The Weather Folks Are Calling For...

...another round of winter weather here for tomorrow.

It's supposed to start out as snow and then change to freezing rain. I'll determine my travel plans to and from work in the AM. Of course, these masters of meteorology can never be "specific". Which just befuckles my ass because they have all these technological instruments at their disposal, but it seems they can't make very good use of them. Maybe I'll be spending the night at work or maybe a Comfort Inn or some such. Work doesn't serve alcohol, so it's a likely guess I will risk life and limb to find some place close to work, since it's going to be worse in my neck of the woods.

I'll deal. What throws my ass into a fit of angry, gaseous rage is the amount of people that converge on the market to get "staples" to get them through the onslaught. Gallons of water, tons of bread; you know the scenario. I had to go tonight to cash my check. Bejesus, the lines were ten deep. I was out of wine so I had to get that and some tostitos and cheese sauce. Those are staples. No water, no beans, no TP, no fried chicken, no dog food, no bread, no bologna. I'm keepin' it real. If my ass is stuck in the house I'm gonna pleasure my palette and my grief-stricken liver. If I run out of TP I'll run outside and grab a leaf or two. Three if I drink too much. I'll update tomorrow.

This Should Make You...

...very, very afraid.

I Generally Don't Pay Any Attention...

...to my site meter. I know what I do is the process of a troubled mind and I don't expect anyone to come along for the ride.

But I find it odd that on the occasions I do check it, the hits go down, but the time of visit goes up, and vice versa. This is a conspiracy of aliens, no doubt. I refuse to play the game. I do this to fill a void. It's not for some deep-seated psychological aberration. If you read, you do, if not, it makes no matter. Most of us write bullshit, expecting others to care. And when they say they do, it's unlikely they are telling the truth. It's just part of the phenomena.

I Was Expecting A Good Ass-Fucking...

...when I did my taxes last night. Turned out it wasn't an all-nighter. And the lube was scented. And fruit was involved. I made a decision to up my last estimated tax payment by three hundred buckaroos. It payed off.

For those of us that are mathematically challenged, doing taxes is nothing short of wishing someone would stick a needle in your eardrum. For the years I was married they were done by the banks CFO. Yeah, that was sweet. After that, I had to do my own. Trying to figure out the tables and such forced me to make it a 24 beer experience rather than the 12 I had originally planned on. By the time I was plastered finished I had no idea if it was correct, but I sent it out anyways. Never had any problems to the negative, and actually one year had the IRS amend it and add some change to my coffers. Sometimes alcohol makes us stupid, sometimes not. I play the odds.

Best thing that ever happened for those of us that can't tell what the difference is between a quart and a gallon, is TurboTax. I had mine done in less than 15 minutes. Both federal and state. Knew what few docs I needed, since I only have a W-2, estimated taxes and my whopping interest of $18.06 from my bank. Plug in the numbers, click a few buttons and send it off to the printer at work over the VPN and it was waiting for me this morning. Kinda like looking up a recipe for beef stroganoff and finding it on the stove when you walk in the kitchen. I've been using it for about 5 or 6 years, since the price came down. I don't have any deductions other than the standard ones, but it keeps me from trying to add numbers that are over 100.

So I'm hoping they come out with a version of the BOOK Gray's Anatomy(yep, it's a book, written in 1918) that will tell me how to rip out my prostate and hemorrhoids at the same time. Not sure what I'll use as anesthesia, but it surely will be a good vintage of Crown Royal. Beer or wine just wouldn't meet the muster for this scenario.

This Is Just Pure...

...horseshit, all this outpouring of grief and sadness because some horse kicked the bucket.

Someone on the news last night even mentioned that his last meal was grass. HUH?? Who gives a flying fuck. The only people who should even care one bit are the owners because they just lost the chance to make about $300,000 each time he went to stud. It never ceases to amaze me how people react when some celebrity(either human or otherwise) bites the big one. They act as if they were personally involved with them. Fuck you, you're a moron.

Blogger Sucks Ass...

...big time. First they hijacked me over the weekend and made me convert to the new version, then when I sign in now I don't have any of the new tidbits that are supposed to make it so special. My patience is wearing thin with this bullshit.

I would bullet this stuff, but I'm not in the mood, so I'll rifle it off.

To the boys...thanks. She's your grandmother and she sucks when it comes to technical stuff. I can't reiterate enough how lucky I and their mother are to have spawned two great human beings. Selfless to a fault, but within reason to keep their own needs met. Perfect. Thanks guys.

