 500 miles away. Do I call 911? Is this 911 worthy? I don't want to be alone, I don't want to be in charge any more, I need help. Choking and gurgling on blood I called Jeremy. He was always so very good of taking care of me with all of my health scares, and there were many of them, and I knew he would be there for me in an emergency. When he answered I lost it. Through gagging and tears I told him I was coughing up blood, I was scared, and I didn't know what to do. Alarmed and level-headed he asked me my address, said he was calling 911 and then come over. I said ok and hung up.
All this bloody mucus has now clogged the sink and it's filling up. There's blood all over the sink and my toothbrush holder and my soap, and I'm desperately trying to pull the stopper out of the drain and mash all this crap down the sink and I'm doubled over crying and spitting up, trying to clean all this blood away. And I'm wishing Jeremy was just here already. I need him to materialize at the door because I can't be alone anymore and things are out of control now.
Then I thought ok, I need shoes, if I go to the hospital they're going to want to know what drugs I'm on and I don't know so grab all the bottles and put them in my purse, wallet with medical ID in purse, Mark still has the key to the back door so I need my garage door opener out of my car if I'm going to get back in the house, and why isn't anyone here yet?! There's a knock at the back door and the fire department is all standing out there and I have to tell them the door is locked and to go around to the garage. I open the garage and the 5 or so EMTs come in, Jeremy on their heels. They pull a cooler over and have me sit down and start taking my vitals and asking me questions, and Jeremy gave them all my information. They asked me if I was on any drugs and I said yeah, a shit-ton and I couldn't name them all, so Jeremy went into the house to get them and came back with an arm load. They looked in the back of my throat and said it looked pretty raw back there. I said yes, I'm sure this is all related to my tonsillectomy and is probably somewhat normal, I was just concerned that something had gone horribly wrong. They said my vitals were fine and I didn't have any pain anywhere and that if I felt well enough to be on my own I could sign off on the ambulance, that had just showed up, and everything would be cool. Agreed.
Jeremy stayed with me while I called my doctors and calmed down. I thanked him for being there when I needed someone. He's always been wonderful at that and I will forever love him for it. I was so scared. So incredibly terrified. Even thinking about it now still makes me cry, I was so scared. To feel that out of control and unsure and alone, and there was just so much blood. It looked like I vomited an abortion. It was horrifying.
My surgeon is out of town for the week, of course, but her assistant returned my call and assured me that this was all normal. My information sheet said to expect blood streaks in my saliva, but didn't mention violently spitting up blood. The patches over my wounds are supposed to come off and apparently you end up swallowing them and then they come back up, and all this happens about a week after surgery. Right on time. So at least I know this was supposed to happen, it's not unusual, nothing is wrong, and I can rest easy in that knowledge. But the events of yesterday are replaying in my mind and now it seems so distant and yet I'm still right there in the moment, doubled over the sink, terrified.
I'm no longer spitting up blood, and I'm healing well. But right now, I'm done. I need a break from this. Check, please!
I spent yesterday afternoon violently spitting up blood. You ever done that? It's motherfucking terrifying.
So I had my tonsillectomy a week ago. Everything went swell, mom and dad were there to take care of me, lots of liquid Vicodin, lots of popcicles and pudding, Gatorade and movies. The first day was rough but then things smoothed out. It was relaxing, calming, entertaining and full of wonderful drugs. This weekend I went to Urgent Care because I couldn't breathe and they diagnosed with my pneumonia. Beautiful.
Yesterday afternoon I'm sitting on my bed, watching the Sex and the City movie, eating some pudding, when I started coughing. No big deal: cough a little, you figure you're coughing up some phlegm and you swallow it. I did this like three times and then my brain flashed with the remembrance of reading info about possibly coughing up blood after this surgery. When I coughed again I spit into my hand and sure enough, bright red blood.
I jump up and race into the bathroom and spit up some more and then it becomes more and more and more. It's coming out of my nose, it's pouring out of my mouth and now it's coming in waves. I run back to my room and grab my phone. I call Melody. She's my roommate and a doctor. I get her voicemail. I call the hospital as they were a recent call in my phone. I tell them I had a tonsillectomy a week ago and I am spitting up blood. They asked me if I called me ENT. I'm like I AM SPITTING UP BLOOD! It's gurgling out of my mouth while I'm trying to talk. She said to be sure to call my ENT, and either call 911 or go to the ER. I say cool, will do.
Stuff starts coming up with the blood. All this bloody gunk, and it's sticking to my tongue and it still won't stop and it's still coming out my nose. What if I lose too much blood and I faint? I have pneumonia, am I coughing up lung? Did I fuck over my liver with too much Vicodin? Did something go horribly wrong in the back of my throat? Am I dying? Is this going to stop? What the FUCK is going on?! I had tried to maintain my composure and a level head about this for as long as I could but I was done. I'm in terrified panic mode. Who do I call? I have to call someone. I can't call my mom, she's 500 miles away. Do I call 911? Is this 911 worthy? I don't want to be alone, I don't want to be in charge any more, I need help. Choking and gurgling on blood I called Jeremy. He was always so very good of taking care of me with all of my health scares, and there were many of them, and I knew he would be there for me in an emergency. When he answered I lost it. Through gagging and tears I told him I was coughing up blood, I was scared, and I didn't know what to do. Alarmed and level-headed he asked me my address, said he was calling 911 and then come over. I said ok and hung up.
All this bloody mucus has now clogged the sink and it's filling up. There's blood all over the sink and my toothbrush holder and my soap, and I'm desperately trying to pull the stopper out of the drain and mash all this crap down the sink and I'm doubled over crying and spitting up, trying to clean all this blood away. And I'm wishing Jeremy was just here already. I need him to materialize at the door because I can't be alone anymore and things are out of control now.
Then I thought ok, I need shoes, if I go to the hospital they're going to want to know what drugs I'm on and I don't know so grab all the bottles and put them in my purse, wallet with medical ID in purse, Mark still has the key to the back door so I need my garage door opener out of my car if I'm going to get back in the house, and why isn't anyone here yet?! There's a knock at the back door and the fire department is all standing out there and I have to tell them the door is locked and to go around to the garage. I open the garage and the 5 or so EMTs come in, Jeremy on their heels. They pull a cooler over and have me sit down and start taking my vitals and asking me questions, and Jeremy gave them all my information. They asked me if I was on any drugs and I said yeah, a shit-ton and I couldn't name them all, so Jeremy went into the house to get them and came back with an arm load. They looked in the back of my throat and said it looked pretty raw back there. I said yes, I'm sure this is all related to my tonsillectomy and is probably somewhat normal, I was just concerned that something had gone horribly wrong. They said my vitals were fine and I didn't have any pain anywhere and that if I felt well enough to be on my own I could sign off on the ambulance, that had just showed up, and everything would be cool. Agreed.
