Caving in to Internet Consumerism

I have shamelessly added my Amazon.com wishlist to the "linkness" on the right. ->

I only have one more comment: If you by chance want to buy me a comic book from the list, don't. Tell Chloe, and she will get her "hot chick" discount from our local comic book store. The books are merely in the list for reference. :D

Lucid Life

Sometimes I feel like I'm walking around with my own hand up my ass, making my head talk out of sync with my thoughts. I am a giant mutant self-puppeted ventriloquist dummy. I need a pancake.

King of Kong

I'm anticipating this almost as much as i am Heath Ledger as the Joker.

Jesus was a Mormon Pt 3 (What's a Pederast?)

I have some MORE pics.

This is a better view of the main "stage" area. Can you spot the $600 pair of heels?


Here is the SupperClub supplied dandy traveling backrub. Unfortunately the muscle-knot remover isn't covered with the meal cost.

Here she is again, this time removing the back of Chloe's skull to get at the brain.

Jesus was a Mormon Pt. 2 (or Quintana has Balls)

As my buddy Ryan would say, "Yeah... Well."

Yeah, well indeed. A lot of life happened between then and now. Chloe is still on the mend, and we both are looking forward to our next trip back to the SupperClub. I promised pictures, so will simply let them do the talking.

Some preface:
SupperClub is a nightclub/bed. I don't know how other to put it. Imagine a bordello designed by the masters at IKEA. There's about 200 feet of bed on a balcony, where all the patrons cozy up to each other on white sheets. It is a nice icebreaker.

Below is the kitchen, and a large dance floor, as well as more bed and overflow tables. Everyone is hot. There's plenty of airflow. It's difficult to be as drunk as we were and not keep the Black Cherry Bombs from spilling on to our cushy accommodations. I think i was a very good boy and managed to not bite anyone who wasn't in our party. Oop, I've been reminded that i did take a nip at the butt of one of Stacy Kiebler's friends (see below).

Some identities have been obscured for the sake of... obscuring identities. Enjoy.

This young lady was our server. She tried to climb into my "to go" box.

An opera performance, lauded by Chloe. This performer greeted
everyone wearing black duct tape over her mouth.

Me, enjoying myself.

This fella was our busboy.


The ladies sharing our bed. The second one from the right
looked like Stacy Kiebler.I refused to go home with her,
even after her repeated, increasingly aggressive
requests. Too skinny. I bit the butt on the right.

Our host(ess) for the evening.


Our host(ess) with much fewer pieces of apparel.

Sir Spam-a-Lot rallying the crowd.

The dance floor. No one moved like the D.

Our friends, old and new, without whom we'd
have just been watching Lebowski at home.

A Room With a View

I was checking my email, and this is the view i had from my computer desk. I was first drawn to the commotion, and then i realized there was a bikini clad Asian vixen in high heels. This required some more direct attention.

It looked like they were filming something for film class. A short skit about the unlucky business man and the proverbial unobtainable bikini clad Asian vixen in high heels.

I called my wife over to witness the event, not only to justify the slight oddity of the situation, but to subvert any perversion that could be derived from me staring out the window at a barely clothed chick flanked by a bunch of drooling (yet pretending no to be) guys.

Who cares. I know Eduardo would want to see this, so i grabbed a camera and took these shots. For my friend, see!? For proof!

I like my apartment. I like my apartment building. I like my neighborhood. I like random girls in bikinis and high heels. It seems like a natural thought process. I suspect if i change the subject to pancakes, no one will follow? I had a single pancake for dinner. I like pancakes.

On a side note; I need a new camera. I'm creating a PayPal account to start taking donations. I will post tomorrow.

Less is More

After nearly three months of recovery, sprinkled with soreness and all-out pain, it seemed that Chloe's comfort wasn't improving much after the extensive surgery. She went back for a full exam, and they discovered some new developments in the same region.

A cyst had developed on Chloe's left ovary; this one twice the size of its host. The shape was irregular, so extra fluid was suspected to be surrounding it, as well as extending into her left fallopian tube. The initial suggestions from the doc were these:

1. See if the hormones Chloe was now taking would have an impact on the offending region. Perhaps this would pass as a normal cycle.

2. Surgery. Immediately.

We had just gone through this. We knew what the aftermath of an invasive surgery would entail. Chloe has been ill since March, and is simply sick of being sick, and all of this is taking a massive drain on the both us. Perspectives have shifted. Our lives have changed. This terrible invasion into our well-being has made us only stronger as individuals, and cemented our relationship more tightly than a midget with a construction helmet and Superglue. For those friends and acquaintances reading this blog, beware, as our vow, our wedding promise of world domination, has begun to come to fruition.