To BG in Monroe, NC, well fuck you too. On many an occasions you called me for advice about the kid . Did I ever say no? I talked for hours so you could go to bed with a comforted mind. Pull your head outta your diseased body parts. You and Babs would make a great team. Would last about two minutes. Depends on whose ego would win. My bet is Babs.

Whether you like sports or not, golf or not, watching Tiger coming down the back nine on Sunday is nothing short of drama. Good fun.

It's 24 time and I'm nursing a bad back that has my left side paralyzed. Such fun.

The Few, The Proud...

...The Marines.

The nephew, with two tours in Iraq, got his sergeant stripes yesterday. Need I say more??

This Is The Main Section...

...of the complex.

Chock full of stuff. The wall prints are all Ansel Adams. Nobody better. The books between the lions heads are the Encyclopedia of Philosophy. I bought them back in 1976. Thirty years old. Weathered and well used in their time, but now just for show.

Some expensive wine glasses on top of the lion's heads. A Christmas gift from brother number one. The one on the right got one woman nekkid for a brief period. Until she passed out. So much for love.

Some pictures of the boys when they graduated from high school, my folks, a titled lamp shade, and my leather jacket with it's rip cord, in case I have to exit the planet.

My life, my times. Boring as hell, but it is what it is.

This Is Central Command...

...whereby I drum up my idiocy.

Laptop hooked up to a VPN router, smokes, wine and various and sundry manuals for the electronic gadgets I have. Spartan, but functional. Simplicity at its best.

That stain in the center of the chair, I have no clue. I can't see it under normal light. I guess my ass is leaking when I sit in the chair naked. It must be some sort of biochemical thing I'm not aware of. I sniffed it and it don't smell like ass, so I'm good.

Just For Shits And Giggles...

Two women friends had gone for a girl's night out. Both were very Faithful and loving wives, but they had gotten over-enthusiastic on the Bacardi Breezers.

Incredibly drunk and walking home they needed to pee, so they stopped in the cemetery.

One of them had nothing to wipe with so she thought she would take off her panties and use them. Her friend however was wearing a rather expensive pair of panties and did not want to ruin them. She was lucky enough to squat down next to a grave that had a wreath with a ribbon on it, so she proceeded to wipe with that.

After the girls did their business they proceeded to go home.

The next day one of the women's husbands was concerned that his normally sweet and innocent wife was still in bed hung over, so he phoned the other husband and said, "These girl nights have got to stop! I'm starting to suspect the worst.. My wife came home with no panties!!"

"That's nothing" said the other husband, "Mine came back with a card stuck to her ass that said..... "From all of us at the Fire Station. We'll never forget you."

So...You Think I Was Kidding...

...when I said my place was small? Here's a pic of my kitchen. I'm standing on the edge of the rug you see.

The rug is 5 1/2 feet long. No biggy. I'm a skinny fuck so I can work just fine. Makes it hard working the other way, though. And there have been numerous times when I banged some body part or another on something in this cramped space. But it's been home for over eight years. I can walk around here blindfolded and do whatever needs doing. It is what it is.

I Watched American Idol...

...for the first time last night.

I'd heard and read some things about how hard the judges were on the contestants so I thought I'd check it out and see what all the hubbub was about.

HOLY FUCKAMOLY!! That trio isn't hard enough on some of those dipshits that think those guttural sounds emanating from their voice boxes should be considered music. What members of these contestants inner circle are encouraging them to get up on stage and make complete asses of themselves? On national TV, no less.

It's not a show I would normally watch, but I'll tune in periodically just for the comedic value. I love a good crash and burn.

These Are The Types Of People...

...that keep me reading blogs. The complete fascination with the shifts in people. This woman, in my opinion, has more going for her than any of her contemporaries.

Law school, several other degrees, snowboarding, friends, looks, great body and a proclivity to write. And yet she never seems happy. It could be an act, or the overextension of a young mind. Or just the railings of someone that has thrust too much upon themselves. As have others. I'd like to wrap my legs and arms around her for therapeutic affect, but that would come later. But it just brings to mind how various and sundried blogs are, and how the human mind works. It's fascinating to me. But of course, so is a piece of bread and lighter fluid. It is what it is.

I Purchased A Digital Camera Today...

...from a guy at work. I was wanting to get one for Christmas, but all the good ones are pretty expensive.

