Now, if he would only stop peeing in the sink

The President always has to be the center of attention. Forget that today is my birthday; there is no occasion when it is acceptable that someone else receive more attention than the President. If, for some unknown reason, someone does start to upstage the President, he steps it up a level.
His newest trick: peeing blood.
2 AM, I stroll in my front door and make my way to my bathroom to shower off a long night of pre-birthday celebration. It is only after I have taken my glasses off, and placed them on the bathroom countertop, that I notice the pools of yellow, with red swirls in the middle, resting at the bottom of my sink. The President had been urinating in the sink (and took a dump in the bathtub), but I had assumed it was because I was slacking on my cat box cleaning duties (which I am fairly confident the dump in the bathtub was about). It now looked as though the President had been urinating in the sink due to the relief the cold porcelain provided him as he did his thing.
The next five hours saw me calling every vet listed in the phonebook, before finally deciding that my city was useless and the best plan of action was to drive to my parents’ house so that El Presidente could see his regular vet.
Long story short, after examining a urine sample from my cat (the collection of which is easier said than done), the vet determined that he merely had an infection. An infection that, due to my speedy detection, merely requires two pills a day and should be gone after a week.
It may sound incredibly lame, but the best present I got for my birthday was the news that my cat was going to be fine. The flowers I got were a close second though.


Sunday Confessional

Revenge, I have learned, is far from sweet. It is bitter and saggy, and looks a lot like a shocked, naked eighty-five-year-old woman. As I stood there, on my roof, I wondered if this is how she felt every time she had looked out her kitchen window only to see my naked, white ass.
- 11/18/06

Sometimes, I truly feel that I was born to hold signs high above my head, or maybe just directly in front of me, for a living.
- 11/17/06

Later, I would realize that frantic, rough sex with a relative stranger does not make your problems disappear. Instead, it causes your period to come five days early and leaves you walking like a bow-legged cowboy for the better part of a day. The thing about one night stands is that I inevitably find myself, at the end of the night, sitting on a foreign toilet, head in my hands, wondering what the fuck I was thinking in the first place and hoping that I have enough money left in my wallet to call a cab.
- 11/14/06

As I was re-enacting a scene from Flashdance (forgetting for a moment that I have never actually seen Flashdance), naked, in my bathroom mirror, I glanced towards the window and saw my elderly neighbour staring at me with her mouth agape. I stopped for a minute, panting slightly, like a deer caught in the headlights. Then, finally, I thought "fuck it. she should be used to this by now." and continued on my adventure as a lonely steel worker whose dream it is to dance.
- 11/13/06

I am chasing the dog around the house, with a straw stuck up either nostril, when the doorbell rings. I pause, briefly, to consider who it might be. I am generally so content being a hermit that I sometimes forget I have friends.
- 11/11/06

"But why would someone name a secret crime organization 'the Foot'? It does not sound the least bit intimidating." I whined.
"You are just complaining because you dislike feet in general. Be quiet and watch the movie." She told me sternly.
And she was right, I do dislike feet in general.
- 11/09/06

No matter what any one else may tell you, the grapevine is an acceptable move to bust out at the bar.
- 11/04/06


Monday Night Phone Conversation

"I am considering naming one of my children after a sexually transmitted disease. What do you think?"
"Megan. You cannot do that. You cannot even joke about that."
"Why not? I am thinking Gonorrhea. It has character. It is a strong name."
"You cannot name your child Gonorrhea. That is not even a pretty sounding STD."
"Well, I can't very well name a child "the clap" now, can I? What about Syphilis?"
"That could work. You could call it Philis for short."
"And its middle name will be Viral Herpes. Philis Vi, we will call it."
"That does not sound like such a terrible name, although she will still grow up hating you."
"Who said it was going to be a girl?"
"I just assumed. I mean - wow. A boy? Really? That poor child. What will you do if he ever asks you why you chose to name him that?"
"That is easy. I will just sit him down and say 'well, son, you weren't the only surprise mommy got that night.'"



- A trailer somewhere in Florida. We were outside, playing on the front step, trying to catch lizards as they hurried by. Finally, my father, plastic cup in hand, captured one for us. My sister picked up the cup, slowly, and peered at the lizard hidden beneath it. It was scared, too scared to contemplate escape. My sister, oblivious to the creature’s terror, slowly took hold of its tail and lifted it closer to her face for further inspection. She sat there, staring at it, for several seconds. And then the lizard dropped its tail and made its escape. Still holding the discarded tail, and screaming at the top of her lungs, my sister learned that there are better places to hold a lizard than by the tail.

