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.

Wednesday, April 25, 2007

Bitches

In the past, my grandmother has been a big source of frustration and torment. Anytime I've needed an attack on my self esteem, I could rely on her to provide it. Seriously. Consider the following tidbits.

"My...your butt has got so big!"
"Are you doing anything with your college education?"
"If you prayed, things would be much better in your life."
"Hasn't **** (my Ex) gotten a job in the field he majored in?"

Add that to her ability to play maryter better than any other person I've ever met. She's the first Catholic I've ever met who has mastered Jewish guilt.

"No...I don't mind sitting by myself this past Christmas. I'm sure your friends were more important to you."
"I recently added up all the money I sent to you while you were in college and needed help. It was thousands of dollars."

We have a love/hate relationship.

Yet today...I'm stuck worrying. She's gone in to get a pacemaker, and like it or not, I have to worry about her. Hell, she's 83 years old. I fully know that likely the next time I have to travel to her area is going to be for a funeral.

***sigh***

Growing old is a real bitch sometimes. Having ageing parents and grandparents get older is even worse.

Patrick - 12:22 PM -

Tuesday, April 24, 2007

Wordless Phrases

Anyone get the number of the bus that hit me? Yeah...it's about how I feel at this moment. I'm looking forward to being able to comfortably walk farther than 4 blocks.

Last week is a blur. I went into the hospital for a revision surgery to do some "minor corrections" and woke up in way more pain than I had from the original surgery. Apparently they had to intubate me in the recovery room as I wasn't breathing on my own after all the morphine administered for pain. Yes...this was how my week started out.

By the time I was coherent, the resident explained to me that I had two drainage tubes (one in each side) and a tube from my nose into my stomach (called an NG tube) that was draining any content (stomach acid) so that my stomach could heal from being perforated. It was that tube that hurt like a mother fucker. For those that already know...yes...I did remove the NG tube myself. Honestly, it was nothing but anger that gave me the strength to do it.

Thursday night, while a visitor was visiting me, the resident came in and started to examine me. While checking my wounds, he told me I was using morphine too much and should only be using it for my surgical wounds. Not for my throat pain.

***Blank stare***

Pain is fucking pain. Can I get an Amen people?

But if there is one thing I have learned about myself, piss me off, and I'll take it to a whole new level. Anger can drive me like no other emotion. Thus that night, I suffered without pain medication. With each swallow, I made my plans to take the resident down a few notches. It started when he walked in for initial rounds.

Him: Morning Patrick, how are you feeling?
Me: When do I go for x-rays to see if the nose tube can be removed?
Him: Well radiology isn't open yet, so we'll call for an appointment when they do. Have you passed gas yet?
Me: What time do they open?
Him: 9:00.
Me: I'll be there at 9 AM if I have to walk there myself. A good resident would have made the appointment the night before. Apparently you aren't very good.

My x-rays were at 9 am, and the physician that analyzed them indicated that the tube was allowed to be removed. Thus, upon arriving back in my room, I told the nurse to page the resident and tell him he had exactly 60 minutes to remove the tube from my nose, or I'd do it myself.

90 minutes later, I put the garbage can in front of me (in case of vomiting), removed the tape adhering the tube to my nose, and started pulling. The distance from your stomach to your nose is about 60 centimeters. Pulling the tube felt more like 60 miles, but I got the thing out.

When the resident arrived 2 hours late, I handed him the tube and informed him that he was not to do any more work on my case.

Sometimes, saying "fuck you" doesn't involve using curse words.

Patrick - 8:05 AM -

Monday, April 16, 2007

It Cuts Like a Knife

Today, back under the surgeon's knife.

Hopefully this time I'll get a hot anesthesiologist, and a naught male nurse.

:-)

Patrick - 8:33 AM -

Friday, April 13, 2007

chaka khan

In the summer of 2005, Tunagirl and and I were at the Trader Joe's market on the Cape, when I purchased a 1/2 pound of milk chocolate. I handed the chocolate to Tunagirl and as I handed the cashier the money I informed her it was a PMS medical emergency. Surprisingly, Tunagirl did not take a swing at me for that comment. PMS is a bitch, and I don't envy women who suffer from it.

After my surgery this past September, I was on a strict liquid diet, and was surviving, but on very little calories. To up the calorie intake, I consumed milk chocolate in mass quantities. Usually 1 or 2 chocolate bars a day (since October 21st). Big chocolate bars. Like 1200 calorie chocolate bars. Those extra calories have kept me going and slowly gotten my weight back to what I weighed pre-surgery.