I didn't want anything fancy, just something that would do the basics. It's a Fuji, has some bells and whistles and connects to my PC. Retails for $150. He sold it for $100. Simple is as simple does. Took about twenty minutes to get it up and working, in a painless fashion. The pic is of my wall. Yeah, I know, weird way to position pictures, but they are from the ex when she came to visit one time. The wall is so small that it was the only way we could make them work. So now I can take pictures of my ass when I tell someone to kiss it and it will be authentic. I'm excited!!!

Hmmm, Lot's Of Hat's In The Ring...

...over the weekend. Obama and Edwards already in, then Clinton, then Richardson. The Republicans have a few but they aren't quite as quick to draw the pistol.I'm not happy with any of them, so I suggest a write-in campaign for a very worthy gentleman. He has life experience, eclectic in his outlook and beliefs. Not a phony. So I offer you my choice for the next preznit of the USofA...

What? You got a better idea?

It Is What It Is...

...and we live with one foot in the shower and one in the grave.

The youngest had his wisdom teeth removed yesterday. Benign enough, as things go. But I was a wreck, for the simple fact that I wasn't there. To hold his hand, give him comfort and hope. Doing the Dad thing. He came out of it fine. But dammit, I like being a father and I don't like to see my kids go through pain.

I know some parents that have given up on their kids or have chosen to put their own needs ahead of their children's. They suck, and then some.

I'm not advocating a belief that things are either black or white when it comes to parenting. But I know what I know, and it's the right thing. I'll take the foot in the grave when it comes to my sons.

If You're A Diehard Empiricist...

...you can leave now. Go take a dump or hang out with other turds. This post is for thinking people.

When I was a younger man I was anti-science, which led me to my philosophical side. Which led to my religious side. So I went to college at a Benedictine monastery. Fascinating experience, but I was too much of a rebel to go the full course.

As I've gotten older, I see the how the disciplines work together. There are no set answers. There are only arrogant shitheads that refuse to admit that it works both ways. If there is a God, which empiricists won't admit, then they immediately beg the question. Shit for brains.

You can choose to believe or not. It becomes a matter of faith. What sticks in my craw is individuals that want it both ways. God either is or he/she/it isn't. I've always followed the credo that I hope God believes in me.

I hope it for you as well.

The Lying Ass Weather People...

...said last night that we could expect a light wintry mix starting about 7AM this morning, but with little or no accumulation.

I woke up at 4:45 and peered out the window and what to my wondering eyes should appear? Snow!! WTF? I thought you mutherfuckers said 7AM. I'll give you a window of an hour given the fact that meteorology isn't an exact science, but holyfuckamoly, you missed by lots of ticks of the clock. Even with all your high-tech gizmo's. You people should have to go work at a landfill.

Now, in my past I wouldn't have been concerned. I would have taken my intrepid ass out and driven about anywhere. 6, 10, 12 inches. No problem. Not so any longer. I'm pussyfied now. And being the nervous bitch that I am, the more I peeked out the window, the harder the crystals were falling. And those demons were BIG.

So I grabbed me some java and parked my ass in my recliner and turned on the morning news. Usual bullshit. Light mix, roads are good, won't last long. HUH? Where you broadcasting from sugar tits? My windshield already has a 1/4 of an inch on it. So I sat for an hour and put my faith in the people that are supposed to give me "up-to-date" forecasts.

At six I peeked out once again and another 1/4 inch had fallen. We have a foul weather mailbox at work where you call an extension and a voice comes on telling you if there are delays or cancellations. I called. No message. OK. I try to keep myself on a schedule, in spite of my wussiness, so in the shower I went to keep my schedule of leaving for work at 7.

Out I came, all squeaky clean. Put on my jeans, socks and boots, lathered my skin with lotion, and got another cup Guy. Peered out the window again and the flakes were as big as a Ritz cracker. HAH!! Another 1/4 inch. Decisions, decisions.

So I finished dressing, yielded a broom and ventured out to clear the F-150 and warm it up. It's damn pretty, but it was slick as Clinton. Came back into the apartment soaking wet, lit my ass a fag and poured another cup of jumpstart.