- In the middle of the night, on a hill that overlooked the entire city. We had diet Pepsi and fireworks. Several cars were parked behind us, filled with lovers and stoners, as we celebrated our country. We shook the pop cans and then opened them, releasing a sticky deluge upon us. The flashing blue and red lights alerted us to the presence of a patrol car. A uniform-clad officer slowly stepped out; his face gave no indication as to what his intentions were. Was it illegal to set off fireworks, unauthorized, on public property? Probably, but the officer only wanted to know if alcohol had been thrown into the mix. We assured him it had not, and, with a smile, he got back into his car and drove off into the night. We all burst into laughter, and then continuing on with our pyrotechnic display.

- On a bed, in a dark room, I laid and watched him. I'd always thought it slightly creepy to watch someone as they slept, but I was beginning to understand the appeal. He looked so innocent, his face relaxed in slumber. I took my finger and ran it slowly over the hair of his eyebrow. I remember thinking that I would be very sad when this all ended.

- Panic. I ran across the dam, frantically looking over each side. I saw him there, twenty feet below, sitting in a puddle. He was crying, but looked to be unhurt. It took me seconds to get to him. "Are you okay?" I asked, as I ran my hands over his head, arms and legs, checking for damage. I couldn't understand his response through his hitching sobs. I scooped him up into my arms and carried him back up the hill to my grandparents' waiting van. My grandfather looked helpless. He'd been too slow and too stiff to make it down the hill before I did. "He is okay." I told him, as I loaded my brother into the van.
Later on, we would laugh about this.


Unfinished Thoughts

"I miss you." his voice echos through the phone. I nod for several seconds before realizing how ridiculous an action it is.
"I miss you, too." I whisper.
"You do?" He asks, sounding almost shocked. "You mean you haven't found another guy to take my place yet?"
His words sound harsh. Did he mean for them to? I decide to ignore his tone.
"Of course not. I am not looking for anyone to take your place." I tell him. "The position is already full." But what that position entails is questionable, to say the least.
A barely audible "I'm sorry" is his response. The funny thing is that he does not sound sorry at all. He wanted to upset me. I guess I should have been expecting this. "I'm not sure how to talk to you anymore." He confesses after several minutes.
I am taken aback by this. Shocked into silence, though I probably shouldn't be. "I'm still me." I tell him. "It's still just me."
I close my eyes and rub my forehead. It is incredibly saddening to think that the loss of a physical relationship is leading to the loss of an emotional one.
"How am I supposed to react to you? What kind of things am I supposed to tell you now? Where do I stop myself?" He says all at once. "All I think about is how I'm not supposed touch you or kiss you anymore."
And now it is me who does not know what to say to him.
- 10/18/06 5:06 AM

All I can think about is chocolate. Sweet, sweet chocolate. Chocolate cake. Chocolate mousse. Hot chocolate. I am not going to be picky about what kind of chocolate. All I know is that I am probably going to die in the next five minutes due to lack of chocolate.
- 10/19/06 1:37 AM

Last week, I ran out of food around the same time I ran out of motivation to do anything. All that was left, between my fridge and my freezer, was some daiquiri mix, an egg, and a container of margarine. I didn't want to eat the egg because it had been in there since the summer and the tub of margarine was obviously out of question as a meal, so I did what I had to do. I made daiquiris. One thing I learned: The more daiquiris you have, the less hungry you get.
- 10/23/06 1:53 PM

Each time I drive in my car, my turns are emphasized by the crashing of weights in the back. A few weeks ago, I had the wonderful idea to start doing exercises that involved lifting a small amount of weight by way of barbell. Shortly after this idea, I drove out to a fitness store and purchased a barbell set so that I could put my plan into action. I know what you are thinking.. You're thinking that the weights have just sat in my car the entire time since I bought them, but that is just not true. They have sat in my car ALMOST the entire time since I bought them. Briefly, I took them out of my car when I was at my parents house and used them roughly five times before it was time to pack them back into my car and head home. And, even though I have been home for almost two weeks, that is where they have stayed ever since. Each day, I back my car into my driveway on the off chance that I might be inclined to take them out, but each day I find another reason to leave them there. After all, they are heavy. You are supposed to work up to that kind of weight, right? And it would be ridiculous just to bring in each weight individually, not to mention time consuming.
- 10/24/06 5:39 PM

Sex in the woods is not as hot as some might think it is. It is full of mosquito bites and unidentifiable decaying organic material in your hair. There is dirt, and there are bugs. There's poison ivy, not to mention slugs. There are sticks and rocks, and pieces of glass. And, if you're not careful, things get wedged in places that they were never intended to go.
There are also animals.
Raccoons. Deer. Snakes. Coyotes. Skunks. Squirrels. Possums. Porcupines. Beavers. Moose. Bears. Dinosaurs.
- 10/28/06 2:18 PM

It doesn't matter what you've seen in the movies, fire departments do not get cats down from dangerously high places. Instead of helping, they will refer you to the Humane Society. What they will fail to tell you is that the Humane Society closes at 6 pm, so you are pretty much shit out of luck.
- 10/31/06 5:49 AM