Ignorance Is Bliss

I've been spending the past few weeks at work cursing the ground my boss walks on keeping busy while I'm updating the company's website because my boss is Hitler revisited apparently I'm the only one in the office who looks like a doormat fears the reaper knows html.

It wouldn't be so bad if he wasn't such a fuck had bothered to give me the information on all of the 200 machines we sell when I asked for it. Or if he wouldn't curse my name blame me for the delay when he waited until 2.5 months after it was supposed to be finished to shit on my head toss the project on my desk.

So I can't wait until the damn thing blows up Terry drops dead it's done because until then I'm Terry's butt boy taking it up the ass somewhat stressed.

And How Was Your Day?

I woke at 1:09 a.m. feeling sick. Not just a headache, not just a jumpy stomach. It was full-blown sick, and I thanked God that my bedroom is actually a master suite with its own bathroom, just fifteen short feet away. No need to bother with a robe or worrying about waking Julie.

After praying in short bursts to the porcelain god for a half hour and seeing my supper make a round-trip, I sat on the cool floor and waited for it to subside.

It didn't.

I found myself praying, too, that it wasn't that bullshit killer flu that's going around. Joe, who works in the front office with me, spent several days shuttling between work, home, and the hospital because both of his young sons have had it. Ron, our new sales guy, was sick for a week.

Now, I have a compromised immune system, and my family calls me "Bubble Boy." I was born that way, and I've gotten used to diligently avoiding viral and bacterial infection at all cost. I'm not always successful, and when I do get an infection I'm down for the count. I was off work for two weeks in January with an upper-respiratory infection that had set up camp and claimed squatter's rights; and in the process I used up all of my sick days for the year.

So you can see why I was praying that I didn't have the flu.

At 2:00 I decided that a hot bath might make me feel better, so I filled the tub and grabbed the book I'm currently reading for the third time ("The Family", by Mario Puzo).

I read 72 pages without having to jump out of the tub to hurl again, so I toweled off and went back to bed. By this time I was completely exhausted but my alarm would be going off in less than two hours. I wasn't going to be much good at work, and I couldn't call in sick, no matter how shitty I felt.

After hitting the snooze bar a few times, I dragged myself out of bed at 6:15 and stood in the shower for twenty-five minutes. I wasn't puking anymore but I felt like someone had filled my intestines with ice water. To say that the feeling was not nice is an understatement.

I dressed, wishing for the millionth time that I could wear this to work instead of this. I checked my messenger bag to make sure I had my wallet, meds, outgoing mail, cell phone, and every other thing I can't go the day without, and left the apartment.

I got sick on the way to work. It sucked.

My day was spent staring at my monitor and watching the clock. I'm sure that I must have accomplished something today, but I can't honestly tell you what it was.

At 4:30 I switched my phone over to voicemail and drove home. I fed the cats, who are sweet to begin with but always give me special consideration when I'm not feeling well, and went to my room to change.

And as I was brushing my teeth I noticed a zit.

With An Offer Like That...

I clicked on my Outlook Express icon a couple of hours after I got home tonight, and gave it a few minutes to download all of my mail. Some days this task takes a little longer, particularly if A and I have been shooting e-mails back and forth while we're supposed to be doing real work; and the more we e-mail, the more I have to sync with my home PC.

And I don't care because our e-mails and text messages and phone calls are the best parts of my day. But I digress...

So Outlook Express finished syncing and I minimized my hand of Free Cell to see what had popped up in the last few hours; and, mixed in with items I've been watching on ebay and jokes from my friend Donna in North Carolina, was a reminder that I need to update my spam filters.

CumOnMyTits! screamed one message from within the once-safe recesses of my Inbox; and, once I had successfully suppressed a bone-deep shudder, the angel on my shoulder whispered in my ear.

Her name is Margaret Cho. And when she whispered in my ear, the next time I read the subject line of that unwelcome message it was delivered unto my brain in her voice.

CumOnMyTiiiiiits! Margaret shrieked, the invitation blended into one long, breathless word, and I found myself laughing hysterically, laughing only the way she can make me. I'm talking crossing-my-legs laughing.

Whenever I need a pick-me-up I'll pop in one of her DVDs -- Notorious C.H.O. is the best -- and laugh myself silly. There's nothing like the expletive-laden comedy of a Korean-American fag-hag to brighten my day.

Especially if she's screaming CumOnMyTiiiiiits!

The Drip-Dry Brain

I could just spit nails.

I'm a member of the L Word Message Boards (yeah yeah yeah, I know; just call me a male lesbian) and I have some fun reading and posting to everyone's threads.

Today, however, another member created a thread suggesting that we transgendered brainwashed ourselves into wanting something different, and that we should have just accepted what we were given.

Now, I always have to remind myself to try and not be offended when people think that I should have ignored what's in my head even though it in no way matches the shell I was born into.

I accept my gender because it's male. What I did not accept was my sex. There's an enormous difference between gender and sex, especially if the two differ. Gender is what's between your ears; sex is what's between your legs.

Why would someone suggest that I put up with it and be miserable every fucking day of my life? I have every right to be happy, too. And how on earth could they even suggest that I brainwashed myself? Guys like me don't just wake up one day and say, "You know, I think I'll be a man now." We live this every day from the time we're little kids -- we just didn't know why we felt "wrong" when we were little because we didn't understand how these things work, and we certainly didn't know the words to express them.

I am insulted and offended. I get used to being called "freak" by ignorant assholes, but I never thought that someone in the community would suggest that I had brainwashed myself and should have just accepted the shitty hand I was dealt.

But that's just me.

Excuse me while I toss my brain in the dryer.

The Best Is Yet To Come

So I'm listening to "Lick It" by God-des and She, and wondering why no one thought to record a song like this before.

It's an instructional song, you see, for men and women alike; an explicit how-to in the fine art of giving oral pleasure to a woman. I've never felt the need for such tutoring myself -- it is, after all, my favorite side-dish -- but the song is good fun anyway.

Now I'm hungry.