Friday, May 28, 2010

The $10,000,000 asshole

Michael's asshole was hurt. A man bleeding from his butt. Gentlemen, we can rebuild him. We have the technology. We have the capability to build the world's first bionic anus. His asshole will be that asshole. Better than it was before. Better, stronger, faster. More asshole-y.

Still healing from this surgery. A week after my attack of modern medicine and it hurts like hell. Yesterday was the worst, like becoming personally acquainted with the business end of a hunting knife. I swear, it hits one more time without flowers and chocolate and I'm crying rape. Seriously. I am this close to calling Detectives Benson and Stabler from SVU. Something has to be done about the ass raping hunting knife. That's all I'm saying. And now the Hydrocodone is kicking in. Nighty night.

Thursday, May 20, 2010


"...He smokes his cigarette.
He stays outside till it's gone.
If anybody ever had a heart, he wouldn't be alone..."

I've been in a mood of late. Wallowing in the melancholy. In a way it is a good thing. I am writing again. Prose, comedy, and even blogs. Tonight I sit here with mellow music, my beer, the smoke of my cigarette, and the cool night air. I just got back from performing at the House of Rock and while I should feel high I feel alone. Don't get me wrong, it was a great show. Fabian played 2 great sets, all of the comics were funny, even if the audience was unresponsive, and I got some stage time with the gang. This after being tapped to be co-announcer last weekend at roller derby with Cynde, giving me two chances to perform for the week. I should be riding a high.

I guess part of it is the anticipation of impending boredom as I recover from minor surgery to literally repair my ass hole. It is going to suck and not in the good way.

No. That's not it. I just feel alone. I know there are plenty of people who want to be with me and love me. I am rarely physically alone. I feel alone in the sense that while many people hear me, not many listen. I talk about wanting physical relationships, and I do, but I get those. I want someone that truly understands me, someone who hears my words and understands their meaning, someone strong and independent who is with me not because they need me but because they want me. Is that too much to ask? I wish I knew.

The upside of this is I am at my most creative when in this state. My demons need a voice. My voice needs to be heard. Maybe in their crying out they will find a kindred voice doing the same. If a kindred voice hears me, my demons want to know if you would like to go out for coffee...

"...And we always say, it would be good to go away, someday
But if there's nothing there to make things change
If it's all the same for you I'll just hang."

*Quotes excerpted from Hang-Written by Rob Thomas, Performed by Matchbox 20

Friday, May 07, 2010


I am about to throw a change up pitch here. I'm not posting about any current events or witty observations. I'm going to post about me. Not the blowhard know it all. Not the comedian goofball. Me.

I am a nearly 32 year old man. I have never had a truly successful relationship. I drink at home, by myself. I haven't had a good night's sleep in weeks. I am surrounded by people who want to be around me and I all want to be is alone. Till I'm alone. Then I want to be near people. But I am a bit of a masochist so I stay alone, wallowing in the sweet melancholy of silence. Sometimes I turn on some blues and kick back with a beer. Like tonight, sitting here with the smooth guitar of Citizen Cope, Sideways and some Shiner Hefeweizen.

I live alone with my cat. If there is a more pathetic sentence, I'm not sure where one would find it. That's right, I am a cat owner. Well, I am a cat hold onto-er until Tiff can find a place where she can take the cat. I love my cat, don't get me wrong. It just doesn't do anything for the case for my heterosexuality. I'm 32, single, have seen Rocky Horror enough times to sing along, enjoyed Brokeback Mountain, and know what a duvet cover is. Add a cat and I might as well try out for Fire Island.

I quit my job a month ago and work independently. That is a great way to say I spend most of my days watching Law & Order marathons briefly sprinkled with last night's Daily Show and Scrubs re-reruns. Granted, it is nice to be able to work from home. Until the frige starts talking to you. So I work out. I lift bites of food to my mouth. I walk the long way from the couch to the kitchen. Sometimes I even go for multiple sets, multiple reps. Really helps the weight problem.

I guess what I am trying to say is what most men never admit to. I am depressed. It is hard to admit. It requires putting down the macho bravado, setting aside the ready joke, putting down the witty retort, and just saying it. Saying it in a public forum like this is a bit empowering. I know nobody actually reads this blog but the fact that anyone could feels good. In the off chance I am wrong and someone does read this and gets anything from it, let me know. Leave a comment, send an email, send a smoke signal, you get the idea.