Now I haven't driven in the snow in 7 years. As I said, I used to do it all the time, but those mammaries are long since gone. But I decided what the hell. Add some excitement to your life. So off I went into the crevice that could be my demise. Driving a truck in the snow is not like driving a car. You have no weight over the rear tires. You're up a little higher. It just handles differently. And that it did. I live at the bottom of a hill. Not a big one, but enough that if the road heading either way gets slick, your ass ain't going anywhere. I had to make a decision. Go left, and it's shorter, but steeper. Right, not as steep, but slicker. I went right. Halfway up the hill I meet a school bus. WTF?? Are their people not out here monitoring this shit? So, having to stop halfway up the hill I was regretting my decision and thought of turning the hell around and grabbing a glass of wine. But not this time. I was feeling my testosterone. And I had my broom. Took me five minutes to get the rest of the way up the hill. I did a Lance Armstrong arm raising thing when I got to the top. Where's my yellow jersey baby cakes?

Now, remember, it's still dark out, and I'm as blind as a bat when it comes to driving in those conditions. And you have the usual assholes that act as if they are driving in Miami at high noon. So I took my time, no higher than 35MPH, kept my distance, pumped the breaks, kept in any tracks I could find, and 45 minutes later I was at work. Saw 5 wrecks, one really serious. But I was there unscathed. And found out when I got there they had canceled school. Fucktards.

I have balls. REALLY BIG BALLS!!! Black ice in the morning. I need to go out and get larger undies to accommodate these suckers if I decide the tackle the elements again in the morning.

I Am Sorry To See...

...this lady go. I was just getting into her recipes. Guess Big Dick lives up to his name. Must have worn her ass out. Back to my beef-a-roni.

It Always Befuckles Me...

...when people spew forth from their mouth "I live each day as if it were my last".

I know what they are trying to convey by this statement, but in my opinion it makes them mental midgets. If, in fact, you had some cosmic knowledge as to your earthly demise, I doubt you would go about your daily activities.

For the most part, we turn our fate over to the gods in hope that we make it through another day as we go about our business. We wake up, shower, if you do so, maybe get some early morning nookie, breakfast, pay some bills and the like. I hardly think these are things you would do on your last day on the spinning planet.

In my feable mindset, those that speak these words are ignoring the fact that we all live as if it were our last day. One can leave their driveway and be killed in an accident a block away. An aneurysm. An AAA. We count on the fact that it won't be us. That is the way of life.

If you KNEW it were your last day, what would you do? I have a few tidbits I'll convey later. But the statement, in and of itself, is idiotic. Everyday could be our last. If you are one that believes it, quit your job, run roughshod over people that confront you, tell people what you really think, strip nekkid in a mall. In essence, throw caution to the wind.

Not likely to work in a world where we have to keep up our responsibilities and such. A better way to put it might be "If I knew today was my last, I'd say say fuck it and do what I want." Even then, I doubt you would. The prospect of death is one that we bury so deeply in our psyche's that we dance around it as best we can.

Just a thought. I'm off to see the man behind the curtain to see if I can negotiate some extra time, since I can't click my ruby heels together.

As I Stated Earlier...

...I'm a big fan. But they need to can this thing after this season. There's only so long you can play out the terrorist thing, the "get down it's a bomb", the "thank you Mr. President", the "get me the file". It's become trite and predictive. Good run, move on.

Mash ran for 9 seasons, if memory serves me correctly. I was much younger back then, but the last three seasons were shit. There comes a time when you have to cut the rope. Now is the time.

I Was Emasculated Today...

...when I got some stamps that had spicy condiments on them. Fuck that. Give me an image of a lady body builder or a slab of meat. Condiments? We are going to hell.

And right damned quick...NO wonder stamps cost what they do. They have to get artists in there to draw these silly ass things. Why do I want to put a group of chili peppers on my letters? If it was the group I'd be accepting of it. The Post Office sucks. It's Government. What should I expect.

There's A New Study Out...

...that says 51% of women are single. I'm good with that. I wouldn't marry a man either, but my proclivity leans the other way, so I disqualify myself.

I'm all for the advances that women have made. They make more money, have more options and are more respected by most. The interviews I saw said the main ingredient in this change was that they got to come and go as they please, they eat what they want and can decorate as they please. Again, I'm all in favor. There are all sorts of new toys out there for women so dick's are becoming obsolete. The local home improvement places have classes that encompass a myriad of projects.

Women don't need men any longer. And that's fine. We can quit complimenting them, quit telling them we love them, quit spending hundreds on trinkets for gifts, quit offering to cook for a week. Hell, we can quit damned near all of it. And they won't raise a voice about how insensitive and uncaring we are. It'll be like living with two men. That should be fun. I may turn gay. But in my world the solution would be easy. If only they knew how to serve beer. It's a no-brainer...

