"Feeeliinggssss! Whoa, whoa, whoa, feeeeeelinggssss. . ."


I haven't seen this before, but Kitty Karoake seemed fairly obvious, so my apologies if it's been done.
(Mon 23rd Sep 2002, 22:00, More)

» Now, there was no need for that...

Kidney stones
It was after my fiancee` died of cancer. I had been working a year-long residency that ended in time for me to take care of her the last two months, although tight on money.

Despite the fact she left me enough to survive on, after she died, my family decided to move me (at age 36) from Chicago to NW Indiana to live with them (I was too dazed to protest). After moving half my things down there to go into storage, they promise to come help me move the rest and, of course, never do.

I move New Years Eve night on my own to make it out on time with only my buddy from high school, who is sick, talking to me on my cel phone to keep me calm and sane. I drive thru Chicago at 2 a.m. avoiding drunks in a borrowed van that sways oddly because it is overloaded.

I end up trapped at the folks with no way to print out resumes or find a decent job, and my mother keeps trying to get me to apply for crap minimum-wage jobs so I can stay near them.

One day after using the bathroom, I feel pain in my side. I figure it's my bowels acting up again, but it gets worse. I call my doctor, whose nurse says to go to the hospital (like I haven't seen to much of them already). I call the friend to drive me there and take a Vicodin from my late fiancee's things (I *knew* they'd come in handy), but it's still bad, and when we're the only vehicle on a long stretch, some idiot backs out of their drive in front of us (my friend said he knew it was bad when I leaned over and laid on the horn).

The registering nurse is patronizing, telling me not to hyperventaliate or I'll pass out (sounds good to me).
Finally they wheel me into a room and give me a painkiller (which helps only a bit because they're not sure if I have a kidney stone yet). I'm sitting there in my sleepwear, clutching the insurance card, rosary and picture of my fiancee -- the three things I thought to grab. The doctors and nurses have filed out, leaving me with my friend, when I notice the Muzak. I ask my friend if he recognizes the song they've chosen to pipe into the emergency room.

It was "Live & Let Die" by Wings.

And as if that was not uncalled for (we harassed the nurse about it), when they wheel me in for the cat scan, one tech looks VERY familiar. I thought I it might be the drugs, so I show the other tech the photo of my fiancee, and she confirms it. The first tech is (excuse the pun) a dead ringer for my late fiancee.

There was no need for that.
(Thu 23rd Jun 2005, 5:43, More)

» Putting the Fun in Funeral

So many deaths lately, so too many stories
I'll start with the recent one. My father, whom I have seen once since 1977 (in 1991, he showed up on my doorstep, on his fifth divorce) and thought was in another state, turned out to be living in the town I recently moved to and died two blocks from my house on April 23, 2006.

I am named after him, so when my sister was reading the obituaries and saw my name and town, she spit breakfast across the table. Then she saw it was HIM. So contact of siblings begins.

After nights of multiple-sibling calling (four of us), it was decided that my younger brother didn't care any way; my older brother, who got most of the abuse (set himself between dad and us), wanted to see the body but didn't want to fly halfway across the US; my sister and I would go and find out what we needed to know. We also agreed we didn't want any money from him or his estate (like he had any). My sister would't take a pic of the corpse with her celphone for our oldest brother, though.

Dad's grandfather was the Grand Dragon for the KKK in this county, which meant they hated my Catholic mother. But my sister descides to bring her black husband to the wake. We walk in, and I immediately need to take a piss. My sister won't let me. People are amicable enough and shocked to see us.

My cousin is the only one clued in that this is hard for us, and he tells us 1) we have no siblings that my dad knew about (given his sleeping habits, this isn't an all-clear yet, and there's the girl I dated in Uni who didn't know who her dad was. . .) 2) Dad has been divorced eight times (you have to admire the optimism -- "I've been divorced seven times, but THIS is THE ONE.").
Said cousin says that while he was at college, dad was getting married again. Cousin couldn't make it, but told my uncle, "tell him I'll catch him next time." That didn't go over well.

It was all very surreal and white-trash (chav w/o Burberry plaid, for those in the UK). My sister and I were the best-dressed ones there, and she had dressed down from what she planned. Hearing about some of their lives was like watching an episode of Springer.

My sister said that the women kept telling her how pretty she is. I don't know if she understood the unspoken finish to that: "so why did you marry a black man"?

The service, for the small group who attended (about 12, including me and sis), was given by the head of the Christian Bikers group my father apparently helped found, a guy named Leon who refered to himself as "The Rev. Harley Davidson."

Twice during the service, the Rev. opened the floor to anyone who wanted to say something. Apparently, my sister and I were both going over relevant Bible verses we knew so as to avoid having to give any facts about the abusive yahoo (not that she really knew him as she was about 3 when the divorce happened in 1973 and about 7 when he left for good).

