I have been running on the beach everyday for about 2 months. This does not qualify me for a torch carry in the next Olympics or even, sadly, a smaller shirt. I have not lost a single pound. I realize that I am in my 40’s and my youthful metabolism is somewhere in a basement box with all of my high school yearbooks but there has to be some other explanation. I do take some solace that I have stopped the continual weight gain that was adding on of a pound each week since Christmas dinner. I have now reached stasis, that elusive state in nature that is not supposed to even exist. I have become like a laundry mat’s change machine. I have the same amount going in as going out. Buying more change machines does not result in more profits and I suspect that more exercise would only result in more eating. My male friends tell me I am not losing weight because I am adding muscle. I asked why I needed more muscle…they said “to carry all of that fat.”
Adding literal injury to insult, I pulled my calf muscle while running the other morning. This muscle is the size of New Jersey so this had no small effect. I am sure it would have gotten better but I iced it down so heavily that I got freezer burns that made walking even more difficult. I could not bare not exercising, however, so even after the burns had become open wounds, I continued to go for an ocean swim every day. I thought the salt water and sun would help heal it, not really paying attention to the fact that each outing attracted every carnivorous animal within 2 miles. The smaller, unseen animals won and now I have an infection. My 3 lb brain continues to hate me. Don’t ever let a religious person tell you that we have dominion on this planet, because we don’t. The world belongs to micro organisms; we are their guests, not their hosts.
So I have stopped swimming and frankly moving at any level of grace. Everybody has an opinion about running in the sand. It is either the best thing for you or it is the worst. I want to throw in the “We put a man on the moon but we can’t figure how to run properly” but, that is over used and frankly, they didn’t run so well when they were on the moon. I barely get around without a cane so that gives everyone the ammunition to say I told you so. Scientists have not figured out what type of shoe is best for running or whether shoes even help. I just watched a documentary and now it looks that running barefoot is the best method. Wow, I am stunned by the research. I expect that next month breast feeding will be given the seal of approval. Couch potatoes and intellectuals unite; you all continue to be idiots.
What makes it all worse is that I am suddenly feeling vulnerable and gimpy. Is this it? Is this the injury that propels me to hypertension and slurred speech? It feels like the end. It is as if I was on the top of a large amusement park slide to old age and I had been pushed off while I was not looking. If I was an Eskimo, my daughter would point out the front door to the barren tundra, sending the old man out to freeze.
And then on cue, a young salesman called me and wanted to know if I had made final plans for when I died. Unbelievable. I told him that I did not plan on dying, at least not in the traditional sense.
“Well, have you made plans, Mr. Bernie?” He used my name and called me Mr.; I was in worse shape than I thought.
“Yes, I have made final plans. I plan to die as the King of England with plenty of women, who really don’t like me, giving me a final sponge bath”. He was silent, he knew I was lying.
“Okay, actually, I plan on being eaten by a shark. And before you say anything, I am serious.” I added.
“If I was going to be eaten by a shark” He jumped in. “I would want our silver package. It would cover you completely if such an accident would occur. “
“Cover me with what, a police blanket to keep away the crabs? “ I said. “And besides, I it would not be an accident, it is my destiny”
“Better yet” he explained further “death should never be unexpected or unplanned and our gold plan is just the ticket. It is for those deaths that were not surprises”
I told him a better plan would be one that kept me out of the water but I mentioned I rarely controlled such impulses.
“Perfect!" He nearly screamed. “You need our Premier Package. It not only covers the expected and the unexpected but provides a great service for all of your friends and family so they can make the transition”
“Why?" I asked, “Are they going with me? And if they are it sounds a little bit like Hell. I am not sure I should have to pay for that”
He continued, “After your guests reflect and listen to the songs you have pre-selected, you could have one of your best chums,” He quickly corrected himself, “I’m sorry, one of your best friends give the eulogy."
I could just see my best friend doing my eulogy.
“Here lies Bernie… and here and here” as pointed to several Tupperware containers surrounded by pictures.