Jeremy stayed with me while I called my doctors and calmed down. I thanked him for being there when I needed someone. He's always been wonderful at that and I will forever love him for it. I was so scared. So incredibly terrified. Even thinking about it now still makes me cry, I was so scared. To feel that out of control and unsure and alone, and there was just so much blood. It looked like I vomited an abortion. It was horrifying.
My surgeon is out of town for the week, of course, but her assistant returned my call and assured me that this was all normal. My information sheet said to expect blood streaks in my saliva, but didn't mention violently spitting up blood. The patches over my wounds are supposed to come off and apparently you end up swallowing them and then they come back up, and all this happens about a week after surgery. Right on time. So at least I know this was supposed to happen, it's not unusual, nothing is wrong, and I can rest easy in that knowledge. But the events of yesterday are replaying in my mind and now it seems so distant and yet I'm still right there in the moment, doubled over the sink, terrified.
I'm no longer spitting up blood, and I'm healing well. But right now, I'm done. I need a break from this. Check, please!
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Tonsil Hockey
Oh, tonsils. Those dirty little bastards in the back of my throat. They've been evicted and their move out date in 9/29.
I hear it's going to be pretty damn awesome. And by awesome I mean wicked painful. I'll be off work for two weeks, without pay which makes it double awesome, and living off liquidy type things. I hear tell I'll lose 10-15 pounds that I'll put right back on when I start eating again. So I'm just not going to eat anymore. I mean, screw food. What has it ever done for ME?
Both of my parents, count 'em - both, are driving out to take me to the hospital and bring me home. I knew it would take a medical malfunction to get my parents to come visit me. They don't get out so much.
I get tonsillitis at least twice a year, usually in the summer and then around Christmas. I have to see a doctor 3 times for each infection they're so bad. Sometimes they swell up and touch each other in the back of my throat leaving me a pea size opening to breathe through. Those are the best times. Then I go to the ER and get shot full of morphine and vicodin and go home and halucinate strange creatures jumping out of the shadows trying to kill me. I know you're jealous.
So I've had about enough of that shit right there. Time to scrape 'em out. I've read some down right horror stories about how painful it is and I'm trying not to think about it. I'm just tired of being sick and hopefully this will cure me of that. I'ma see if they'll let me keep them. In a jar. I can shelack them and make an amulet. Who wants first dibs?
I hear it's going to be pretty damn awesome. And by awesome I mean wicked painful. I'll be off work for two weeks, without pay which makes it double awesome, and living off liquidy type things. I hear tell I'll lose 10-15 pounds that I'll put right back on when I start eating again. So I'm just not going to eat anymore. I mean, screw food. What has it ever done for ME?
Both of my parents, count 'em - both, are driving out to take me to the hospital and bring me home. I knew it would take a medical malfunction to get my parents to come visit me. They don't get out so much.
I get tonsillitis at least twice a year, usually in the summer and then around Christmas. I have to see a doctor 3 times for each infection they're so bad. Sometimes they swell up and touch each other in the back of my throat leaving me a pea size opening to breathe through. Those are the best times. Then I go to the ER and get shot full of morphine and vicodin and go home and halucinate strange creatures jumping out of the shadows trying to kill me. I know you're jealous.
So I've had about enough of that shit right there. Time to scrape 'em out. I've read some down right horror stories about how painful it is and I'm trying not to think about it. I'm just tired of being sick and hopefully this will cure me of that. I'ma see if they'll let me keep them. In a jar. I can shelack them and make an amulet. Who wants first dibs?
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Man without a country
As the NFL season starts cranking through its hell week I am again reminded that I am football team-less. LA doesn't have a team and I refuse to be a Raiders fan as they simply suck ass as a fan nation. My college, despite ruling in men's & women's basketball, and kicking some rugby & lacrosse ass, doesn't have a football team, either. This doesn't stop me from walking down Mill Ave on New Years Day and screaming at all the Tostito Bowl fans that "The Gauchos are gonna take it all!!!!!" How did Jim Rome cope with this? San Diego and San Fran are too far away to feel like they are MY team.
Do you have to root for a team from your home state/town? Most east coasters, I find, are going to tell you it's sacrilege to do anything less. Others would say who the hell cares, pick a team! How does one go about picking a team to be a fan of? What elements does one consult? Or is it a flat out crapshoot? I suppose I could just suck it up and be a Chargers fan. Or possibly a 49er fan. But I'm just not feelin' it. I don't know that my dad is a fan of any particular team. And he's from West Virginia so no luck their, either. He's a fan of our high school football team and follows them religiously. You think YOU know a fanatic? Get in line.
And for college ball, do I pick the school closest to me? It's either UCLA or USC. Does that make me a traitor? Or simply a sports fan?
Basketball? Done. Laker fan. Always have been. 5 years of rec ball and a fanatic Laker fan Grandma long behind me. I am also a Celtic fan, never having known of the rivalry growing up. I knew I liked Magic Johnson and Larry Bird. Simple.
Baseball? Dodgers. I'm from north of them so I was more exposed to them growing up. The Los Angeles Angles of Anaheim piss me off. Those are two different cities, people. Knock this shit off! But they are in two different leagues so I can rock them both. I am also a Giants fan simply because I went to high school with their pitcher Noah Lowry. I'd be a fan of whatever team he happens to be playing for. If he would get off the DL, that is.
Hockey? Never cared. Been to one game and it was a good time. But I don't care enough to follow it. Though I never get enough of Miracle. I could watch that movie all day long. Hell, I have.
Living in Phoenix one might ask me, why not be a Cardinals fan? Next. No thanks. Suckville. The only thing good about them is their new stadium way out in West Bumble Fuck. Suns? Eh. Dbacks? Eh. Coyotes? Eh. If I had to root for a team it would the Kings or the Ducks.
Does any of it matter? I dunno. I was a cheerleader and I loved rooting on my team, whether it was football, basketball, swim team, water polo, whatever. I am truly a cheerleader at heart, rooting people on in anything they do. I want to see people succeed at what they love. This is why I rule at promoting bands and the like. So in that regard I am totes a Professional Cheerleader. Now I need to audition for the Phoenix Suns squad…
Do you have to root for a team from your home state/town? Most east coasters, I find, are going to tell you it's sacrilege to do anything less. Others would say who the hell cares, pick a team! How does one go about picking a team to be a fan of? What elements does one consult? Or is it a flat out crapshoot? I suppose I could just suck it up and be a Chargers fan. Or possibly a 49er fan. But I'm just not feelin' it. I don't know that my dad is a fan of any particular team. And he's from West Virginia so no luck their, either. He's a fan of our high school football team and follows them religiously. You think YOU know a fanatic? Get in line.
And for college ball, do I pick the school closest to me? It's either UCLA or USC. Does that make me a traitor? Or simply a sports fan?
Basketball? Done. Laker fan. Always have been. 5 years of rec ball and a fanatic Laker fan Grandma long behind me. I am also a Celtic fan, never having known of the rivalry growing up. I knew I liked Magic Johnson and Larry Bird. Simple.