However, I've noticed something in the past few weeks. I've become an addict. It was bound to happen. My deceased father was an alcoholic and a smoker, so the addictive traits were in my genes. If you set a piece of chocolate in front of me...I will eat it. In fact, while at a recent stage production, I saw an actor eating M&M's on stage, and my mouth started to salivate. If I could have sneaked on stage and stole the candy, I would have.

A week ago for dinner, I had a chocolate bar and a glass of chocolate milk. I'm out of control, and realize that I have no power over chocolate anymore. Chocolate controls me. I want to drop to my knees and worship the anatomically correct chocolate Jesus, nibbling at pieces while basking in its beauty. GOD BLESS CHOCOLATE!!!!!!

Yeah...I need a twelve step program. Of course, one doesn't exist for this type of addiction. Therefore, I'm starting one. I'm going to call this new organization Chocolahoics Anonymous. CHOC-A is going to rid the world of chocolate addictions one menstrual cycle at a time. Dentists will rejoyce as cavity rates plummet with the average waistline.

And we will have meetings...nay huge gatherings! Thousands of people everywhere are going to meet at the annual convention called Choc-A-Con!

Now if you excuse me. I've got to clear my desk of a couple of candy bars I've not eaten yet. It would be a shame to waste them...and it is lunch time.

Patrick - 11:30 AM -

Wednesday, April 11, 2007

WASTE

Friends, Homos, and other readers of this site, please forgive me for I have sinned. Last night, I had the opportunity to see the world through the eyes of a heterosexual woman, and I fully understand now why so many are miserable. Men are the problem.

Last night, I went to the gym to do my leg workout. I got onto the leg extension machine, set the weight to the proper poundage and performed my first set. A dark haired man asked if he could work a set in while I was resting, and without hesitation I obliged. With each extension of his legs, I could see the his quads bulging, and I slowly brought my eyes up towards his face, only to see him staring at my crotch. Yeah...it was kind of obvious he was interested, but the "cat and mouse" game has to be played.

By the time we had gotten to leg curls, I had his name. That was when he asked me to "spot" him on the leg curls. I know...it's a machine...but hey...he was trying. We moved on to squats where he and I spotted each other for nine sets (currently my ass huts so bad, I can barely sit on my chair at work). It was during the last set, that he asked if I wanted to go back to his place.

I said yes...don't judge me. I have a reputation to live up to!

We went back to his place his beautifully decorated apartment in the West 70's (that should have been my first sign), and things were progressing nicely, albeit a bit fast. Fast as in, I had my coat off and he had his clothes off. Not a big deal really, and I took my shirt off. That was when it happened.

A tidal wave had somehow flooded his apartment, and as quick as it had happened...it was over. Seriously...my teenage boyfriend lasted longer. I was a mess and needed a shower. He directed me to the bathroom, where I got under the cleaning waters. That was when I noticed the foo foo soaps, and feminine products. This guy was likely straight and likely married. But I wasn't sure, until I went back into his bedroom.

He was sound asleep...proving he's a straight man. Gay men are more proficient in sex. If you both haven't had one...you're not done. Straight men finish and are finished.

Letting myself out of the apartment, I walked down the street and realized I needed to salvage the evening. I had just survived the Worst Almost Sexual Transaction Ever (forever to be known as WASTE) and knew I wouldn't be calling him again. So I stopped for Chinese takeout and a chocolate bar. Somehow...my dinner left me feeling more satisfied.

Patrick - 6:19 AM -

Tuesday, April 10, 2007

Rejected

Back when I was straight (shut up in the back row...I *did* try for a while in my early teens), my best friend and I went to an activities center where we hung out the entire day with other kids our age. Mostly kids in the 12 to 15 range. You remember the age. Old enough to be interested in having sex, not old enough to drive and with skin that resembled and astronomical map. Complete with a North Star Zit sitting right on the end of your nose.

At the end of the day, we were all at the teen dance. Yes...I was awkward, and most of the guys I knew were already "pairing off" with other girls, leaving me to feel even more insecure in my alone status. My friend gave me the advice of "just go up and talk to one of them." Not the best of advice seeing I was gay, but hey...I was only 12...I couldn't offer to ~~pay them for sex~~ buy them a drink. So I started an awkward conversation. Something on the lines of complementing her shoe laces or something equally as awful.

Of course I was shot down, humiliated, and wishing for death. I slowly walked my way back to where my friend stood. Seeing my face, my friend who was my elder by a whole two years said "It gets easier getting turned down."

Truth be told, he lied. It never gets easy hearing the phrase "I like you and all, but..."(fill in the blank here), and but the difference is that once you reach a certain age, we're not supposed to be disappointed anymore. Suddenly it's become about saving face. Decorum says to acting breezy after getting shot down, or pretend to not be upset when you never get that phone call. It's become a situation where you etiquette requires you to say "Well, at least we can be friends" when what you really want to say is "Fuck you...I have enough friends."