“Let’s call it like it is, the one thing I will miss about Bernie is his laugh. The one thing I won’t miss about him was his constant chattering on how he was going to be eaten by a shark. The bloke was right but if you are going to be dead on, so to speak, why not channel that prophetic gift into picking the next Microsoft or knowing which girl you were meant to spend your life with? He was more of a clairvoyant than Nostradamus and as ill fated as the Edzel.” Then they he would have to read something I had prepared.
“But I can say that he did not become someone different than what he wanted to be. And whether we can love him and agree, all he ever wanted was to love those around him and to be eaten in the sea”
I wrote the last part to make sure my best bud was remembered for reading ridiculous rhymes at my wake. I figure if I am being laid to rest, I don’t want anyone getting laid for fun.
One good thing about being dead is you don’t get to see who shows up at your funeral. Can you imagine? The people you swore would come, don’t and the people whose first names you forgot 10 times, show up, like the Korean store owner who I bought cigarettes from. He tells my family,
“He always greets me with a wonderful yellow stained smile. I will miss him. He always had correct change”
Ahhh, the warmth my family would feel. The real agony of death is when that one true beauty that you were always afraid to approach shows up in a black veil.
“If only he would have asked me out, I am sure I could have kept him out of the water”
I never saw that one coming.
Monday, June 28, 2010
No One Gets Out Of Here Alive
No one goes to a health clinic in the hopes of meeting someone. You certainly don’t think about finding a new friend while you are in the STD line. You don’t stand for food stamps if you can afford to put something on your table and you don’t stand in the HIV express lane if you are behaving sexually. All right, let’s get this out of the way. Sex is cool and great, heck every thing that has ever lived has done it (or tried)… It is right up there with eating, a necessity. Should you do it only if you are married? Who knows such things? I do know that married men and women sleep around in numbers that would shock you. I know of one person who has stayed faithful for 30 years and he is the angriest man I know. That is just my experience.
I went to the clinic because I was asked to go. No, I didn’t get the dreaded phone call from the County Health Service representative saying that someone that was infected had turned in my name. That would have implied that I actually had had sex. And that would be real humor. Instead, I was actually trying to be responsible and before the next time I did engage, I would know that I was safe. Like a pitcher warming up in the 5th inning, I thought I was soon going to get in the game.
The problem was I came with the girl I was thinking of sleeping with. We were holding hands as we were waiting to be called. We had gotten there at 8 am, we were the first appointments. It is great to feel like a priority at an STD Clinic. Since anonymity is paramount and is even the law, I was given the secret code of # 1 and my new friend was # 2. We sat behind a really attractive woman, who was # 3.
My clinic date said “Wow, she has really pretty hair.” I was not looking or trying to notice anyone, I already felt like I was at the prom with my mother…but hey, she brought it to my attention, so I added “And Legs”. What does it say to the other clients when you get elbowed in the main waiting room? It looked like we had just been handed our results and it was entirely my fault.
“Number One, can you please follow me?’ Nothing fits my ego better than this label. I was led into a poorly lit room. I sat with a counselor and he asked me about my sex life.
“That is a little personal, don’t you think?” I asked him.
“I am only here to help” He deadpanned.
“Really...Could you give me some numbers of loose women?”
He said nothing. If girls knew how we men thought, they would never speak to us. Then he said, “You know, with express, you can find out your results in 30 minutes, but you are down for the full examination, which will take 2 weeks. “
“I haven’t had sex in 16 months, what is 2 weeks?” I lied, 2 weeks would seem like the same amount of time it would take Pluto to orbit the Sun. He finished my history and apparently came to the same conclusion as the initial intake, express service was not for me. He initialed that I was to give every possible sample, including a brain sample.
“Does the brain sample hurt?’ I asked.
“Normally, but it is pretty clear you haven’t been using yours, you’ll be fine”
I was first asked to sit in the ‘we will need you to urinate section’ all by myself. This is cool since most men have trouble urinating when others are around anyway.
“Number 1 ? Is Number 1 here ? I need Number 1's blood”, A small Vietnamese woman asked. I looked to my left and right. I was still the only one in the room.
“I am Number 1, but I thought I was supposed to go #1 before the blood letting occurred?