This means dad died at 63 and mom died two summers ago at 59. I had great grandparents on both sides, and Nana (mom's mom) is still kicking about, so we always assumed that longevity was in our cards. But now. . . .

&tc., &tc. about the length -- but it's a family thing.
(Mon 15th May 2006, 19:11, More)

» Voyeurism

As a grad student
Met a girl in a bar during grad school. We go out on a spectacularly good first date which ends up as a walk along the river by the building I go to classes in. I ask if she wants to see the grad office (room of desks), which she does.

I wasn't expecting much, but she sits on my desk, facing me with her legs open and almost around me. Things are heating up when the janitor opens the door, sees us in the dark and says, "excuse me" and leaves immediately.

She is embarassed, so I talk her into visiting the computer room inside the office space, which locks. The door can be barricaded, and there's a couch. Despite the interruption, we end up in various stages of undress. Both half nude, I am over her and ask about the other guy she is seeing.

"How, uh, serious are you"?
"Not this serious," she replied.

It was a good night. . .

But on Monday, I pull said janitor aside and thank him for his discretion.

"Oh, that was you"? he replied. "Don't worry. I've seen that in every building on campus."

But he declined to talk any further on it, a discreet and accidental voyeur. Judging by that comment and his silence following, he probably could've blackmailed a lot fo people.
(Sun 14th Oct 2007, 8:05, More)

» Inappropriate crushes

On the receiving end.
After I got out of college, I decided to substitute teach for money while I looked for a job.

My old high school hired me regularly for the next four years, so I basically re-did high school and even went to the graduation to say goodbye to some students. However, because I had a babyface, I looked too much like the students (hence tie and facial hair were a must).

Anyhow, at the graduation, one student asked to stay in touch while she was in the army. No problem, as I was going to Iowa for grad school and the mail would be nice (pre-email days). Besides, I didn't see her all summer, so I wasn't expecting more than a letter while she suffered through boot camp and nothing more after she made some friends.

Well, it was no problem until we both went home for Christmas and decided to get together, and I introduced her to some friends fresh out of the army (to give her advice).

I drive her home, and she proceeds to tell me that on the first day I subbed for her class, the talk in the lunchroom was "who's that cute sub for Mr. F"?

Then when we hugged goodbye, she decided to use her tongue to see if I had any tonsils.

My in-shock thoughts were:
"She's kissing me; I should do something; I should either stop it or kiss back..." By the time "stop it" registered in my addled brain, her parents drove up behind us.

So I pulled away, pointed this out, and she stopped. Then she got out and said goodbye. When I asked what it was all about, she just smiled and waved goodbye and shut the door.

I had to drive four hours back to Iowa that night with the incident on my mind; and she was leaving for Georgia, too, so no chance to straighten things out. And I sure didn't want to hang around whilst the parents were there.

So while driving though farm country in the dark, listening to the new tape my brother made for me, I hear Van Halen's "Hot for Teacher." It was not funny then.

With the new year, she starts sending me more-and-more obsessive letters about listening to wolves howl around barracks at night and her calling my name (my surname is Wolf).

I spend two days typing out a three-page, single-spaced letter saying, basically, "you're a nice girl, but this isn't appropriate" and giving reasons, including distance and ANYTHING I can think of.

And she calls on Valentine's Day and says that she knew I felt the same way about her.

While she is saying this, I've called up the letter on my computer and am scrolling through it furiously trying to find ANYTHING that could have been taken that way, and I just don't see it.

While stalling, I ask her what it is she wants from me roughly 1,000 miles away.

She replies, "I love you Mr. Wolf. I've loved you for five years."

The fact that she doesn't use my first name made it all that much more creepy.

I reply that we haven't known each other for even four yet.

Thankfully, the letters start to taper off, although given her trouble with the army, a friend says he's waiting for her to show up a my door, gone AWOL.

Turns out later she married another soldier in May, after the last time I hear from her, and they leave the army and she immediately gets pregnant.

Last I heard, she decided she was lesbian and was divorcing him.

I wonder what she's doing these days, some 10 years later. But I'm not sure I really want to find out.
(Fri 29th Sep 2006, 23:05, More)

» Restaurants, Kitchens and Bars... Oh my!

catering
In high school, I worked for a catering company - parties, weddings, &tc, at various halls and fraternal organizations. After setting up the dining room and the kitchen, the waitresses, busboys and coffee girls would get out of the kitchen (and the chefs' way) and go stand at attention near the door, looking like troops waiting to serve.

As we all stood near the doors at one wedding, the happy couple walks in, the bride is radiant and so on. The busboy two down from me looks er over and declares, "I bet she gets laid tonight."

Cue the whole staff line suddenly turning to him (in the middle) with a look of, "you idiot -- no kidding." Luckily, if any of the guests heard, they didn't let on. But it had to be obvious something was up.
(Mon 24th Jul 2006, 18:29, More)