me: A Blog

I am not a fan of feet. They're gross. Looking at them. That's gross. Touching them. Gross. So I'm getting a pedicure. Makes sense, right? But I have wine. A small Asian man with a cough forcasting the onset of tuberculosis is filing my toenails. Peering at them through tortoise shell cheaters while wheezing what I'm sure will be one of his last breaths.  It's skeeving me out. The whole combination is gross. A: feet. B: phlegmy old dude. 3: touching. A lot of it. So I suck Cabernet from a Tervis. God I love my Tervis. It allows me to ignore the dot o' snot he keeps sniffing up his left nostril. With each sip, and by sip I mean lengthy suck, I ignore the foot thing. Yet I'm paying $55 (tip included because I can't not tip a dude for making a living off feet) to be outside of my comfort zone for about 30 minutes. I consider it a growth opportunity. Why didn't I bring the 32 oz. Tervis? I don't know the 18 ounces of scrumptious Cab will las...

Cheyenne Frontier Days, "The daddy of 'em all," begins in two days. Some people call it CFD. The Rodeo (always with a capital R). The un-official end to summer. I call it the 10-day blow job. To most of the regular Toms, Dicks & Harrys, the annual spectacle is a good excuse to leave town or head downtown to laugh at the drugstore cowboys and rhinestone hookers who invade our respectably-sized metropolis. But to the a select few, who get to wear a plastic badge announcing them as a CFD volunteer or - God forbid - CFD DV - the chubby screaming to be serviced is already standing at attention ready for all to worship. Those ID-sized badges are a little blue pill of joy marketed under the pretense of community outreach. Too bad the badges don't carry the same FDA-mandated warning advising users to seek help if things don't relax after four hours. The CFD DV badge provides folks who carry some sort of important-sounding title with perks at the rodeo (like free ...

Today is the day Hallmark has required all of us to honor the men who contributed half our DNA. I don't need a day for that. Dad rocks it every day. And he knows it. I tell him that often - especially since he mows my lawn every Monday, hammers stuff into my walls, rescues me when the basement floods and takes me to lunch every other week. I got lucky. He's coming over later (w/ Mom, obv) to have dinner. Steak, corn on the cob and potato salad. I think that works as a good celebration for him as an amazing hero, role model, pool boy. Also some sort of an ice cream sandwich layered with other ice cream flavors cake-thingy that is taking up space in the freezer and is hopefully edible. It is ice cream. How can that not be edible? Thinking about what makes Dad amazing, I have to start with two words. Patient and kind. Neither is more important than the other, they are both equally my dad. Resourceful also works. Skilled makes the list. Funny. Smart. Gentle. Calm. I'm glad ...

Topic of thought tonight: honesty. Is it the best policy? Always? Or does timing, location, and obv, word choice make a difference? Does honesty + timing + location = judgement? Take this scenario that may or may not have been a personal experience. Trent (fake name to protect the not so innocent) and I met in a hotel for mid-week sex.  Hotel sex? On a Wednesday? Sweet! I was pumped. Wore matching undies and, sit down for this, shaved my legs.  Was anticipating a pillow-biting, headboard-banging, banshee moaning evening. I got 3 minutes.  Tops. Honesty: "Trent, last night was not the best sex we've had." (said in the morning while brushing my teeth) Judgement: "Three minutes? Seriously?" (said at minute 4 as he begins to snore on my chest) Emotional intelligence and rational thinking were two attributes - when it comes to honesty - my friend said, are two keys to honest communication.  I couldn't agree more.  We also agreed the problem...

Today is all about doing what I should have done almost a month ago - clean the basement. Why a month ago? Dec. 27 was the last day my cat, Simba, used it as a litter box. Simba was only 3 months shy of 18 when I chose to end her life. She was diagnosed in November with the first stages of kidney disease and a few weeks later, after noticing she was peeing enough to fill a kiddie pool, the vet determined she had diabetes. I made the decision to put her down instead of allowing our relationship to degrade into one that featured two needle sessions per day and lots of mopping and paper towels. I am struggling with that decision which is why, in part, I've avoided the basement. That was her domain. I only ventured there for laundry and cleaning up after her. Which I did for the last time that day. But enough of that. Still not ready to delve into that emotional mess. The other part of basement avoidance is honestly I am not into cleaning. Everyone who know me knows I despise vacuuming...

My close friend Ivy bought me one of those thought a day calendars for Christmas. 365 days of infinite wisdom to meditate upon and, maybe, absorb into my psyche to be a better person. Two problems: 1, usually I see the daily thought once every few days as I tear off multiple pages to catch up. And, I've noticed the advice can be somewhat sketchy, at times. For example: This tidbit was the advice for Jan. 8.  First thing I thought was "Wow, creepy dating advice." I even sent a pic to Ivy and asked if she ascertained the same subliminal message. I mean, what's "old"? AARP membership eligibility? Retirement? My age plus 15? Who's to say. (For the record, I consider someone too old to be in my body when they have 12+ years on me). But the more I think about it, I'm sure it is encouraging me to not be a fuddy-duddy and have gruel fed to me three times a day by a CNA. I get it. Attitude is everything and why not start a new year with a bright attit...