Baseball? Dodgers. I'm from north of them so I was more exposed to them growing up. The Los Angeles Angles of Anaheim piss me off. Those are two different cities, people. Knock this shit off! But they are in two different leagues so I can rock them both. I am also a Giants fan simply because I went to high school with their pitcher Noah Lowry. I'd be a fan of whatever team he happens to be playing for. If he would get off the DL, that is.
Hockey? Never cared. Been to one game and it was a good time. But I don't care enough to follow it. Though I never get enough of Miracle. I could watch that movie all day long. Hell, I have.
Living in Phoenix one might ask me, why not be a Cardinals fan? Next. No thanks. Suckville. The only thing good about them is their new stadium way out in West Bumble Fuck. Suns? Eh. Dbacks? Eh. Coyotes? Eh. If I had to root for a team it would the Kings or the Ducks.
Does any of it matter? I dunno. I was a cheerleader and I loved rooting on my team, whether it was football, basketball, swim team, water polo, whatever. I am truly a cheerleader at heart, rooting people on in anything they do. I want to see people succeed at what they love. This is why I rule at promoting bands and the like. So in that regard I am totes a Professional Cheerleader. Now I need to audition for the Phoenix Suns squad…
Monday, May 26, 2008
The Continuing Desert Adventures of a Daughter of Poseidon
Two Saturdays ago Krystl accompanied me on my triumphant return to Nick*Star Karaoke at Deemo's in Phoenix. It was a Humpty Dancin' good time. Great food and booze, classic drunken songs, and tons of great new people.
Tuesday brought the comedic slayings of one Mike Birbiglia at the Tempe Improv with Jodi, Ryan and Debbie. Dave & Stacey, Bethany, and Andy & Mandy…awww…happened to snag a front row table. Mike's set was a great combo of what I consider some of his classic stuff plus a bunch of new material. And it was game on when he discovered the Clan Gould up front were also from Boston. The two drink min was a pain in the ass, as I wasn't expecting LA prices, but damn I wanted a Strawberry Daquiri. I hung around after the show to shake Mike's hand and tell him I knew his roommate Daniel from his college days at Georgetown. He said he liked my starfish necklace. We had a moment.
Wednesday night Jodi mixed up some fanfuckingtastic burgers that Jason grilled up while Mel, Andy Jenson and I supervised. It was an undertaking but I think we did the job justice.
Thursday brought us Krystl's first art reception at Scottsdale Community College. She had one of her awesome collages picked to be shown and was awarded an Honorable Mention and a sweetass $50 gift certificate. So rad. She better get some pictures of these badboys up right quick. This was followed by a viewing of Iron Man at the Cine Capri with Mel, Krystl, Joel, Fax, and Maggie. It was a great movie and we were hysterically obnoxious during the previews. At least I was. Ha.
Friday Miss Toni and I took in a showing of As You Like It at the Desert Rose Theatre in Mesa. Shakespeare is simply boring. There, I said it. Christ. There were some stellar performances by select cast members and the second half was far more lively than the first. I have a special place in my heart for tiny theatre companies with little to no money who pull spaces and costumes and sets out of thin air. And this current home was a far cry from the stripmall box they once inhabited. Here's to good luck in finding a new space! Same goes to Stray Cat Theatre who are, once again, stray cats. Let's go back to the old theater. Who needs electrical?! Toni and I then set up shop at Starbucks on Mill and discussed men, life, religion, art, theatre, health…you know, the light stuff, and lamented the queerness of the cute emo boy behind the counter. Toni then may or may not have had her car towed and may or may not have had to dip into her NYC savings to get it out. But I ain't one to gossip so you ain't heard that from me.
Saturday I met Fax at Kate and Blake's son's 2nd birthday party in North Scottsdale. I haven't seen them in almost two years. I was surprised to see Ivan there, but then learned that the night before there had been a full blown Elliots reunion at a corporate event. What I wouldn't have given to be there for that. I miss the hell out of that band. It was so good to talk with them all and to meet little Blake 2, and Ivan's daughter Willa Rose. Now there's a darling little couple in the making. It's amazing the paths our lives take us on. Kate, Blake and Ivan were in a band called The Elliots. They were an incredible band and we followed them all over Arizona. The band broke up and Ivan went solo while Kate and Blake remained a duo. Ivan got married and became a dad and before we knew it Kate and Blake were knocked up and married. To each other. They moved off to Nashville and rock the east coast and Ivan still plays locally. Friday night they all reunited after at least 4 years. Old wounds healed with the magic salve of music and love. I miss all those bastards. Thank you for the music. Keep rockin' it.
I then moved on down to Dave & Buster's to help Ryan ring in his birthday. Shot and Bloody Mary's and fun not seen since Vegas. It's like a Chuck E. Cheese for adults and Debbie is a whiz at these games. I'll let Ryan describe the evening for you in the form of one of his famous drunken rambles from his message board:
wooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo im fivckin drunn,k!!! thank you to nikik and devbbie for making theis it ghe grastaest birtshday! ever!!
seriolusyy! thsi was awesome . ti t waws just the three f su aat dave nu busters and we had a swell time! we woj over 10,000 poiunts on our carsds. We got a xsweetr adss poker set and a vcoin sorter!. I tw as awesome. Devbiibr and i acould fcujkin looose! we kept hitting javckopot after javckopot! I love this pbirthaday! Michele still holds the red[code]ord for the vbestr brithday hparty but this was the grweatseast birthday overall better!
we started wit h libnch at Red Robin, which is the clostest thing to bob's big boy we can get without being in california. the n we wetn to swee iron man which was totallyh badf asstical. the we came home and chiolled for a little whil and went to dave n busters. fgood times. I hafd liotrs of rum n cokes and a few shot of jac k and played lots fo games. I won the diup truck thing dfopr sa shitload of tivkets and then played different games and then debbie plaeyhd the diumptruck game with niki and they won an assload more tiuckets while I played some other dhiit i don ;t even know. OPh yeah. Debbie played some hautned house gaem and she won 15oo tickets off that. anyway we won a lot of stuff! It was radical. you mother fisklckers should have hcome out and played with us we didnt'g et get picturess. whate we dd get was sweet ass poker chips and a coin sorter. jealous? fcccu k yead yhou are. I drank olalot. opps. I dfcu cked that up abbut then ai ficxed tit. . I don't even known. good tiome.s . I love ou all. i love you debbie gfof r majkking theis a radaSS bithday and taking me to dave n busteres and the movie and liunch and stuff and I love you niki for being rad too. ther rest of you bmuther fukers sons of bitches tath didn t show up can kiss m balls. jdub vcan be first in line cuz I nkow he likes the cock.
anyhwhiooa.y. thanks everybodyh for the wells wweisheds and the happyh vbirthdays. You're all rad. but not as rad as me. im radder athan all of yhouul.
i totalyh copy and pasrtted this fromn the other board. I don';t know if you knew rthat or not. but i did. love you fickers. thak you all for coming here and supporteinng this board. for all i know, you all hcould think im just some big assjholle and not gave a fuck. but instead yhou come fhere day after day and that rellaly meqans a lot to me. thank you all. I m a better man for knowing you and I'm a better man for having you all as myh friends. there's nothing I wouldn't do for youl. and the fact that you come here aeveryday means the world to me. thank you brothers and sister. when i finally rule the world you r;'e all on m cool list. II;d' toatoolay bury some priock in the fuclking desert for you.