After a little bit of convincing from a loving husband, and most of it coming from the "mom sage," Chloe opted for #2. Why fuck with it? We're lucky she didn't, because the doctor only had a best guess without looking at the trouble directly, and the diagnosis changed dramatically once she could get a direct look.

I'll save the details for Chloe to divulge, but in the meantime i can say the following.

Chloe is a powerhouse, a potent example of strength. Once she was opened up, it was observed that her condition wasn't one easily tolerated by most humans. The pain she was experiencing would have dropped anyone to their knees every time it decided to take a random jab. Her sentiment was always, "Hrm, I'm just a little tender today."

There were pieces removed. Fortunately, this also didn't take away our ability to procreate (although it has affected the chances of it happening simply, and without the help of a third party). Don't be sad for us. Feel our muscles. We are now strong with health, and have always been bulging with humor and the enjoyment of existence. We are the coveted life; the couple that "look so happy together."

We are simply tired. And we need some movies to watch. Leave a comment and make a suggestion.

Jesus was a Mormon

This is the first part of likely many. Dinner has bloated me and i can't go on.

Last weekend, i went with some friends, old and new, to a San Francisco venue called "SupperClub." What a restaurant. The food was a 3 of 5, but the event was a 5.

The limo arrived behind us like a government agent on the trail of his first kill, or like a shark sleekly and almost nonchalantly stalking a box fish. It couldn't be here for us, but we were informed otherwise. We pulled up to J's around 5:45, prepared to do the big "surprise!" yell to D as she passed through the threshold while she discovered her carriage for the evening. I was dissapointed to find out she had to be told of the impending ride to whip herself into presentable shape before it started to cost.

I looked like, well, me. Quasi-business, semi-rockabilly. Chloe looked like a fetish model straight off the pages of Joanna's Angels, with the exception that she was as live as a Nine Inch Nails concert.

J and D, as always, looked not only stunning, but nearly unrecognizable from our 'childhood' together. "Saucy" is the word that immediately comes to the frontal lobes, but that is an understatement. "Pimp" is overkill, as they wouldn't be doing any trading of sex for money. Sex is free 'round dese parts. I think "good" is enough to leave it open to subjectiveness.

We (the wife, J&D and I) poured into the limo and begun our adventure. It's good to have friends who work for Google.

The trip itself was great. We hadn't seen J&D long enough for J to grow a hedge off his chin. It looked like he had been eating the chest of an Iranian disco dancer on the prowl. D is simply always prime USDA. She's really why they built the Hubble telescope; spying on hot chicks is the "hobby" of its operators. To have these characters warmly pressed up against you in a car is an adventure in and of itself.

To be continued... with pics!

Moving Pictures

We did it. Our previous lease was officially up, and we have moved into our new joint in downtown San Jose.

A few boxes remain. They contain mostly pictures. As it turns out, we lost roughly 200 square feet. That's a lot of wall space. I'm thinking we'll start hanging the frames from the ceiling.

Wish List

I think i have the first item for my proverbial "Internet wish-list."

A good chuckle...

For some reason, this reminds me of my buddy, Adam.

Not So Peachy

I am at work now, and i'm sure someone from the office is going to read this and hound me, "Dude! you're blogging on work time!."

I'll retort with the fact i was in the office @ 7:15 already in full swing. With that out of the way...

Damn! I've had two new batches of peaches, and still have been let down. Yesterday's from Nob Hill was close but didn't quite match up to Devine Peach #1. Round three this morning is from Albertson's. It's the same, if not just similar grower as the sticker matches exactly the Nob Hill batches. The one i just bit into tastes like German candy - similar texture, but not enough sugar.

The hunt is still on.

Peachy

I worked out tonight. An hour and a half. I know tonight I'll sleep fine, and wake up chipper with a chubby scary enough to cause my wife to jealously interrogate me on who i was writhing with in my dreams. Tomorrow during the day I'll question my efforts as it'll feel like I did nothing. Two days from now, in the early afternoon, I'll get up from my desk to drink some green tea, and i wont be able to raise my arms without whimpering. That's how it works. One day you're a man, the next you're a wolf. (sorry, watching American Werewolf in London).