“You do number 1 second, first we take blood” she said. I just shook my head and followed her into a morgue like hallway. It was freezing.
‘Why is it so cold in here?” I asked.
“Keeps the germs down” she said.
“I guess that’s why no on gets sick in Canada” I chuckled and continued.
“Do you use needles or leeches to get the blood?” She gave that grinned shut up look. She needed to confirm who I was before she put my blood in a vial.
"Your name?”
“I am the One”
“Yes I know, but what is your real name?”
“Bernie, its Bernie Home. But who is number One?" I asked.
“You are” she smiled. I was finally being appreciated.
She swabbed my arm with alcohol, which takes 10 minutes to kill the germs but the needle was in within seconds.
I was then asked to go a different waiting room . I was again alone until the cute #3 with the pretty hair and legs came by. She waved like a cheerleader. I waved back less enthusiastically. I then was asked to go into another room with a dark skinned older woman.
“I am going to check you for everything” she said.
“Why, do I have that look on my face?” She just pointed to a chair.
“First I will check for moles, since we live in Florida and then I will check your scrotum.” I had never heard moles and scrotum used in the same sentence. My moles checked out and she asked me to drop my pants. I felt like a crack whore as my shorts wrapped around my ankles. She said I should check my testicles at least once a month for growths. “Honey, I have not left them alone since I was 12”. I didn’t care what I said at this point, I was trying to deflect my uncomfortableness with humor. She then pulled out a Q-tip as long as an elephant’s trunk.
“What is that for?” I winced.
“I have to check for chlamydia and gonorrhea by putting this inside your urethra.”
“Urethra? Didn’t they just play in the World Cup?”, I yelped. I knew she meant my penis but I have never considered it as having an orifice and yes, I took anatomy.
“I would rather you check my prostrate!”
“It will just be a minute."
“A minute?” I cried. "Time just stopped for me!”
This is where the phrase, I wouldn't touch you with a 10 foot pole comes from. This q-tip was obviously left over from the Nazi’s. This was just unbelievable.
“All guys have this done, don’t worry” she added
“No they don’t!" I yelled. "I would have heard about this, that I am sure!”
In her next minute, I nearly blacked out and I called for my mother at least 3 times. I was never going to have sex again.
I was back in a third waiting room, fairly sure I had left some part of my manhood in that small torture cell. My clinic date joined me and asked “How is it going?’
“How is it going?” I said with the look of death. “I envy pin cushions right now. I am thinking that a 2 week stay in 1940's Dachau would be a relief..and those gorgeous breasts of yours…I wouldn’t touch them with a 10 foot pole! No offense!”
I got up to pay my bill and walk away. While I was in line waiting to pull out my wallet, number 3 danced behind me with a bubbly smile.
“Hey” she said.
“Hey? “ I asked.
“Do you want my number?” she smiled.
"That's okay" I said. "I think I already know your number."
Stay Tooned... Next, Bernie goes camping with a long time friend and closet homosexual...
I went to the clinic because I was asked to go. No, I didn’t get the dreaded phone call from the County Health Service representative saying that someone that was infected had turned in my name. That would have implied that I actually had had sex. And that would be real humor. Instead, I was actually trying to be responsible and before the next time I did engage, I would know that I was safe. Like a pitcher warming up in the 5th inning, I thought I was soon going to get in the game.
The problem was I came with the girl I was thinking of sleeping with. We were holding hands as we were waiting to be called. We had gotten there at 8 am, we were the first appointments. It is great to feel like a priority at an STD Clinic. Since anonymity is paramount and is even the law, I was given the secret code of # 1 and my new friend was # 2. We sat behind a really attractive woman, who was # 3.
My clinic date said “Wow, she has really pretty hair.” I was not looking or trying to notice anyone, I already felt like I was at the prom with my mother…but hey, she brought it to my attention, so I added “And Legs”. What does it say to the other clients when you get elbowed in the main waiting room? It looked like we had just been handed our results and it was entirely my fault.
“Number One, can you please follow me?’ Nothing fits my ego better than this label. I was led into a poorly lit room. I sat with a counselor and he asked me about my sex life.