I love yhou , degbbie. thank you baby for making this tha besst birthday ever.
Slim rocksl. he drew me titties.
Can you handle that?
Sunday brought the great move of Jodi into her own place. Jason, Jodi, Krystl, Jeremy and I managed to pack everything into the U-haul in about an hour and then unloaded it, upstairs, in less. We are a lean and highly toned moving machine. Hugeass pizza, comraderie and our usual wacky banter was our just reward. It was all one hell of a workout. This brings us to my official move in as I took over Jodi's lease here with Mel. Despite everything I own being back home in California, I have clothes hanging in the closet and goodies in the shower. I spent one last night with the fuzzy kitty faces of Danzel and Sydney and still, when I walk in the door, expect to see them both. Taunting each other. Or being unbearably cute. I miss my fish. I'm comin' for you, FeeshMoch!
The job hunt continues and may wrap up nicely by the end of this week. Big weebles out there for me, my friends. Let's get this girl a job! And I believe it was about a year ago today that I had my strabismus surgery. (Eyeball muscle cutting & retying surgery) Wow. An entire year. I saw Doc Graham before I left town and he said my vision was beyond perfect and was incredibly impressed with the precision of the adjustment Doc Deemer did at UCLA. There's not enough info on my rad disease for anyone to know how or when I'll ever need to have either of my surgeries again so I'll do my best to not worry about any little imperfection I come across. Like waking up this morning with my eyelid red and purple, swollen and hurting. I took some Aleve and rocked the frozen pea eye patch, but it's still swollen and tight. It makes me worry about the sling in my eyelid, and it's been a bit hard to not freak out and feel squeamish. Allergies? Did a kitty give me the smack down last night? Was it all the exercise from moving? I cried yesterday but I've cried since my surgery and not had this problem. Get Scoob and the gang in on this one.
Stay tuned for more adventures from Hotter Than the Hinges of Hades central!
Tuesday brought the comedic slayings of one Mike Birbiglia at the Tempe Improv with Jodi, Ryan and Debbie. Dave & Stacey, Bethany, and Andy & Mandy…awww…happened to snag a front row table. Mike's set was a great combo of what I consider some of his classic stuff plus a bunch of new material. And it was game on when he discovered the Clan Gould up front were also from Boston. The two drink min was a pain in the ass, as I wasn't expecting LA prices, but damn I wanted a Strawberry Daquiri. I hung around after the show to shake Mike's hand and tell him I knew his roommate Daniel from his college days at Georgetown. He said he liked my starfish necklace. We had a moment.
Wednesday night Jodi mixed up some fanfuckingtastic burgers that Jason grilled up while Mel, Andy Jenson and I supervised. It was an undertaking but I think we did the job justice.
Thursday brought us Krystl's first art reception at Scottsdale Community College. She had one of her awesome collages picked to be shown and was awarded an Honorable Mention and a sweetass $50 gift certificate. So rad. She better get some pictures of these badboys up right quick. This was followed by a viewing of Iron Man at the Cine Capri with Mel, Krystl, Joel, Fax, and Maggie. It was a great movie and we were hysterically obnoxious during the previews. At least I was. Ha.
Friday Miss Toni and I took in a showing of As You Like It at the Desert Rose Theatre in Mesa. Shakespeare is simply boring. There, I said it. Christ. There were some stellar performances by select cast members and the second half was far more lively than the first. I have a special place in my heart for tiny theatre companies with little to no money who pull spaces and costumes and sets out of thin air. And this current home was a far cry from the stripmall box they once inhabited. Here's to good luck in finding a new space! Same goes to Stray Cat Theatre who are, once again, stray cats. Let's go back to the old theater. Who needs electrical?! Toni and I then set up shop at Starbucks on Mill and discussed men, life, religion, art, theatre, health…you know, the light stuff, and lamented the queerness of the cute emo boy behind the counter. Toni then may or may not have had her car towed and may or may not have had to dip into her NYC savings to get it out. But I ain't one to gossip so you ain't heard that from me.
Saturday I met Fax at Kate and Blake's son's 2nd birthday party in North Scottsdale. I haven't seen them in almost two years. I was surprised to see Ivan there, but then learned that the night before there had been a full blown Elliots reunion at a corporate event. What I wouldn't have given to be there for that. I miss the hell out of that band. It was so good to talk with them all and to meet little Blake 2, and Ivan's daughter Willa Rose. Now there's a darling little couple in the making. It's amazing the paths our lives take us on. Kate, Blake and Ivan were in a band called The Elliots. They were an incredible band and we followed them all over Arizona. The band broke up and Ivan went solo while Kate and Blake remained a duo. Ivan got married and became a dad and before we knew it Kate and Blake were knocked up and married. To each other. They moved off to Nashville and rock the east coast and Ivan still plays locally. Friday night they all reunited after at least 4 years. Old wounds healed with the magic salve of music and love. I miss all those bastards. Thank you for the music. Keep rockin' it.
I then moved on down to Dave & Buster's to help Ryan ring in his birthday. Shot and Bloody Mary's and fun not seen since Vegas. It's like a Chuck E. Cheese for adults and Debbie is a whiz at these games. I'll let Ryan describe the evening for you in the form of one of his famous drunken rambles from his message board:
wooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo im fivckin drunn,k!!! thank you to nikik and devbbie for making theis it ghe grastaest birtshday! ever!!
seriolusyy! thsi was awesome . ti t waws just the three f su aat dave nu busters and we had a swell time! we woj over 10,000 poiunts on our carsds. We got a xsweetr adss poker set and a vcoin sorter!. I tw as awesome. Devbiibr and i acould fcujkin looose! we kept hitting javckopot after javckopot! I love this pbirthaday! Michele still holds the red[code]ord for the vbestr brithday hparty but this was the grweatseast birthday overall better!