It May Be My Nature...

...but I seem to notice things others don't. I'm a constant observer. Maybe I'm just clearly crazy, which I won't rule out.

I saw something at the bank today that sent my retinas into some sort of fuzzy confusion. So much so that it left me speechless for a few seconds.

I'm all for women's cleavage and anticipate any chance I'm given to gaze upon it, given, of course, the fact that it's good cleavage. Over sized women don't have good cleavage. They're just fat and so are their boobs and they kinda spill out of their blouses that are too small. The teller today is one of those women. Short, fat and trying to flaunt her buxomness. Not overly so, to her credit, but enough that were it a smaller woman with the same endowment it would have been enough for me to gaze upon them surreptitiously until my transaction was over.

But to my surprise, it looked like there was mildew in this woman's titties. I kid you not. I was reluctant to concentrate my leering upon said area, but it was so obvious that it sent my synapses into a spin. I wanted to help the lady for fear that the culture could perhaps start eating her skin. Since the bank is in my local market I immediately thought of sprinting to the cleaning section and scarfing a bottle of X-14 to quell this outbreak. But I wasn't sure she would have appreciated my effort. I mean spritzing her may not have been socially acceptable.

I pondered this on the way home and decided that if I ever personally encounter another set of big titties I'm going to do an EPA evaluation on them first. After all, there could be Radon in those suckers as well.

I Was Having A Beer...

...with Fr. Tom. A dear and blessed man. I was 22 and I expressed my frustration with people not being "perfect".

He looked me square in the eye and said, "Son, if you expect perfection, you will spend your life alone. Being human means accepting the foibles of others. A narcissistic person stares in the water and admires themselves. A genuine person stares into the eyes of another human being knowing they are human.

I took that advice to heart and learned to accept people as they are. It has served me well. Some people, like this person,
seem to believe that the world is inhabited by saints. Her included. It's called Narcissism. Nuff said.

Take Your Aspirin...

...if for no other reason than it's good for you and might keep your ass from droppin' over dead.

I take one to two 81mg everyday. It helps prevent heart attacks. I should have had one by now, given my history of smoking and drinking. But I take so much other shit that I should be immune.

I have a heart condition called Mitral Valve Prolapse(told ya genetics were fucked). I first became aware of it my freshman year in college. I was trekking through the mountains at Appalachian State with a doobie buzz fueled by Jethro Tull when I shimmied under a fence to get to some farm animals (don't ask). It was for a biology class, I declare to this day.

When I stood up my chest felt like an elephant had sat on it and I almost passed out. Went to an MD a few weeks later and they couldn't find anything. It wasn't until I was 28 when it was diagnosed. It isn't life threatening in the sense that it will kill you dead, but it could if the valve goes into a prolonged state of floppy and you lose consciousness. Most times, when it happens, it brings on a state of hyperventilation, which just compounds it.

I've learned to live with it. No biggy. If I'm driving and it happens, I just pull over and wait for it to pass. Bad part about it is that you have to take antibiotics if you ever go to the dentist because it(the valve) could get infected from all the crap in your mouth. I think that's bullshit, but I've abided by it.

Lewis Grizzard, one of the best comedians ever, died of something similiar. Way too young. No point in this post, as with most. Just take your aspirin. It might save your life.

I Have A Question...

...and the only person I could think of to go to was this woman.

She's a cook. She watches the Food Channel. Why do people applaud the chef's when they add garlic to their dish? I do that every night and I hear nothing. What's with that?

Either God Is A Cruel Jokster...

...or my Dad had an infection in his nuts when he boffed my Mom the night of my conception.

I came out of my mombo's vajayjay with a build like Pee Wee Herman. All dick and bones. That's what my Aunt said. I didn't understand her words, but I saw that look in her eyes. Of course, Pee Wee wasn't around at that time, but God had planted visions of him in aunties head and she knew.

I hated those years growing up being ridiculed for my skinniness. Athletic I was, and then some. Everyone thought I had polio and marveled at the strides I had made to overcome my affliction. My gym teacher was amazed I could outrun everyone in my class. By minutes. So I suffered through the denigrating comments.

Until it came to shower time. Suffice it to say I knew then that God had made a mistake. He had a hangover or something when he joined those eggs and cheese. I wasn't supposed to be Pee Wee. I was supposed to be Trace.

