Fat As I Am

I don’t know how I do it, but there is some combination of food, beverages, and probably something else that produces the ultimate result in me: BLOAT.

 

I put on one of my thin shirts today, and knew I was in trouble.   Even when I was pretty fit, it was always tight in a few places, but I was good with that.  Those were the right places.  

 

These are the wrong places.  I don’t like things that grab me around the middle when I’m bloating.  Like that Friday night before Pride with Meegull.  Okay, I was generally unamewsed (sp. int.) at that whole moment, but having my bloating middle clamped onto was a secondary, core dislike.  This shirt is doing very much the same thing … minus the drunken red eyes and sulking. 

 

I also put on thin jeans.  Now, I basically have one size of 501s, but as they get to different stages in their useful life, each pair has a slightly different experience.  This pair, a typical pair of 32/32s, is tighter than most at this stage of their life.  And, when I’m being more like the Holsteins in a Far Side cartoon, they really clamp on to my equatorial region.

 

I dislike having to choose between comfort that displays my belly like it’s a twin sister of the planet Jupiter (or any gas giant),  and a belly that’s less noticeable in favour of discomfort and the appearance of either a hernia or an upcoming career in porn, depending on body position. 

 

I took a brief break this morning to walk around campus, and found myself singing Bette Midler’s Fat as I Am routine from the 80s.  I’m sure everyone here thinks I was just talking to myself and being a crazy, but you “don’t give a damn, when you’re Fat as I Am!!!”

 

Of course, knowing full well that spicy food aggravates this, I decided NOT to have the “special” lunch today from the Indian Café here.  I didn’t have the Mutter Paneer, Dal, Ric, Naan, papadom, and sides.

 

I just had the Mutter Paneer as a side and ½ Naan.  Yeah, that worked.

 

I need to go for a walk …

San Jose

After Hayward, San Jose has to be the butt of the biggest jokes in the San Francisco Bay Area.  I mean, Oakland catches a lot of crap, too, as do places like Daly City (aka Daily Shitty or Daily Crappy). 

 

My first ever visit to the Bay Area was to San Jose/Santa Clara.  This was back in the mid-1980s, and I flew into San Jose’s airport.  I didn’t know any better at the time … I was going to be near SF and in California, and when I got here, it was all so different and so new, I was just thrilled to be here.  The hills and mountains were so different from what I’d experienced in Pennsyltucky … I was ecstatic. 

 

Then I moved to the Bay Area, and into Sausalito, and, well … the ‘tude showed up around me.  And, well … I kinda bought into it.

 

Let’s face it: Sausalito *is* beautiful.  San Francisco is breathtaking at times, and probably almost always for new visitors. 

 

But San Jose, which has since graduated to being a larger city that San Francisco in population (it was smaller than SF in 1990 when I moved here), doesn’t have the water and views of it’s more famous sister.  San Francisco and Sausalito (more or less) have the Golden Gate Bridge.  San Jose has the Winchester Mystery House.  San Francisco has Golden Gate Park with the memorials (AIDS Memorial Grove), museums (de Young), and natural beauty (don’t forget the Bison!).  San Jose has the Rosicrucian Museum and the Salt Flats.

 

But as I’ve been spending time down here, I’ve come to appreciate some of the “golden rod” beauty of the hills.  It’s been a cool summer here, mostly, and sitting outside today on North First Street, it’s almost cool enough to want a light jacket because of the breeze.  The campus here where I’m contracting is pleasant, and green, and well kept, and even with the two freeways (101 and 280) and the San Jose Hairport (sp. int.) nearby, the noise doesn’t really detract from the environment.  This morning, looking out of the windows from the third floor toward the hills, there were some sufficiently pleasant looking clouds hugging the peaks that I took a few photos with my N95.

 

Sitting outside, starting this blog, one of my extended teammates asked if she could join me at the table, to which I said, yes, of course.  It was a pleasant conversation out of doors and around others.

 

Oh, sure.  This part of San Jose is commercial building, urban sprawl at its worst in many ways.  Every block is ½ mile long, and is nothing but 5-7 storey buildings.  Even the little “International Fast Food Corner” two blocks (1 mile) down the street with Greek, Italian, Mexican, Vietnamese, and other Restaurants is a sturdy mini-strip mall construction. 