we started wit h libnch at Red Robin, which is the clostest thing to bob's big boy we can get without being in california. the n we wetn to swee iron man which was totallyh badf asstical. the we came home and chiolled for a little whil and went to dave n busters. fgood times. I hafd liotrs of rum n cokes and a few shot of jac k and played lots fo games. I won the diup truck thing dfopr sa shitload of tivkets and then played different games and then debbie plaeyhd the diumptruck game with niki and they won an assload more tiuckets while I played some other dhiit i don ;t even know. OPh yeah. Debbie played some hautned house gaem and she won 15oo tickets off that. anyway we won a lot of stuff! It was radical. you mother fisklckers should have hcome out and played with us we didnt'g et get picturess. whate we dd get was sweet ass poker chips and a coin sorter. jealous? fcccu k yead yhou are. I drank olalot. opps. I dfcu cked that up abbut then ai ficxed tit. . I don't even known. good tiome.s . I love ou all. i love you debbie gfof r majkking theis a radaSS bithday and taking me to dave n busteres and the movie and liunch and stuff and I love you niki for being rad too. ther rest of you bmuther fukers sons of bitches tath didn t show up can kiss m balls. jdub vcan be first in line cuz I nkow he likes the cock.
anyhwhiooa.y. thanks everybodyh for the wells wweisheds and the happyh vbirthdays. You're all rad. but not as rad as me. im radder athan all of yhouul.
i totalyh copy and pasrtted this fromn the other board. I don';t know if you knew rthat or not. but i did. love you fickers. thak you all for coming here and supporteinng this board. for all i know, you all hcould think im just some big assjholle and not gave a fuck. but instead yhou come fhere day after day and that rellaly meqans a lot to me. thank you all. I m a better man for knowing you and I'm a better man for having you all as myh friends. there's nothing I wouldn't do for youl. and the fact that you come here aeveryday means the world to me. thank you brothers and sister. when i finally rule the world you r;'e all on m cool list. II;d' toatoolay bury some priock in the fuclking desert for you.
I love yhou , degbbie. thank you baby for making this tha besst birthday ever.
Slim rocksl. he drew me titties.
Can you handle that?
Sunday brought the great move of Jodi into her own place. Jason, Jodi, Krystl, Jeremy and I managed to pack everything into the U-haul in about an hour and then unloaded it, upstairs, in less. We are a lean and highly toned moving machine. Hugeass pizza, comraderie and our usual wacky banter was our just reward. It was all one hell of a workout. This brings us to my official move in as I took over Jodi's lease here with Mel. Despite everything I own being back home in California, I have clothes hanging in the closet and goodies in the shower. I spent one last night with the fuzzy kitty faces of Danzel and Sydney and still, when I walk in the door, expect to see them both. Taunting each other. Or being unbearably cute. I miss my fish. I'm comin' for you, FeeshMoch!
The job hunt continues and may wrap up nicely by the end of this week. Big weebles out there for me, my friends. Let's get this girl a job! And I believe it was about a year ago today that I had my strabismus surgery. (Eyeball muscle cutting & retying surgery) Wow. An entire year. I saw Doc Graham before I left town and he said my vision was beyond perfect and was incredibly impressed with the precision of the adjustment Doc Deemer did at UCLA. There's not enough info on my rad disease for anyone to know how or when I'll ever need to have either of my surgeries again so I'll do my best to not worry about any little imperfection I come across. Like waking up this morning with my eyelid red and purple, swollen and hurting. I took some Aleve and rocked the frozen pea eye patch, but it's still swollen and tight. It makes me worry about the sling in my eyelid, and it's been a bit hard to not freak out and feel squeamish. Allergies? Did a kitty give me the smack down last night? Was it all the exercise from moving? I cried yesterday but I've cried since my surgery and not had this problem. Get Scoob and the gang in on this one.
Stay tuned for more adventures from Hotter Than the Hinges of Hades central!
Two Weeks Notice
I've done more in the two weeks I've been back in the mystical desert that is Tempe than I'd have done in two months back home. I think it's a sign that this was the right move to make.
I rolled into town to dinner and drinks with Jodi in downtown Phoenix, some acoustical stylings of Jeordie and Jason at The Paisley Violin, a shot from a pissed off bartendress who thought we were underage, and some Kilt Lifters and rock karaoke at The Yucca Tap. Nick and Ali came out to welcome me back to town for this short stint and we knocked 'em back and laughed 'em up, 'Twas a grand beginning.
Friday night brought the whole gang out to The Chuckbox, a great flamed-grilled-in-your-face place we were under the impression was going out of business, for some sweet-ass burgers and shocked and elated looks at my presence. I re-re-reintroduced Mike to Ryan, Morgan, Debbie, Mark, Emge, Nick, Joel, Chole, Terri, Maggie, Lorie, Joe, Taylor, Melissa, Fender, the Fenderlings…it was so wonderful to have the family back together. Most of them, anyway. Many were AWOL that evening. There was laughter and stories and love and bacon laced food and brews…what more could you want? It's what I've been missing for so long, and only had in bites followed by long dry spells. It was a balm, a tonic, a thick gel filled with various cut fruit for the soul. I heart you people.
Mike and I searched for and procured a DVD player in order to introduce each other to the sweetness that is Fletch and Memento, respectively, on his ungodly huge 64 in screen TV. It's like Chevy was right there in the room with us. And there are few things more thoroughly entertaining than YouTubing people being hit in the head with shit. Hours of gut busting laughs. Why did we stop? Hmmmm….Oh yeah. Ha.
We hit snooze a half dozen times before finally getting up to crock pot a pretty bitchen pot roast. The mouthwatering scent would torture us the rest of the day. It's amazing how quickly one sharp knife between two people can cut up a boatload of veggies. We day drank ourselves into a margarita bliss and then met Dave and Shana poolside for cervesas and silliness. A group of kids showed up with beer and a volleyball and it wasn't long before Team Guacamole took on Team Edward James Almos. Unfortunately, the sand in the sand volleyball court was more like shards of glass than sand, so those with more delicate feet…Mike…came away far more than unscathed. Pretty damn scathed, actually. Poor bastard. I have feet of kryptonite and therefore walked instead of hobbled away. They were a great group of kids…Kelso, 1983, Red Shirt, Guy and Chick, Jail Bait…hot tubs, pools, at least 80 beers, upstairs for amazing pot roast, wrestling matches, and balcony heckling Kelso and Guy's one on one v-ball match, and eventually passing out in front of a gloriously life-sized Guy Pierce in Memento. Sunday was a long, lazy day of recovering, the Lakers, and baseball. My fantasy team, Hot Drunk Hate, is kicking some fantasy ass.
Tuesday night Pat and I trekked to North Scottsdale for three hours of sweating our asses off with some East Coast swing dancing followed by pancakes and a Heart Attack burger at Denny's. It's breakfast on a burger. Hash browns, eggs, cheese…one of these days I'll pony up to that bad boy. I think Pat's going to marry it. Another pair of soul mates reunited.