So I changed my body make-up by working out and I got pretty big for an ectomorph. God would have nothing to do with it. He slapped my ass down. He threw the EX in the mix. That's as far as I'll go with that one, but it's been downhill from there.

So, it's popcorn boxes for me. They're not so bad. Kinda cramped. But to be expected. I've tried negotiating with the big man, but he won't have anything to do with it. I guess I can live with it. But if I read something about Pee Wee and Trace getting caught somewhere, doing something really off the wall, I'm cashing it in.

Verily, Verily, I Say Unto You...

...the God of Jehovah will come visit bad shit upon your ass. And it will happen. Because I have a history with the Beach Boys, and they know vibes. Good vibrations and all that shit.

I won a contest back when I was 11 and got to meet them backstage at the old Charlotte Coliseum. I took "Moose" with me. She was visiting for the summer. Tall girl. Like 6'2". Good times. Great concert. She was a very loving and gregarious girl. We had no clue what body parts to explore, but we did our best.

Women today are jaded. They've lost faith. So be it. I'm glad I've purged the few that I had hanging around. They aren't worth talking to. It's always suspicious. Something behind the scenes. But they will continually go out and find the assholes. Not that I'm not. But there are good rims and bad. I think I'm a good one.

Sheeth Your Swords...

...ye that tend to judge.

So I have feces and spermatozoa in my underwear. They co-exist. Peacefully. I shan't change my ways. Besides, I'm watching Valley Of The Dolls. Go away and leave me in my excrement. I'll clean up in a bit. Then I'll ponder if Kierkegaard was really melancholy. Should be a good day.

I Belong To Several Cancer Mailing Lists...

...and have read many horror stories. I can attest, from personal experience, to the fact that you can get lost in the mix of that which is health care. It takes a lot of diligence on the part of the patient to make sure it doesn't happen. But this one just stunned me. Have a read...

My name is Gregory Brown and I am a 34yo male living in Los Angeles.

In November of 2004, I noticed a small spot on my cheek while I was shaving and I brought it to the attention of my doctor in December.

For six months and repeated visits she told me to "chillax" and that I worry too much. Unfortunately, I put a lot of faith in this doctor and followed her advice to simply keep an eye on it.

I saw her in March and June of 2005; still getting the same response even though it was growing. By that time I was covering it with a band-aid and even using makeup on ocassion.

In July, 2005 I went to Urgent Care and inquired about the spot, which had since grown to about the size of a dime and was a deep purple/blue color on the surface of my skin. I was finally given a referral to a Dermatologist who removed the lesion under the guise of "out of sight, out of mind".

During the follow-up appointment I was told that it was stage 3 melanoma and surgery was highly recommended. By the time a course of action was plotted and the scheduling was prepared it was October, 2005. It had been eleven months since I had initially brought it to the attention of my doctor.

I went into surgery to have the tumore removed from my face in November, 2005. During the surgery they also removed 17 lymph nodes in my neck, two of which tested positive for cancer cells.

In January, 2006 I was cleared to begin radiation therapy and endured a two and a half week course of high doses of therapy that tore apart the interior of my mouth and left me feeling nothing short or aweful, yet I was hopeful and confident this would be the end to my dilemma and the beginning of my recovery.

I spent the following months undergoing CT & PET scans at three-month intervals in which I repeatedly received a "clean" bill of health.

The week of Thanksgiving, 2006 I noticed a faint bruise covering a small nodule in the exact same spot as the original melanoma tumor and I notified my Oncologist. I was scheduled to see him in the beginning of December. I also made an appointment with my surgeon to secure a second opinion.

At the same time my Oncologist cancelled my pre-exisiting appointment, stating he was going on vacation for a month and refused to give me a referral for the routine CT & PET scans that I had been receiving all along. Even when I mentioned that I had a "new concern in the same spot", he failed to hear my cause and left me to my own devices and to worry.

I contacted my surgeon again, whom ordered a needle biopsy to give themselves the best chance possible of detecting any suspicious matter within the nodule. It came back negative for melanoma.

I recently saw my surgeon again. She cut into the nodule to see if it was an undisolved suture or tissue that had been affected by the radiation treatments I recieved in the previous year. During that procedure she told me that she did not like what she was seeing.

Today (January 4, 2007) I got the news that the Pathologist concluded it was recurring melanoma exactly where I had spotted it fifteen months before. Exactly where the surgery had been performed, only deeper into my cheek tissue.