When i got in from the gym i was inspired to sing a song. I don't know how to sing, let alone play guitar, but i started on both and enjoyed myself for a good half hour in unintelligible lyrics muffled by sloppy strumming. "kitty sometimes has poo on his butt, i think the hair on his ass i will cut..."

Of course that morphed into a song about Chloe's wonderful attributes. When something is in your house as epic as my wife's ass, you must serenade it in swooning song.

Workout. Singing. Hungry. Snack. I recently got peaches at Nob Hill on Nick's suggestion. They were overwhelming. Bite after bite, my wife's posterior fell further into non-existence. This peach, this fruit handed down from god, to Raley's, to Nob Hill, to me, was nurtured its entire life specifically to satisfy my taste buds. It punched me. They say when someone is in a traumatic life-threatening accident, their life flashes before their eyes. If this is true, this peach was taking fatal blows. I watched as the juice escaped through my slurping and left a glossy streak down the curve of fine fur.

"slurp, yum... slurp, oh god..."

"Chloe, you gotta eat one of these!"

I ran to the fridge and grabbed the next one. "Here." I jutted out my arm as if it were burning my hand.

I could see the anticipation and she licked her lips. It let out an impressive snap as she broke its skin. Nothing. You could see it in her eyes. She got a bad one. I took a bite. Yep, hard and crunchy, more like an apple than a peach. Must have been from another batch. I immediate ran back to the fridge to grab another. I kept hers for myself. She had to experience the glory of my first fruit high.

Peach #3. What the fuck... no where near #1. This one Chloe finishes. It's good, but good like having to release your own tension, not a marathon sex session with the goddess Rose McGowan.

What an absolute dissapointment. I've had the greatest peach in human history... and it was the only one of the bunch. We've eaten three between us. There's one more in the fridge. My bowels tremble in fear, as one more attempt will force a bout of the skitters, and possibly sleepless night.

One more try... The first bite is close. Handed off to Chloe. "Emm, i9've had better."

I take a bite myself and believe it. The peach certainly cant go to waste, and it is still very good, but it starts to make my tongue raw.

I know I'll be chasing the dragon like a junkie. That first high, the divine nature of that first experience. In ten years I'll be homeless, making a cardboard camp in front of fruit stands from shore to shore, and when the grocer's back is turned i'll be taking my bite of each peach, turning it's exposed flesh face down and back into the stack as i sneak that next bite... chasing the dragon. I fear i won't find it again. and with that, a song about peaches.

Weighing In

These past two weeks I've been slowly drifting off the weight loss trail, and my flab has decided to latch on to my bones like a pitbull on a dogcatcher's tit. Thus far I've dropped over 40lbs, and have leveled out. I think this first plateau is going to be tougher to get through than a high school gym class, and those fat cells are going to mock me every step of the way. 60 more to go to reach my goal and at least i'm still on target.

Wife had become very ill, as you know if you've been keeping up with previous blogs. We've been strong, but food for comfort has been stronger. Now that she's gone through the surgery successfully, ice cream, pizza and burgers will hopefully not be so persistent in trying to console me. In fact, maybe they'll just start sending me email so i don't feel so obligated to reply, or guilty when i don't.

My cardio has slowed down. Tomorrow i'm riding in to work so hopefully that will jump start my motivation again. I've been pushing the weights hard, and can see the results. Not only can I deadlift a Buick, it actually looks like i can too. But the flab jabs me in the head every time i take a look in the mirror. If it werent concentrated around my waist like an infalatable swimming tube, i don't think that I'd be so troubled. I will retaliate, flab!

The weirdest part, is how much this stall has affected my psyche. I mean, every week I had successfully lost at least two pounds. The only other definite way to lose so many pounds is to bet on the U.S.A. to win the World Cup. (Italicised to emphasize the horrific pun).

Now I step on the scale in the morning, dreading to see if two more ounces are going to creep up on me. I wonder if I can cheat by trimming my nails, both toe and finger... maybe shave? Have i shit enough, do i still need to go? I wonder how much dirt is on me; can i drop a half-ounce by showering? What if i (ahem) spooge some knuckle babies? As long as i'm not sticking my digits down my gullet to yack up the fat attack, i'm still in a healthy zone. I'd actually cave and cut out carbs Atkin's-style before doing that crap to my body. And we all know I think Atkin's is an advocate of malnutition with his system.

On the upside, the size and shape of my torso is noticeable. I've gone from a "pear" shape, to something resembling an intimidating eggplant, with less purple and more hair. What i find really sexy, (and both my wife and i hope i don't start masturbating to my reflection while posing), is the peak of my bicep that is now inching it's way into view from the outside of my arm, like the crown of a climbing teeneager peeping into the hot neighbors second story window.