I rocked Third Thursdays at Tempe Marketplace with Fax and Joel. They've got a great outdoor stage and a screen, sold alcohol and the event was free. The world needs more of these. I wish anywhere near my hometown would put something like this together. I wish I could see that actually happening. The first band, Dimonet, was ok. Not horrible, slightly rockin'. The headliner, MGMT, was a bastardized version of emo that I kept waiting to kick in, and they never quite did. I ended up sharing cocktails with a girl named Maria and her Maltese, Ronin. And, of course, lusting after Chuck Powell, DJ from The Morning Ritual on The Edge, who was hosting the event. OK, maybe I did a little more than lust…
I picked Mike up from the airport Friday night and we lounged through Saturday afternoon before tackling the delightfully overwhelming maze that is Ikea. TV: 1, coffee table: 1, couch: 0. Up a wok, down a kitchen rug. Oh, but Ikea has many more wonders in store. Ron, one of my favorite directors ever, scored me a ticket to his sold out final performance of Pulp at the Stray Cat Theatre in downtown Phoenix. It was amazing. So funny, such great costumes and sets, and truly fantastic acting. And so good to see live theatre again. Ahhhh, home. I met my former castmate Mr. Joe Kremer and the cast and crew of Pulp at Icepics where we pulled a pint of the gay, caught-up, drank-up, and laughed-up the rest of the night. Mike set the alarm for 6am to throw the delectable whole chicken and veggies he'd prepared the night before onto the crockpot so it would be ready in time for the gang's Movie Late Afternoon. I was so proud of him for getting up because lord knows I was blissfully in sleepy-land. Craigslist produced a rad couch/love-seat combo for cheap and Mike snagged it. Sweet seats for the afternoon Lakers game with Phil and Brian. We packed up that scrumptious chicken and headed back to Jodi's for a Friday/Harold and Kumar double feature with The Cool Kids.
More swing with Pat, dinner with Toni, Fat Elvises with Jodi, Kelly and Danalynn, my new kindred spirit, acoustic rounds at Yucca with Jodi, Jason, Shelby and Jim, job interviews, thrift store excavating, bookstore pilfering, reacquainting myself with my old stomping grounds, kicking ass at the gym I no longer have to drive half an hour to, fall theatre audition season to gear up for, live music to rock, and planting the seeds for more adventures.Two months in Ojai? I might have had the pleasure of a Shades of Day show, lunch with Chuck and his boys, and a movie alone. Oh, and a hopeless, neverending job search, good friends either an hour and a half south or 45 minutes north, spendy gas and spendy cocktails. What does all of that add up to? A big fat boo, that's what.
No official move yet, but it's safe to say this was the right decision to make. One I have labored over for far, far too long. "Sometimes the wrong direction is better than no direction at all". IS this the right decision? I'd like to think so. For so many reasons I have gone over time and again. Affordability, friends, social life, job opportunities, acting opportunities, and the sense that I made this place my home when I moved here years ago. It's hot as death in the summer, but there's opportunity and possibility here. The Phoenix molts once again, the Russian stacking doll reveals her new layer. Stay tuned, people. The party has only just begun.
I rolled into town to dinner and drinks with Jodi in downtown Phoenix, some acoustical stylings of Jeordie and Jason at The Paisley Violin, a shot from a pissed off bartendress who thought we were underage, and some Kilt Lifters and rock karaoke at The Yucca Tap. Nick and Ali came out to welcome me back to town for this short stint and we knocked 'em back and laughed 'em up, 'Twas a grand beginning.
Friday night brought the whole gang out to The Chuckbox, a great flamed-grilled-in-your-face place we were under the impression was going out of business, for some sweet-ass burgers and shocked and elated looks at my presence. I re-re-reintroduced Mike to Ryan, Morgan, Debbie, Mark, Emge, Nick, Joel, Chole, Terri, Maggie, Lorie, Joe, Taylor, Melissa, Fender, the Fenderlings…it was so wonderful to have the family back together. Most of them, anyway. Many were AWOL that evening. There was laughter and stories and love and bacon laced food and brews…what more could you want? It's what I've been missing for so long, and only had in bites followed by long dry spells. It was a balm, a tonic, a thick gel filled with various cut fruit for the soul. I heart you people.
Mike and I searched for and procured a DVD player in order to introduce each other to the sweetness that is Fletch and Memento, respectively, on his ungodly huge 64 in screen TV. It's like Chevy was right there in the room with us. And there are few things more thoroughly entertaining than YouTubing people being hit in the head with shit. Hours of gut busting laughs. Why did we stop? Hmmmm….Oh yeah. Ha.
We hit snooze a half dozen times before finally getting up to crock pot a pretty bitchen pot roast. The mouthwatering scent would torture us the rest of the day. It's amazing how quickly one sharp knife between two people can cut up a boatload of veggies. We day drank ourselves into a margarita bliss and then met Dave and Shana poolside for cervesas and silliness. A group of kids showed up with beer and a volleyball and it wasn't long before Team Guacamole took on Team Edward James Almos. Unfortunately, the sand in the sand volleyball court was more like shards of glass than sand, so those with more delicate feet…Mike…came away far more than unscathed. Pretty damn scathed, actually. Poor bastard. I have feet of kryptonite and therefore walked instead of hobbled away. They were a great group of kids…Kelso, 1983, Red Shirt, Guy and Chick, Jail Bait…hot tubs, pools, at least 80 beers, upstairs for amazing pot roast, wrestling matches, and balcony heckling Kelso and Guy's one on one v-ball match, and eventually passing out in front of a gloriously life-sized Guy Pierce in Memento. Sunday was a long, lazy day of recovering, the Lakers, and baseball. My fantasy team, Hot Drunk Hate, is kicking some fantasy ass.
Tuesday night Pat and I trekked to North Scottsdale for three hours of sweating our asses off with some East Coast swing dancing followed by pancakes and a Heart Attack burger at Denny's. It's breakfast on a burger. Hash browns, eggs, cheese…one of these days I'll pony up to that bad boy. I think Pat's going to marry it. Another pair of soul mates reunited.
I rocked Third Thursdays at Tempe Marketplace with Fax and Joel. They've got a great outdoor stage and a screen, sold alcohol and the event was free. The world needs more of these. I wish anywhere near my hometown would put something like this together. I wish I could see that actually happening. The first band, Dimonet, was ok. Not horrible, slightly rockin'. The headliner, MGMT, was a bastardized version of emo that I kept waiting to kick in, and they never quite did. I ended up sharing cocktails with a girl named Maria and her Maltese, Ronin. And, of course, lusting after Chuck Powell, DJ from The Morning Ritual on The Edge, who was hosting the event. OK, maybe I did a little more than lust…
I picked Mike up from the airport Friday night and we lounged through Saturday afternoon before tackling the delightfully overwhelming maze that is Ikea. TV: 1, coffee table: 1, couch: 0. Up a wok, down a kitchen rug. Oh, but Ikea has many more wonders in store. Ron, one of my favorite directors ever, scored me a ticket to his sold out final performance of Pulp at the Stray Cat Theatre in downtown Phoenix. It was amazing. So funny, such great costumes and sets, and truly fantastic acting. And so good to see live theatre again. Ahhhh, home. I met my former castmate Mr. Joe Kremer and the cast and crew of Pulp at Icepics where we pulled a pint of the gay, caught-up, drank-up, and laughed-up the rest of the night. Mike set the alarm for 6am to throw the delectable whole chicken and veggies he'd prepared the night before onto the crockpot so it would be ready in time for the gang's Movie Late Afternoon. I was so proud of him for getting up because lord knows I was blissfully in sleepy-land. Craigslist produced a rad couch/love-seat combo for cheap and Mike snagged it. Sweet seats for the afternoon Lakers game with Phil and Brian. We packed up that scrumptious chicken and headed back to Jodi's for a Friday/Harold and Kumar double feature with The Cool Kids.