I am now due to lose the cheek on the left side of my face and faced with yet even more uncertainty. As of today I will have to undergo skin grafting of some sort (the details are yet to be determined) to reconstruct my cheek and the left side of my face. I have yet to hear of the exact date of the procedure and the finals details.

I am worried about what I might endure as I have twice brought my concerns to my doctors and twice they have failed to show any care for my situation. Not once, but twice I was left in a "holding pattern" while I was frantically waving a red flag at them.

As I mentioned, I am a 34yo male and I have lost my brother to murder on my sister's birthday in 1992, when he tried to stop a robbery. I lost my mother to colon cancer in 1998 and my sister - who was left distraught over the series of events, passed away on January 6, 2000.

I am now living with my father, as we are the only two people that remain in our family.

From the first day that I knew something was wrong I began calling out for my HMO to help me and they have ignored my warnings and cries for help - with the exception of one person, the Otolaryngologist (surgeon). She has been pulling the weight of everyone at the hospital to make sure I am not forgotten.

I came across your story and your web site while I was reviewing articles on recurrant melanoma and facial reconstruction.

Of course I am scared and worried but I am also a fighter and a survivor. I am more worried about my father and the sacrifices our family has made - as a whole - than I am of my own appearance. In Los Angeles, that tends to be far from the norm.

As I type to you I have a large, swollen cheek from the biopsy and am covered in a head bandage.

During the previous operation my neck was pulled up to meet my cheek and now I face a more complicated surgical procedure in the exact same spot that I did only 14 months ago.

I cannot understand why someone can be ignored by doctors and Oncologists when I have repeatedly called out to them that something is wrong and needs to be investigated.

From the sounds of it I am fast-approaching a surgery similar to the one you endured - that is, if they do not forget about my needs.

I have faith in myself, the willpower and strength to not give up but I cannot go at this alone. While I do have my father and a supportive group of friends, none of us are doctors.

Twice, I have done my job as a human being and a patient. Twice, I inquired about a noticeable problem and change in my skin. Twice, I have been ignored and overlooked.

I am angry at myself for trusting in doctors who proudly hang credentials on their office wall and I am fearing the series of events that lay before me, yet I also plan to fight and win this new battle that looms before me.

My biggest problem is that my HMO is not recognizing my needs and in an environment/climate such as Los Angeles, my nature of being fair-skinned and blue-eyed, their will to care for me as both a human being and a patient seems extremely dimished and insufficient. After years of being with them I feel they have already written me off as a statistic.

I have researched melanoma from the day I was first diagnosed with it and I boisterously declared that I could look like Frankenstein - as long as the issue would be dealt with in a proper and professional manner. I have done my duty and now I feel I am being robbed of my very own existence, not once - but twice.

Yes, two to three weeks from today I will awake from the operation and see half of my new face in the mirror but I wonder if anyone other than my father will realize that I am still alive and have the will to survive.

I grew up in a family that respected professionals; doctors and the like and as such I had a great trust in them. Now I am faced with looking them in the eye and wondering just how it is they even came dawn a white coat.

All of the signs that something was not normal were there from the beginning and I did my duty as a patient. How do you find the trust and faith in others to stand with you in a time of need after they repeatedly fail to heed your cry for help?

This is round two and this is life with an HMO but this is my life and I, like you, still plan on living it.

Thank you for sharing your story and any information you may be able to provide would help me a great deal as hope itself, fades in and out, hourly, on a dialy basis.

I wish you the best and I pray for you. I hope you can find the time to say a small prayer for my struggle and speedy recovery because I think myself, my family and my friends need all the support we can get.

Regards,
Gregory Brown

I Am A HUGE 24 Fan...

...and have all the seasons on DVD. Son #1 currently has them so he can get up to speed.

Season 6 starts on the 14th and as I was listening to Limbaugh today he was saying he had the opportunity to screen the first eight episodes. Best so far, so he claims. I'm getting a woody just writing this.

If I had it to do over again I would have been a Seal or a Ranger. Covert Op's. Shoot up the bad guys. That would be a great life for someone in their mid to late twenties. Guns, women and adulation. And the thanks from your government. Ahhh, if only. I wonder if I'd get the same thrill by being a Wally-World greeter? I'll check that out.

Sometimes I Should Just Physically Violate...

...my TV. Or those that are responsible for programming. Holy Fuckamoly.