I think some pushups are calling me. Maybe a glass of Crystal Light. In either case, tomorrow the road trembles under my pedal power.

It's Alive!

I've never been as relieved as I am today. We went in a whole woman, and we left a whole woman (albeit with three tiny holes). More later, but now it's time to tend to the wife. Time for that big sigh.

A Few Cuts

Chloe is having surgery after all. We were hoping that the medication and antibiotics would do the trick, but it seems that the infection's kung fu is much too strong. They have to go in and drain the abscesses. The infection is so bad, the doctors say, that more may need to be removed but it's unknown how much until they're actually inside with the camera and scalpul.

We've been prepared for the worst. If drainage is not enough, they will remove her left tube and ovary. Her right side may be irrepairable as well, which means it may be removed along with the first. The uterus may follow. We've also been informed that part of her bowels could be infected on top of everything else.

They're (Chloe and the Docs) being smart and harvesting a number of eggs while they have her open. If we can retain the womb, we can utilize in vitro fertilization.

At the very least i can say this; there is still hope for our own children as we dont yet know how much of her girl parts will need to go. We can always adopt. (As per Doug Stanhope, it wouldn't hurt to do our little part in population control). And, of course, most importantly, she is still alive and here with me. If we can save her libido too, I can be happy. ;)

hot garbage

It seems more often than not, these days anything out of my mouth is a downer. I'm simply a reminder that life doesn't always go your way. I'm the stink of a refuse depot neighboring a water reclamation plant. It's not so bad...

Chloe mentioned recently that her favorite phrase is one that invokes all your senses - "hot garbage."

Feel it with me: the stench of a wet summer relentlessly pummeling red and brown carcasses, causing their sticky-furred hides to peel back and reveal bleached bone churning with freshly hatched maggots. All this wrapped in fermenting cabbage and soggy diapers that blast through you like the concussion of a bomb. This thing that is the worst of the worst, can be turned around and appreciated with a sharp wit, deeply twisted humor, and a greater understanding of everything and our small place in it. "It's visceral" she says. I can't argue with that, and i smile loving the hot garbage along her side, breathing deeply and feeling the burn of putrid appreciation.

I love my wife, nothing will change that.

Even feeling the sting in our eyes from the rotting heap, we can smile and love everything that is good.

Helpless...

I rarely have felt helpless. I have recently, and still do. My wife can explain much better than i can.

Crunch Time

It's amazing to me how much your life outside of work is affected directly by it. I didn't sleep very well last night. Was this because my wife is sick, or because I am concerned about a friend whose mother recently passed? No. I couldn't sleep because our release date may be postponed due to a last-minute reproduced error.

In the grander scheme of things, things like this shouldn't affect me at all. Yet they continue to nag like an old knee injury that rears its ugly head when the weather gets too cold. I guess you could argue that my passion for our products has found a place in my personal thoughts on a regular basis. We have a good thing going, and i don't want that to be fucked up at all simply because a "little thing" has skewed our first impressions to the public.

I'm going to publicly take a vow, that no matter how "stressful" day-to-day work life becomes, i will not take it home with me. It's tough enough to deal with it head on 9 hours a day.

When i get home - I'll watch the new SB email, work out, catch up on the news to remind myself why I refrain from taking a raft on the main stream of society, shower, and then plan to do somethign spontaneous. ;)

Pedal Power

I recently have become obsessed with riding my bike. I'm on it almost daily now, and as a result have dropped just over 30lbs. Being as big as i was to start off with, 30lbs is only a small fraction of the mass i need to lose, and was hardly noticeable... that is until my marathon sex session with the wife. (Moms- you can stop reading this blog now. I'll make sure the next post is rated "G".) It was the best sex of our entire relationship together.

I pulled out a boxed time capsule of clothes i havent worn in years to discover i now fit into the other half of my wardorbe. Gone are the days of skin-tight Tees that show off my love handles, hello to the days of wearing a kilt, Chuck Taylors and a T-Shirt that says "I put the laughter back into Manslaughter." (Davey Boy likes that one.)

I've many adventures on the 20 mile round trek to work, and i plan to start sharinging them, at least semi-regularly. Like nearly running over a furry giant mutant geese, to crushing my way through a mountain of bleached-white snails.

I thought I'd also share my dream bike - the Kona "Hoss Dee-lux." It's a clydesdale class for "the big man." and oh yes, I am big.