More swing with Pat, dinner with Toni, Fat Elvises with Jodi, Kelly and Danalynn, my new kindred spirit, acoustic rounds at Yucca with Jodi, Jason, Shelby and Jim, job interviews, thrift store excavating, bookstore pilfering, reacquainting myself with my old stomping grounds, kicking ass at the gym I no longer have to drive half an hour to, fall theatre audition season to gear up for, live music to rock, and planting the seeds for more adventures.Two months in Ojai? I might have had the pleasure of a Shades of Day show, lunch with Chuck and his boys, and a movie alone. Oh, and a hopeless, neverending job search, good friends either an hour and a half south or 45 minutes north, spendy gas and spendy cocktails. What does all of that add up to? A big fat boo, that's what.
No official move yet, but it's safe to say this was the right decision to make. One I have labored over for far, far too long. "Sometimes the wrong direction is better than no direction at all". IS this the right decision? I'd like to think so. For so many reasons I have gone over time and again. Affordability, friends, social life, job opportunities, acting opportunities, and the sense that I made this place my home when I moved here years ago. It's hot as death in the summer, but there's opportunity and possibility here. The Phoenix molts once again, the Russian stacking doll reveals her new layer. Stay tuned, people. The party has only just begun.
Rock, Roll, Climb, Drink, Repeat
The first trip of the year under my belt. In my pocket. Out in the trunk. Under foot. Up in a tree. It's a bird! It's a plane! It was a 6.5 hour drive across the desert. I is fast.
Kirsten, Patrick and I got shitty while wine tasting, had some swank Mexican food, and took obscene pictures at the bar across the street from her house in San Clemente. We were up at my crack and on the road, blazing through sleet and rain, wind and sand, uphill both ways to finally land safely in the arms of Tempe, AZ.
We descended upon Last Exit like homing pigeons. The gang was all there and the Kilt Lifter was quickly poured and consumed with fervor. Hugs and kisses, catching up and car bombs, laughing until we were on the floor. Happy hour was the musical stylings of half of Pants, which we usually call Shorts but that night dubbed Culottes. I even had the pleasure of hearing one of my favorite originals of theirs. "I'm so vain I probably think this song is about me..." Oh, wait. It is one of the songs about me. *sigh* It's a rough life I lead.
The next band up was some emo brothers who probably weren't bad. I mean, I didn't leave the bar, so they must have been OK, but I really wasn't paying much attention to them. And who was that hooded creature rocking the tambourine and feigning back-up vocals? Oh, that crafty Robin Wilson. Up to his old tricks again! I got to lay on the flirt with Devon, my favorite bartender and bar owner ever, and he gifted me some of his Love Nectar. Devon indulged me a few times that night and stole a big juicy kiss at the end of the evening.
Like the uber responsible person I am, we drank until 2am. There were some shenanigans on the car ride home and I believe I made out with Melody. She was the only person in the car I hadn't made out with, or so I thought. But Jodi was driving. She would get hers later...
Cancer walk? CANCER WALK?! Wake up, fuckers! It's 6 in the AM and time to get the FUCK up and walk up a GOTdamn mountain to kick cancer in the nads. I was wicked smaht and slept in my jog bra and shorts. Go Team. Up, awake, driving, AT the meeting place at 10 til 7. Dig on THAT. Alas, our team leader was not. And so, with heavy heart, and awesome team shirt design-less, we jumped on the bus to get to the mountain. It was a delirious and laughter riot filled trek as three of our clan decided to take a shortcut. Yep, a shortcut. They left the road and took off through the desert brush. We kept looking off into the foliage, searching for signs of life, or death, or carnage. I was hoping for carnage. We postulated their various fates, who might have beaten up whom, who would have turned back and headed for the hot dogs at base camp, who would appear with a gnawed off femur in his mouth. And three miles in, low and behold, there stood Faxman, voted least likely to survive the shortcut! And he was entertaining phone calls, no less. Rysham and Hobbit were half a mile ahead of us. Those dirty bastards. I still owe them all a punch to the testicals.
It felt like eons, but we made it to the top of the mountain! There was no cure for cancer waiting there for us, but there WAS a lot of Propel Fitness Water and pastries. Score. On the banners available to sign in dedication to whomever you might have walked for, Ryan wrote: "I cheated cancer". He so did.
We walked the half-mile back down the mountain to join the line to take the bus back down. Some crazy assholes actually walk BACK down. The bus is right here, man! Don't be a sucker! We gorged on sweet, sweet hot dogs back at base camp and then headed home for naptime. Yay, naptime!
The girls and I feasted on Ethiopian food for dinner. Now, I know that you're thinking. They have food? Oh, but they do. And it was some of the best food I have ever had. Ever. The lamb, spicy chicken, salad…I'm drooling. Crimminy, it was tasty deliciousness. We got our beer margarita pre-party on and then sauntered over to Last Exit for the big rock show. Shades of Day had rolled into town at 4 that morning. They made their obligatory trip to Guitar Center and spent the day lounging…I hear my couches are as comfortable as they ever were… before dining on sushi at Ra and tying some on, Irish style, at Rula Bula before hitting the venue.
I was greeted on the patio by half of my boys, Micah and Matt, and the delicious surprise of Robin, Matt's girlfriend. Brendan, Richard and Bruce were putting the finishing touches on the tuning and the drinking inside. We set up the swank merch table, refilled our cocktails, and set in to rock our ever lovin' faces off. And rock we did. I took a bazillion pictures, conveniently located in my pictures. It was a big crowd for an out of town band and the applause and cheering were thunderous. I absolutely loved seeing the crowd being won so completely over. We put a lot of hard work and love into that show and it paid off big time. Tramps & Thieves took the stage and killed like they always do. The Kilt Lifter kept flowing, shots were downed, cameras flashed, and madness not fit to print unfolded.
We stumbled back to Jodi and Mel's, grabbed guitars and had ourselves a good old fashioned sing along. Chapstick, a rolling pin, and plates substituted for drumsticks. Mr. Andy Jensen serenaded us with his acoustic "Kiss Me Deadly" Lita Ford cover. It rocked superhard balls. We drank the house out of booze around 5am and drifted off into drunken slumber. We all managed to be awake around lunchtime and pulled ourselves together for the mouthwatering grub of Four Peaks. The boys were wonderfully hung over and exhausted from an incredible night. And we weren't too shabby ourselves.