 

It’s still way more pleasant than I expected.  I may have to find more things to do down in San Jose and places nearby.

TMI

TMI – for some people, this is a small island in the Susquehanna River in Pennsylvania that was the site of a “small, radioactive incident” in the 1970s.  I lived about 90 miles east of there, and while I remember the events all too well, this is NOT the TMI I’m talking about.

 

I’m talking about Too Much Information.

 

I was reminded of this incident in the company restroom this past week.  I went in to use the facilities when, from the smaller of the two “seating” stalls came this sound.  Sound isn’t quite right as it makes it seem like it’s a sing emanation.   This was more like the Buddhist Monks who can sing tri-tonal notes, though.  Except, of course, this was from the wrong end.  It was remarkable, in that, I’m fairly certain that if an incontinent Rhino had a sudden and concurrent attack of flatus AND diarrhea, this would have been the sound. 

 

I didn’t hang around for any other senses to pick up any further information.  I was out of there faster than a $2 hooker given 25 cents for their trouble (with no offense to sex workers intended).

 

I’ve been thinking about joining the gym here, and it’s occurring to me that, based on past experiences, this may not be a good idea.  Inevitably, TMI events occur.

 

I mean, the rest rooms are bad enough … one place where I worked last year, I was in the “big” stall, when the “guest” in the neighbouring stall completed his work.  I heard the toilet paper roll going “spin spin spin spin” and there was a brief pause followed by “scrapey scrapey scrapey scrapey” as the TP was applied with much vim and vigor.  Okay, whatever.  But then, there was more spinning, which was, naturally, followed by more “scrapey scrapey scrapey scrapey” … and I’m thinking, “Geez, dude, what the hell happened over there? 

 

More spinning … more “scrapey scrapey scrapey scrapey” … REPEAT.

 

I was in awe, and when it finally stopped, I was confident there was no skin left on him at all.  I noticed under the shared wall that the shoes were distinctive.  I made a mental note, and the shoes and Mr. Scrapey soon departed.  I walked out of the facilities a few minutes later and headlong into the shoes … on my “boss’s” feet.  Brain boggle.

 

Several years ago, I worked for a company that had a gym on campus, and you know … you learn things about your coworkers you *really* don’t want to know.  Not just in your own locker room, either, because, of course … people talk.   So, I got to hear about the woman with underwear so old, she had to use pins to keep them on … even though she was making 6-figures at the time. 

 

And, there are the visuals.  Not just the bellies and other saggy bits.  You expect those.  Or your *friends* naked.   You can live with that. 

 

No, I’m talking about people like … the guy who used to comb his pubes straight-out like an awning at a Parisian Bistro.  As he was remarkably, um … ungifted in this region, he literally looked like a Ken Doll with errant pubic hair.

 

But I think the ultimate was the Senior VP I used to work for when I was first manager there.  We’ll call him Dennis.  My first experience of Dennis was doing a department presentation on the fly for him when my department’s Director went missing.  My group’s VP showed me the slide outside the door, walked me in, and said, “We found ED!”

 

It was not a good feeling as the room cracked up.  I had heard that Dennis could dismember people quickly.  I ran through the slides, waiting for the filet knife to fly, but it never did.  Dennis was quite calm about some disturbing data, which I quipped about, saying, “Well.  That’s a disturbing trend.”  I escaped unscathed, and Dennis was always nice to me afterward.

 

Then, we met in the locker room.

 

I walked in, and Dennis was just getting ready to remove the last article of workout clothing, when he heard me walk in, turned to face me, and with a big smile, said, “Hi, Ed!” and shucked himself like an ear of corn.

 

What flopped out in front of me would have made an ear of corn blush, and a Stegosaurus weep.  I mean … I’ve seen the gifted before … this was more like … a Foundation for the Arts that you might see on PBS.  It was that substantial.

 

I may have gasped.  Seriously, if he’d made a quick, spinning move in one direction, he would have taken out the eye of the guy sitting on the bench nearby.

 

Dennis did this to me frequently.  “Hi, Ed!”  <Shuck>

 

How do you not stare?

 

Try and talk to someone about technology or do a business presentation for them after an experience like that.  You know the old cure for nervousness they tell people to use when doing presentations?  “Imagine your audience naked.” That was soooo not working …

 

Do I really want to go through that all again?  Maybe I’ll just let myself get fat. 