So the big question is, does etiquette have a proper way of saying "So I guess a blow job is out of the question?"

Patrick - 3:28 PM -

Friday, April 06, 2007

Face Recognition

Starting a conversation with someone you are interested in is never easy. You can use a stupid line like "do you come here often?" Or you could go with something more classic like "Nice shoes...wanna fuck?" Lately though, I've had the same line used on me several times.

"You look familiar...do I know you from somewhere?"

Yeah...it's a line. It's cornball, but it is a way of meeting someone you want to meet. My response is usually the same..."I don't think we've met."

So imagine my surprise when the female receptionist who works at the hospital's preadmission testing offices said I look familiar. It's been a long time since a woman has tried to pick me up. I was flattered, and I suggested that she might remember me from the last time I came in for preadmission testing in September. She kept staring at my face, but said she couldn't quite recall where.

As I was about to go into the examining room, she named a few clubs she's gone to, asking if I'd been there. Clever girl, I figured she was giving me clues as to where she'd be hanging out this weekend. Aggressive...I can appreciate that, even if I still wouldn't date her. "Maybe she has a brother", I thought.

I went through the usual humiliating physical. No hernias, blood work is fine, and after a brief uncomfortable experience, I can tell you that my prostrate gland is perfectly healthy. Thankfully, the doctor was gentle, even bordering on cute. Maybe he'll call me later? I was about to leave when the receptionist asked what bars and clubs I went to.

I listed off several gay bars, and the few comedy clubs I've done shows at in town. Her eyes flashed on the word comedy, and she quickly typed something on her computer. She then looked back at me and said two words:

Traveling Spotlight

I need to reconsider putting my photos on this page.

Patrick - 2:35 PM -

Thursday, April 05, 2007

Clam Up!

What does your vagina look like after having sex?
Ummm...ever see a bull dog eating mayonnaise?

~Mrs. Garret, The Facts of Life, The Lost Episode

You can thank me later for that vile image, but I do have a reason I'm bringing this up. Last night, I went to see the above mentioned show.

Five drag queens playing the four girls and matron of Eastland School for Girls. For the most part, I really liked the show, but I found myself thinking one thing at the end. Why is it that so many gay men have this complete fascination with women's genitalia?

I'm not vagina phobic. I tried it once, but like cauliflower...I just didn't care for it all that much. In fact...I'd prefer to not eat cauliflower ever again. So what's the draw for gay men. We aren't going there anytime soon, and for many of us, our last visit was the day we traveled out head first.

***Side note - Ironically, most of the gay men I know were born premature. Was this a sign that we didn't want in there anymore? Maybe not a coincidence.

I've gone with female friends to gay bars, and they've mentioned getting their breasts grabbed by random gay men. I don't know if it's my manners and upbringing, or the fact that I just don't want too...BUT I WOULD NEVER! Not even if asked.

Of course I realize that drag is not about portraying females in a realistic way. Otherwise, it wouldn't be campy and over the top. But why all the (sorry Tuna, I know you hate when I say this word) pussy jokes? Shouldn't a man playing a woman be funny enough without getting graphic?

Patrick - 1:48 PM -

Tuesday, April 03, 2007

What's the Longest You've Ever Had?

Now that I and my fellow brethren are in our *ahem* late 20's, every first date eventually moves into "job interview" mode. It's not that we don't enjoy meeting new people and making new friends. Rather, it takes a lot of effort to move down the dating path, and becoming a boyfriend is a full time commitment.

But just like job interviews, my brethren tell me that there are some questions that should considered discriminatory and not allowed. The traditional questions like age, his coming out story and income (I've got student loans people) are tolerable, but specifically the "R" question should never be mentioned.

"What's the longest relationship you've been in?"

Strangely, this question never really bothered me. But then, my longest relationship was over 6 years. What about those men who's longest relationship was 6 months? Are their former relationships discounted because they didn't hold out? What about the guys who stayed in a bad relationship for years before finally ending it?

I understand that in the employment of boyfriend, you need to believe that the candidate is going to stick around for longevity, eventually even getting promoted to the position of Husband. But boyfriends need to feel appreciated and needed in their position. Otherwise, they look for better opportunities.

Perhaps we need to scrap that interview question all together and ask something more relevant, like "how big is your dick?"

Patrick - 2:12 PM -

Monday, April 02, 2007

Lucy!

I woke up Saturday morning and looked down onto my houseguest's bed.

LUCY....SOMEONE'S GOT SOME ESPLAININ TO DO!

Patrick - 2:09 PM -