The Former Traveling Spotlight

The tales of a "30" something gay former stand-up comic living in NYC who is searching for his soul mate or soul...which ever comes first.

Monday, September 25, 2006

The Curse

Still Tuna Girl here.

First and foremost, I should let you now that Patrick is home and doing as well as can be expected. He's getting out and walking a bit. He won't be running any races soon but he's doing well.

Okay, now on to more disgusting things.

Guest blogging is hard. It really is. You want to focus on your host, because people come here for him. Nobody really wants to read about your kids' soccer games or how your hair is extra floopy today. No, they want Patrick. They want funny stories (or naked pictures) about Patrick.

But there is a fine line. I mean, I know him pretty well. I don't want to tell his secrets. Besides, you wouldn't believe a lot of what I could tell you anyway. Like for instance, did you know that Patrick is very shy? No really! He is! I swear!

So I racked my brain and finally came up with an answer. I can tell a story about Patrick, but only embarrass myself. Perfect compromise. Besides, who doesn't love a good toxic waste story?
I am cursed. Every single time I get to spend time with Patrick, I get my period. And it's not like I can hide it from him, because, well, he keeps track. Yup. Once a month, just before my PMS gets out of control, a reminder pops up on Patrick's Treo to let him know that he should be on high alert.

The first time, I was staying in his old apartment in Cleveland. He had read my hot plumber story and so felt the need to tell me that I should, "not flush any toxic waste." He swore to me that a restriction against flushing feminine hygiene products was in his lease. He set out a "toxic waste disposal unit" and everything.

But old habits die hard. And, well, yes, you guessed it. Plop. Right in the toilet. But I had promised him. And I don't break promises. So...

I went toilet diving for a bloody tampon.

But the saddest thing is that I did it again. And again. In Cleveland and New York. And every time I go fishing I have to yell out, "Damn you Patrick Doyle. Damn you to hell!"

I have a sneaking suspicion that my toxic waste problem has worked its way into a comedy routine. But I'll never know because I've been forbidden from ever seeing his show. Damn, that man knows too much about me.

I think tomorrow I'll post those half-naked, goofy pictures. Or maybe I'll tell stories about his ex-boyfriends. Or, ooh! I could post naked pictures of his ex-boyfriends. (No, not you. Or you. I swear!) My husband is sick of carrying those pictures around on his iPod anyway.

Tuna Girl - 11:03 AM -

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