Hitting the Wall

Okay, so for once this year, I didn’t hit it with my head.  Earlier this year, I *did* hit the wall with my head – actually, two walls, at the corner where they meet.   Which reminds me … I need to put some scar goo on …

You may have noticed, I haven’t posted for a few days.  It’s not that I can’t find things to write about.  It is *slightly* that I don’t have as much time.  It’s more that, well, by the end of last week, I was dead.

You see, as much as I’m adjusted to the commute, it still makes for long days.  So, if I make a decision to stop on the way home and see friends or grab a bite to eat, it makes for an 18 hour day out of the home.  Last week, I did that a couple times.

See, I have friends.  I’m liking that I have friends.  I’m enjoying my friends.  But, occasionally, friends have needs.  Soooooo … when I got a message from Adi, the content of which was basically “Wahn wahn wahn wahn I’m freaking out whan wahn wahn chain smoking wahn wahn wahn wahn …” I simply had to say, “Hang on.  My shittle arrives at 17th and Guerrero at 6:50.  I’ll be there.”

We met at Cafe Petra – which I actually really liked.  I’m finding more fun things in the MIssion that aren’t expensive.  I finished his food – he was pushing it around the plate like a dead baby in a stroller – and we “debriefed.”  (He told me last night it helped.)  Of course, by the time I left San Francisco and headed home, it was 11PM before I hit the sheets for that lovely 5am wakeup call.

Friday, I had tentative plans with Sean.  We chatted, and he wasn’t feeling tickety boo, so we changed the plan to Saturday and the Zoo.  I was thrilled, because I thought – hey, easy night!  Of course, ring ring ring goes the phone, and I’m with friends in the city.  It wasn’t late, and I didn’t do anything stupid, but ugh.

Saturday, Sean and I meet at the Zoo – we both run 30 minutes late.  I was late, because, *I* … like a schmuck … got off the bus a mile early.  Hello?

We did the Zoo (Lemurs Rock!) and then Sean suggested we go back out to Sausalito.  We took the top off the car, and rode back to Marin, where … the Sun was actually out!  It was gorgeous, but parking sucked, so we ditched the car, and walked back down to downtown and had some food.  Well, I ate mine … Sean tried to wear most of his.  Then we had a nice walk, and people alternately stared and smiled at us as we were PDA-ing/PDI-ing a lot.

We got back to my place, and as we’re saying our good-byes, I can tell we’re both getting tired.  He’s sayin’ it.  I’m feelin’ it.   I go down to my place.

I left my house one more time the rest of the weekend.   I was out of bread, and needed some for breakfast.

I bailed on brunch.  I bailed on meeting Adi and Kevin (his dating unit and friend who took out my stitches).  I bailed on laundry.  I bailed on cleaning.  I pretty much bailed on everything but air.

It was pretty much a dead halt.  It was very much needed.

I actually got up yesterday and was able to move, although I’ve developed the sniffles.  Today, Tuesday, however, is my lonnnnnng day.  We’ll see.

PDAs v PDLs v PDIs

If you saw PDA and were hoping for a discussion of a discussion of Crackberries or other handheld technologies that allow you talk on the phone, email, and sell your soul to the devil online … you’ll be sadly disappointed in this post.  Run along now.

No, today, I’m talking about the old style PDA – Public Displays of Affection.  It funny … even in my lifetime, what is acceptable or on the fringe of acceptable behaviour has certainly changed.  When my last partner was still alive, back in the early 90s, I’d make him do something showy for every tour bus that came through the Castro.  My philosophy was simple: they came to the Castro, give them what they want.

Ironically, I think Stephen was more uncomfortable with it than the tourists.  Given his rather, um … active … um … social life … it was pretty funny.

I’ve always tried to avoid politics and cliques.  Even when I’m hanging out with a group of friends – formally or informally – I like and know a lot of people.  So, I’ll wind up in a room where there are 30 people I know, usually in different groupings.  I will make every effort to stop and say hi to them all at one point or another.

That’s sort of what got me thining about PDAs.  What used to be edgy PDAs are now tame, and I think the edgy stuff is more like a PDL – Public Display of Lust.  And trust me … hanging out in the ’stro, you get to see your share of PDLs.

