*Le Sigh*

S.C.U.B.A. diving, tex-mex, and margaritas. Is there a better way to spend a Sunday?

Excuse me?

A couple of weeks ago, it was a trip to the STD clinic. Shortly thereafter I went and got shot. In the arm. Several times. (Vaccinations for my impending trip to Thailand).

Today I went in for my physical. And I'm not really sure why it is, but why is it that when the doctor is cupping my balls, asking me to turn my head and cough... AND when he's rolling my testicles between his fingers for the testicular cancer check... why does he try to make small talk?!?

I mean, y'all know I don't have any issue being naked in front of people. Nor do I have any issue with men touching my junk. Just... um... small talk? Really?

And, I gotta tell ya, for someone that hasn't had sex in lord knows how long, I sure am getting poked, prodded, and having my genitals fondled by strangers a helluva lot.

Rest In Peace, friend

It's happened a couple of time thus far in my adult life, but it still hits me in the core of my being.

A good friend of mine died over the weekend after battling cancer. He was 33.

UPDATE:

I sat in shock when I heard the news. Seeing it posted, picture and all, just leaves me numb.

umm... wait. What?!?

"CRAP! I think I just accidentally set up a trick."

That was my call for help yesterday afternoon. I'll explain.

There were a couple of new guys in my Saturday morning Yoga class, and I was talking with one when class was over. Turns out he's in town for an extended business trip, and kinda came across the class by accident. As we're chatting, he mentions hanging out sometime, as he doesn't really know many people in town. I'm a friendly guy, so I agree and we exchange numbers. At some point in the afternoon, as I'm taking a nap, my phone rings. It's Dancer Boy (he's a dance choreographer) seeing if I'm available to hang.

"Sure, man. Sounds like fun. Wanna grab a bite to eat or something?" I ask groggily. I mean, I was taking a nap. "Why don't I just come over to your place, you're close by where I am, aren't you?" he responds. I agree, hang up the phone, and put my head back on the pillow.

"Wait! What?!?!" I exclaim as I bolt upright.

At this point, my mind starts racing. Is he thinking this is a hook-up? He know about Brit Boy, right? I mean, I was talking about him after class, as well as my upcoming trip to Thailand to meet up with him. Was I flirting with him when we were chatting after class? I don't think so. Crap. What is he expecting?

So I send out the text at the top to my Twitter friends. I talk with my friend Sincerity as we have plans to get together for dinner and drinks later on. Basically, I try to figure out if this is all harmless hanging out time or if he's wanting something else.

As it turns out, all that worrying was for nothing. When I talked to Dancer Boy I brought up the issue of what he was expecting. "I was just thinking it'd be cool to hang out."

It was fun. Sincerity thought he was a cool guy too. He showed up about the same time that Dancer Boy came over. I mean, I needed to make sure someone would know if I was dead. Killed by some psycho killer.

OUCH!!!

I'm all about lessons learned as of late. Today's installment?

Cotton swab inserted into your urethra when you're hungover = not fun. (Honestly, it's never fun)

Yes, boys and girls, this morning was the six-month trip to the STD clinic. I went mostly out of habit. Brit Boy has been my only sexual partner since my last trip, but I've said it before - I'm a creature of habit.

Homo-say what?

As I was getting ready to leave work today, I went back to my desk to get my "street" clothes so that I could ride my bike home. As I'm gathering my things, I say, "Hrmmm... now where did I put my clothes?"

My coworker pipes up, "Now that's not something you hear everyday at work."

I say DAMN!

As a side note to my adventures this weekend out in Spicewood, there is a lesson learned.

When, after drinking and hanging out in the hot tub for several hours, and you need to answer nature's call... if you choose to just run out in the field and "water the plants," make sure you either 1) put at least some chanclas on, and 2) don't stand *in* a fire ant bed.

Uncomfortable doesn't even begin to describe how my feet feel right now.

A Texas tradition

Spicewood, Texas.
Population 5,527

Not a place where you would usually find me. But there I was, sitting poolside on Saturday afternoon, enjoying a couple of nice, cold beers and watching the sun lazily venture toward the horizon. A friend of mine was having a BBQ housewarming gathering at his new place out in the Texas Hill Country. The weather was beautiful and the pool and hot tub were just fantastic.

We stayed up late, swapping manly stories, and made plans to make waffles in the morning. As the night wore on, each of our crowd started to make their way to their bedrooms. (It's a big, beautiful house out in the country). I curled up in my room and quickly fell asleep.

I was awakened just after 9:30am to my host coming into the room, wondering where her husband and another friend were. Cuz they weren't in the house, and a car was gone.

"Fuck," I said. "Well, when I went to bed around 3am they had started talking about going mudding," I had to tell her. So now my mind starts working. The party started around 3pm Saturday afternoon. We were drinking, casually, all day. By 3am Sunday morning, I know I was in no condition to drive, which was why we all were staying the night. And yet, these two f*ckheads thought it was a good idea to head out into the countryside and go muddin.

Oh, and they'd left their mobile phones at the house, so we couldn't call them.

I start picturing the Ford Explorer rolled over in a ditch, them layed up in the hospital. Or them sitting in the jail cell of the small town, backwater sheriff's office.

So, just as the rest of us party-goers are dressed and out the door to wander down to the river to see if maybe they had just driven down there to drink and ended up curling up all Brokeback style in the back, we get a phone call. I overhear "We did a really stupid thing."

They decided to go muddin, as we thought, and wound up with a flat tire on some rundown dirt road and were unable to change it. Without their phones, they were unable to call us. And so they slept in the truck, got up at daybreak, and then walked about 5 miles to the closest gas station.

To say they looked like hell when our host brought them back to the house is an understatement.

Hot DAMN!!

I think I may have bitten off more than I can chew.

I'm a flirt. A huge flirt. A gargantuan, colossal flirt. Brit Boy and I had a conversation about this at some point while he was here - I mean, just cuz I'm in a relationship doesn't mean I'm dead. So I flirt. Harmlessly. Shamelessly. And I think I got bitten by it.

I was out with Kelicious the other night, and we're just chatting away with all the cute boys in the bar - patrons, bartenders, shot boys, etc. The shot boy is just hanging out with us, taking a break, chatting away. He's cute. He's shirtless. He just got finished letting a patron take a body shot off of him. Classy.

He leans over to me, and asks if he can rub my head (I keep my hair cut pretty short). "Of course," I say. He leans over and rubs my head (the one on top of my neck).

"Oh, you meant *that* head," I reply, with a coy smile.

He put his hand on my leg, "I'll rub the other one anytime you like."

*eeep*

Overheard in Austin

In line for the bathroom:

Guy #1: Hey, do happen to have any...?
Guy #2: Blow? No, I can't seem to find any tonight.
Guy #1: Yeah, it's all these fucking California cokeheads. I mean, I'm all for SXSW, but they've drained all my normal dealers.

It's always the little things that get looked over when planning these huge events.