“That is a little personal, don’t you think?” I asked him.
“I am only here to help” He deadpanned.
“Really...Could you give me some numbers of loose women?”
He said nothing. If girls knew how we men thought, they would never speak to us. Then he said, “You know, with express, you can find out your results in 30 minutes, but you are down for the full examination, which will take 2 weeks. “
“I haven’t had sex in 16 months, what is 2 weeks?” I lied, 2 weeks would seem like the same amount of time it would take Pluto to orbit the Sun. He finished my history and apparently came to the same conclusion as the initial intake, express service was not for me. He initialed that I was to give every possible sample, including a brain sample.
“Does the brain sample hurt?’ I asked.
“Normally, but it is pretty clear you haven’t been using yours, you’ll be fine”
I was first asked to sit in the ‘we will need you to urinate section’ all by myself. This is cool since most men have trouble urinating when others are around anyway.
“Number 1 ? Is Number 1 here ? I need Number 1's blood”, A small Vietnamese woman asked. I looked to my left and right. I was still the only one in the room.
“I am Number 1, but I thought I was supposed to go #1 before the blood letting occurred?
“You do number 1 second, first we take blood” she said. I just shook my head and followed her into a morgue like hallway. It was freezing.
‘Why is it so cold in here?” I asked.
“Keeps the germs down” she said.
“I guess that’s why no on gets sick in Canada” I chuckled and continued.
“Do you use needles or leeches to get the blood?” She gave that grinned shut up look. She needed to confirm who I was before she put my blood in a vial.
"Your name?”
“I am the One”
“Yes I know, but what is your real name?”
“Bernie, its Bernie Home. But who is number One?" I asked.
“You are” she smiled. I was finally being appreciated.
She swabbed my arm with alcohol, which takes 10 minutes to kill the germs but the needle was in within seconds.
I was then asked to go a different waiting room . I was again alone until the cute #3 with the pretty hair and legs came by. She waved like a cheerleader. I waved back less enthusiastically. I then was asked to go into another room with a dark skinned older woman.
“I am going to check you for everything” she said.
“Why, do I have that look on my face?” She just pointed to a chair.
“First I will check for moles, since we live in Florida and then I will check your scrotum.” I had never heard moles and scrotum used in the same sentence. My moles checked out and she asked me to drop my pants. I felt like a crack whore as my shorts wrapped around my ankles. She said I should check my testicles at least once a month for growths. “Honey, I have not left them alone since I was 12”. I didn’t care what I said at this point, I was trying to deflect my uncomfortableness with humor. She then pulled out a Q-tip as long as an elephant’s trunk.
“What is that for?” I winced.
“I have to check for chlamydia and gonorrhea by putting this inside your urethra.”
“Urethra? Didn’t they just play in the World Cup?”, I yelped. I knew she meant my penis but I have never considered it as having an orifice and yes, I took anatomy.
“I would rather you check my prostrate!”
“It will just be a minute."
“A minute?” I cried. "Time just stopped for me!”
This is where the phrase, I wouldn't touch you with a 10 foot pole comes from. This q-tip was obviously left over from the Nazi’s. This was just unbelievable.
“All guys have this done, don’t worry” she added
“No they don’t!" I yelled. "I would have heard about this, that I am sure!”
In her next minute, I nearly blacked out and I called for my mother at least 3 times. I was never going to have sex again.
I was back in a third waiting room, fairly sure I had left some part of my manhood in that small torture cell. My clinic date joined me and asked “How is it going?’
“How is it going?” I said with the look of death. “I envy pin cushions right now. I am thinking that a 2 week stay in 1940's Dachau would be a relief..and those gorgeous breasts of yours…I wouldn’t touch them with a 10 foot pole! No offense!”
I got up to pay my bill and walk away. While I was in line waiting to pull out my wallet, number 3 danced behind me with a bubbly smile.
“Hey” she said.
“Hey? “ I asked.
“Do you want my number?” she smiled.
"That's okay" I said. "I think I already know your number."
Stay Tooned... Next, Bernie goes camping with a long time friend and closet homosexual...
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