But it’s actually more charming the amount of affection people actually share in public situations with me anymore.  I don’t know if it’s because I look like everyone’s grandfather now, or what, but the PDAs really flow openly.  It’s very sweet.  If you’d told me even 5 years ago that I’d routinely be kissing a 60 year old man – albeit in a friendship sort of a way – I would have declared you roundly daft.

Now, it’s rather amazing … as I continue to meet Old People (see my Meeting Old People posting a little while back) … the amount of affection that comes from them is astounding.   Wonderful back rub after I’d called Michael out about Seizures.  I’ve seen David around for years – used to have a HUGE crush on him (and there’s still a certain something about him that is appealing) – HE stopped the other night and just grabbed my shoulders and had me purring like a (rather LARGE) kitten in about 10 seconds.  My one bartender friend who I’m getting to know is just so sweet and affectionate when he gets to the other side of the bar.

And then I realized … in spite of the PDAs and the PDLs … I’ve been participating occasionally in PDIs, too.  Public Displays of Intimacy.  There have been a few moments where I’m certain, while on one level I (with the help of one other) have made others uncomfortable with the display, it’s also been because on a few occasions, the moments have been very, very intimate.

Stop tittering.  Remember Hawkeye’s and Houlihan’s farewell in the Series Finale of M*A*S*H?  Yes, it was a smashing – and in faces smashed together – kiss, but the intimacy of it and the farewell FARRRRR outweighed any overtness to it.  The characters, and probably the actors, standing nearby were uncomfortable.  Hell, I am still uncomfortable everytime I see it rerun.  And, yet, what a wonderful moment for everyone.

PDIs.  Rare slices of privilege and life.  Not just lewdness, but real initmacy.

Try one.  They’re good for the soul – even if they do make some people envious for a few moments.

Not that I’d know much about that …

Snoring a Schnarrrrrk

I come from a family of champion snorers. On my mother’s side, at least, we have people who snore with such vim and vigor that it makes freight trains sound like a hummingbird chirping in comparison.

My mother and I were travelling in 2006 through Greece – after a brief stop in Germany fist – and this topic arose. When it comes to snoring, there’s no more fire power on the planet, than what comes out of this little 5’3” woman’s body. It’s loud enough to wake HER up in mid “skkknarrrrf” …

We were on the way over to Frankfurt from Philadelphia, and the best I could do was 2 aisle seats, one row apart. Well, the Mom Unit fell asleep – it was like having a jet engine inside the cabin. I don’t know if I ever discussed it with her, but the woman sitting next to my mother was NOT amused. I thought she was going to say something to my mother a couple of times, and I was ready to smack that woman upside the head.

We got to Meteora in Greece, and the mom unit was in complete denial. She inSISTed that she didn’t’ snore. So, while I was out on the balcony, loving the view, my mother was inside falling asleep. She was recovering from a head cold – which she shared with me, thank you – and was tired.

Well, soon enough the Wooly Mammoth sounds started emanating from the room. So, I crept back in, switched my camera (the old one) to “movie mode” and made a movie.

Yes … six-and-one-half minutes of my mother motionless and snoring.

When it was done, I very quietly picked the camera up, and went to the laptop. I downloaded the movie, and relaxed on the balcony for a bit longer before going to sleep.

The next morning, I said, “Come here, there’s something I want to show you.” She walked over to the laptop, and I fired up the clip.

She hissed, then laughed.

I usually only snore loudly when I’m DEAD tired. I remember the DemonEx™ complained one night. I felt bad then (now, of course, it’s funny).

Sadly, I now snore much more frequently, and it turns out … I’m pretty loud on the shuttle. Or, more bluntly – one of the two LOUDest.

I’ve awakened myself to my own snore now on many occasions, thinking for the first few days, “That wasn’t me. That was that guy back there.”

Not.

It’s loud. It’s embarrassing. It’s hilarious.

“Schnarrrrk!”

I’m about 2 hours from the ride home, and I’m dead tired. You do the math …

Work From Home

So, today is my first work from home day on this contract.  There’s an offsite today – although it sounds like many people aren’t going - and as I had only one meeting scheduled for early today, we agreed that it was fine for me to crunch from home, and not deal with Public Transportation and the Shuttle from San Francisco to San Jose.

This is a good day for me to be home.  Wednesday is slow around here (Sausalito), and I can work much less disturbed (be kind) on certain tasks.  This is a good thing. 