As I've said before, I won't watch professional football anymore. All that dancing and high fiving and shit they do. Hell, it's your job and you're paid millions for it. Just cross the end zone and get on with it. Then I saw a play in the USC-Michigan game when the USC wideout caught a pass and taunted the defender as he was going into the endzone. No need for that.

So I decided to shred a couple months worth of credit card bills and the like. A twelve pack sounded good for accompaniment. And a marathon of Dr. 90210. I've never seen this show, but there wasn't anything else on. JFC. Is all they do in LA is get boob jobs? What tickled the shit out of me was when men got around the wimmin with their new titties, the wimmin always said "My eyes are up here. Focus." WHAT?? What are the new sacks for? Puppy feeding? I saw more tits in three hours than I've seen in 15 years. They looked like spaghetti squash. And I wanted to pare boil those suckers. With some tomato sauce and some parmesan.

Then they started going into some weird ass labia stuff with lasers. That's when my pinky got caught in the shredder.

I have one life experience with these things they call implanted tits. They aren't nice. They are aliens. You have sold your soul if you do it. They feel like tennis balls.

Accept what life gives you as you go on your way through the journey. It's called character. If a man can't love you for what you are, then the new found appendages won't keep his attention for long. There's always a newer or more natural pair out there.

I wouldn't know. My doll stays the same. But they are consistent. But to make sure I'm not missing anything, I called my dermatologist this morning to see if he had a recommendation for an augmentation. He didn't. So I'm off to Lowe's and Home Depot this weekend to see if I can pump those puppies up. I want a full C. Maybe a D. Might take lots of crazy glue and duck tape. Surgery ain't easy. And I want her to please her mate. So his eyes can focus. On her intellect. It seems so simple now. We'll see what the tests reveal if the plastic can accept such an expansion. If not, then we're going with the spaghetti squash.

My First Meme...

...and only because this lady isn't full of herself. I guess the deal is to name the five things about myself that I don't like because of irrational fear of what others think.

• I probably have the worst case of SAD ever recorded, but only in a crowd. If you get me alone I'm as congenial as can be. But in a group people mistakenly find me aloof. Far from it.
  
  
• I avoid going to an MD at any costs because I don't want to hear any crap about my body. Seems odd to me we'd be judged at that venue, but I have been, and that's enough said. Truth be told, it ain't the worst 54 year-old body in the world, just so we're clear.
  
  
• I have exceptional anal hygiene, even with IBS, because one time at the Y when I was a teenager some old fart farted and the guy I was with thought my ass stunk. Since then I fart only around myself and go to great lengths to shit only in my own home. But with IBS that ain't easy. I worry about the shit cops busting through the stall and arresting me on illegal fecal distribution.
  
  
• I try to keep up on intellectual things because everyone thought I was an idiot when I was young. And told me so. So I won't discuss anything dealing with it, even though I can beat you down, because I didn't like the way it felt when it happened to me when I was young and I don't want to feel it again. Hence, I argue with myself alot.
  
  
• I always look in the car mirror before I hesitantly go into a public place and make sure I don't have a two pound booger hanging out of my nose. I once had a boss that walked in the office everyday with a boog in the same place, same nostril. After he left one day I made some comment to the mates and we laughed for the rest of the day about it. I would hate for that to happen to me. I usually shovel mine out with the morning coffee. But I'd hate to be caught.
  

I Held Off Writing About Either Of These Events...

...because there's a good juxtaposition that can be made between the two.

Our President came into power when the nation needing healing. He did just that. He knew the pardon of Nixon would probably cost him an election, if he decided to run, which he hadn't. But he knew it was the right thing to do. The honorable, ethical thing to do. I feel pretty confident that Hussein never did an honorable or ethical thing in his life.

Our President died peacefully in his home surrounded by his family. The other asshat died with a rope around his neck, taunted by those he used to rule.

Our President was honored and buried with grace and dignity, and there were no Democrats or Republicans along the route of the hearse. Just Americans. The Sunni's and Shiite's have only found another reason to spread more bloodshed.

It still escapes me why the Muslims can't get their heads out of their asses and realize that there is a better way to live. But, it doesn't surprise me. Look whom they had "leading" them and look what they have now. It's no different. I could have cared less if they hanged Hussein or not. I knew the outcome wasn't going to be pretty. And it's not. So let them continue to fuck themselves.

And on a sidenote, hasn't Henry Kissinger been living here for like two million years? When's he going to learn to speak English?