Jodi and I had appointments with an incredibly accurate psychic. I have always dabbled in the world of the new age and fancy myself an astrologer and tarot card reader, amongst other things. I had Mrs. Rita, of Gin Blossoms song fame, read my cards years ago, and a palm reader on Venice Beach read my palm one spring break in college, but a psychic I had never seen. She knew uncanny things about me she had no way of knowing…and her predictions are coming true. Dig on that. Oh, there are grand things in store, people. Grand things.
We watched some red carpet highlights of the Oscars and I was glad not to be in Hollywood trying to fight that traffic. Kirsten and I headed for the sunset and rolled back on into San Clemente late that night. I got the first hours of actual sleep from the weekend that night and the longest of the long showers in the morning. I moseyed on back up the coast and stopped in The Valley for some sushi and sights. It was one hell of a weekend. It felt so good to be back in my hood with my homies. You people are the light of my life. I was on fire being with you again. You make me laugh like no others. You're my heart and my home. And I'll see all you Betches sooner than you think.
Kirsten, Patrick and I got shitty while wine tasting, had some swank Mexican food, and took obscene pictures at the bar across the street from her house in San Clemente. We were up at my crack and on the road, blazing through sleet and rain, wind and sand, uphill both ways to finally land safely in the arms of Tempe, AZ.
We descended upon Last Exit like homing pigeons. The gang was all there and the Kilt Lifter was quickly poured and consumed with fervor. Hugs and kisses, catching up and car bombs, laughing until we were on the floor. Happy hour was the musical stylings of half of Pants, which we usually call Shorts but that night dubbed Culottes. I even had the pleasure of hearing one of my favorite originals of theirs. "I'm so vain I probably think this song is about me..." Oh, wait. It is one of the songs about me. *sigh* It's a rough life I lead.
The next band up was some emo brothers who probably weren't bad. I mean, I didn't leave the bar, so they must have been OK, but I really wasn't paying much attention to them. And who was that hooded creature rocking the tambourine and feigning back-up vocals? Oh, that crafty Robin Wilson. Up to his old tricks again! I got to lay on the flirt with Devon, my favorite bartender and bar owner ever, and he gifted me some of his Love Nectar. Devon indulged me a few times that night and stole a big juicy kiss at the end of the evening.
Like the uber responsible person I am, we drank until 2am. There were some shenanigans on the car ride home and I believe I made out with Melody. She was the only person in the car I hadn't made out with, or so I thought. But Jodi was driving. She would get hers later...
Cancer walk? CANCER WALK?! Wake up, fuckers! It's 6 in the AM and time to get the FUCK up and walk up a GOTdamn mountain to kick cancer in the nads. I was wicked smaht and slept in my jog bra and shorts. Go Team. Up, awake, driving, AT the meeting place at 10 til 7. Dig on THAT. Alas, our team leader was not. And so, with heavy heart, and awesome team shirt design-less, we jumped on the bus to get to the mountain. It was a delirious and laughter riot filled trek as three of our clan decided to take a shortcut. Yep, a shortcut. They left the road and took off through the desert brush. We kept looking off into the foliage, searching for signs of life, or death, or carnage. I was hoping for carnage. We postulated their various fates, who might have beaten up whom, who would have turned back and headed for the hot dogs at base camp, who would appear with a gnawed off femur in his mouth. And three miles in, low and behold, there stood Faxman, voted least likely to survive the shortcut! And he was entertaining phone calls, no less. Rysham and Hobbit were half a mile ahead of us. Those dirty bastards. I still owe them all a punch to the testicals.
It felt like eons, but we made it to the top of the mountain! There was no cure for cancer waiting there for us, but there WAS a lot of Propel Fitness Water and pastries. Score. On the banners available to sign in dedication to whomever you might have walked for, Ryan wrote: "I cheated cancer". He so did.
We walked the half-mile back down the mountain to join the line to take the bus back down. Some crazy assholes actually walk BACK down. The bus is right here, man! Don't be a sucker! We gorged on sweet, sweet hot dogs back at base camp and then headed home for naptime. Yay, naptime!
The girls and I feasted on Ethiopian food for dinner. Now, I know that you're thinking. They have food? Oh, but they do. And it was some of the best food I have ever had. Ever. The lamb, spicy chicken, salad…I'm drooling. Crimminy, it was tasty deliciousness. We got our beer margarita pre-party on and then sauntered over to Last Exit for the big rock show. Shades of Day had rolled into town at 4 that morning. They made their obligatory trip to Guitar Center and spent the day lounging…I hear my couches are as comfortable as they ever were… before dining on sushi at Ra and tying some on, Irish style, at Rula Bula before hitting the venue.
I was greeted on the patio by half of my boys, Micah and Matt, and the delicious surprise of Robin, Matt's girlfriend. Brendan, Richard and Bruce were putting the finishing touches on the tuning and the drinking inside. We set up the swank merch table, refilled our cocktails, and set in to rock our ever lovin' faces off. And rock we did. I took a bazillion pictures, conveniently located in my pictures. It was a big crowd for an out of town band and the applause and cheering were thunderous. I absolutely loved seeing the crowd being won so completely over. We put a lot of hard work and love into that show and it paid off big time. Tramps & Thieves took the stage and killed like they always do. The Kilt Lifter kept flowing, shots were downed, cameras flashed, and madness not fit to print unfolded.
We stumbled back to Jodi and Mel's, grabbed guitars and had ourselves a good old fashioned sing along. Chapstick, a rolling pin, and plates substituted for drumsticks. Mr. Andy Jensen serenaded us with his acoustic "Kiss Me Deadly" Lita Ford cover. It rocked superhard balls. We drank the house out of booze around 5am and drifted off into drunken slumber. We all managed to be awake around lunchtime and pulled ourselves together for the mouthwatering grub of Four Peaks. The boys were wonderfully hung over and exhausted from an incredible night. And we weren't too shabby ourselves.
Jodi and I had appointments with an incredibly accurate psychic. I have always dabbled in the world of the new age and fancy myself an astrologer and tarot card reader, amongst other things. I had Mrs. Rita, of Gin Blossoms song fame, read my cards years ago, and a palm reader on Venice Beach read my palm one spring break in college, but a psychic I had never seen. She knew uncanny things about me she had no way of knowing…and her predictions are coming true. Dig on that. Oh, there are grand things in store, people. Grand things.
We watched some red carpet highlights of the Oscars and I was glad not to be in Hollywood trying to fight that traffic. Kirsten and I headed for the sunset and rolled back on into San Clemente late that night. I got the first hours of actual sleep from the weekend that night and the longest of the long showers in the morning. I moseyed on back up the coast and stopped in The Valley for some sushi and sights. It was one hell of a weekend. It felt so good to be back in my hood with my homies. You people are the light of my life. I was on fire being with you again. You make me laugh like no others. You're my heart and my home. And I'll see all you Betches sooner than you think.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