Also, I raced home last night for a conference call with the good folks in India.  Unfortunately, there was some miscommunication, and the conference call had been cancelled, so I sat on hold last night for 20 minutes before giving up.  By then, my butt was just kicked, because by the time I ate, sat down, and unwound, it was after 10PM.

I actually turned the alarms off last night.  I knew I’d wak up with plenty of time to respond to people, at the latest, what?  6:00AM?

At a little past 7:00 AM I woke up.  It was nice. 

What this experience IS teaching me, is how much I love having two screen to work on.  I have that at the contract site (laptop and and secondary monitor), but not here.  I may be investing again, soon.

Meantime, back to work.  Things to do, people to write to, et cetera.  :{)

8 Hours Sleep

Well, it’s official.  I’ve done some examining of my schedule and routine over the last 8 working days, and it’s true.  My sleep has changed.

I’m getting more.

See, usually, I sleep about 6 hours most nights, and then I have one or two nights where I get 8, max.  The last several days, though … I’m getting about 8 daily.  Only one bit of trouble.

They aren’t 8 contiguous/continuous hours.

I’m getting 5-6 at night … a couple morning, I’ve gotten up early (3am) because I couldn’t sleep, only to fall asleep a 4am for a 5:17 wake-up call (if I wake up at night, I push the alarm out by 15-20 mins).  So, that, in and of itself, could be okay if I could get those 5-6 hours to be with, say, one wakeup at night (I drink a LOT of water in the evenings).

Now, though, I’m getting almost an hour on the shuttle each way between San Francisco and San Jose.  The wireless has been funky on the shuttle for the last few days, and it’s been my preference to sleep, rather than read.  I wind up @ 16th and Guerrero Streets just before 7PM feeling more refreshed than I should.

Then, I don’t want to go home, so instead of catching the 7:49PM bus, I catch the 8:54PM so I can hang out with friends for a bit.  By the time I get home, rearrange, get tired enough to go to sleep, and guzzle a gallon (not sic) of water, it’s 10:30PM.

Tonight, I have an 8:30PM Conference Call that I must attend, so I must catch the 7:49PM bus.  I’m still stopping to share archaeological stuff with my new/old buddy, Oscar.  Then … I must fly home.  Maybe tonight, I’ll have a night of 7 hours sleep in a row.

Naaaaaaaaaaaaaah …

Don’t Have a Seizure

You know me.  Every movement is a like watching the ballet.  Every word I utter makes Maya Angelou weep in envy.

Yeah, Right …

So, I got up to San Francisco from San Jose last night and decided that I’d layover and try to catch with Ed and Peter.  By the time I’d gotten into the hood, they were gone, and I texted Ed.  Two of the nemeses had been hounding them … one we call Eor, and another regular who has the hots for them both – so they bailed.

I eventually ran in Michael.  I’ve seen Micheal around for a century or so (note my previous posting “Meeting Old People”), but it’s only in the last few months that he’s ever really spoken to me.  One night, probably about 50 years ago, I spoke to him in an attempt to start a conversation.  He looked me with big eyes that said, “Please, don’t kill me.”  Never said a word.

Well, that’s all changed.  And I ran into him last night – Eor and Company had left – and I joined him and some other folks.  Michael was in the process of meeting someone, so I tried to hang back a bit.  Anyway, I wound up in the conversation at some point, and I cannot remember what Michael said to me, but I looked at him, and just blurted out “Oh, please.  Don’t Have a Seizure!”

Did I mention that Michael is Epileptic?

Did I mention he’d had seizure pretty much right on the spot he was standing?

Did I mention that he and I have never discussed it?

My hand flew to my mouth.  I was mortified.  He was laughing … I was apologising.  He’s going, “Oh, my God!  Were you here that night?  Do you remember it?”  I’m just wanting to pretty much die right there … just let me transmogrify and become liquid and seep into the drain (there is one in the floor where I was standing).

I think I scared off the beau, but Michael didn’t seem to mind too much, and I think he actually got the guy’s number.

On the flip side, turns out Michael’s hands are a *lot* stronger than they look, and I got a much needed backand shoulder massage.  I’ll have to blutt out the unspeakable to him more often.

Rank that one in the Top 5 Moments of Gracelessness for me, though …