The Most Real Post You’ll Find Here

2017I’m going to be uncomfortably honest and real right now. So much so that I’m not posting this to social media and you may just want to click somewhere else (SQUIRREL!) on the internet. I was not looking forward to 2017. As much as aspects of 2016 were horrible, the new year brought with it a hard, stern look at my mortality. Or in summary:

There’s a chance I won’t make it through 2017.

No, I’m not suicidal. Please do NOT worry about that. I will keep fighting.

I’ll let you catch your breath now.

As you may or may not know, I’ve been fighting Stage IV melanoma since the beginning of 2015. After two surgeries and four chemotherapies, I’m running out of options. All that’s left is trials (if I can get into them due to being HIV+) and a treatment so intense I’ll be in ICU for a minimum of 5 days. The trials are a shot in the dark. The treatment works for only 10% of patients. The good news with the treatment is, if it does work, I’ll be in complete remission.

The problem is those are pretty much the only options left and I’ve been told seven months is my worst-case scenario. Since I’ve not received any treatment for 8 weeks that seems the clock is technically down to five months. 

Add to that the pity party of what I’m pretty convinced is me being out of “love” luck, too. Man, what does it take to convince a guy to just cuddle on the couch and watch a movie? I could get laid 10x easier. 

I may be down when you see me and these are the reasons why. It’s hard especially since I tend to gravitate towards being jovial, happy, and optimistic. I don’t necessarily want to leave because there are still so many beautiful and wonderful things out there, but I also have to be honest with myself.

We all gotta go.

Guaranteed Avoidance of “Glee”

“Have you seen Glee?”
“No, haven’t seen any episodes.”
“Oh, you will.”
“No, I really don’t have any interest.”
“I didn’t think I would either, but now I can’t stop. You’ll get into it.”

At this point I put on my best customer service smile and sardonically tell her, “I can guarantee you I won’t watch it.” So she leaves with this slightly annoyed look on her face.

It seems she didn’t know how she was coming across — that she was projecting her own experience on someone whose name or interests she doesn’t even know.

The fact is that I have watched roughly 3-1/2 minutes of the show. Cameron told me to find the “Vogue” video claiming it was well done. It was. Very fun. It was sung by an adult. It’s the Kids Bop aspect of the music which causes implosions of the brain much like Rebecca Black’s “Friday.”

I don’t begrudge or judge anyone who loves it either. I love hearing stories of people finding entertainment that releases their endorphins. Just don’t get all Miss Cleo on my ass. Especially when I’m not paying you $3.99 a minute.

It’s great that she found out she enjoyed something she thought was not her fast foot joint of preference. Don’t tell people they will do something like you’re a Jedi master. I wish now I had instead said, “Your mind tricks won’t work on me, Jedi scum.”

That Smell

Looks like Autumn has finally come to Denver. Yes, the leaves are changing and the city is blanketed with them, but it’s still be getting close to 80 some days — it’s November! Today is a different story. Sunny and 50 just turned into cloudy, 45 and rainy.

If there were a way to dish up the smells outside and serve them up, someone would make a killing in the restaurant industry. That smell has started to permeate the building as if the structure has been deprived of moisture for a year and is now soaking it all up. That theory may not be far from the truth as it’s been drier than normal here.

Working at the video store tonight is going to be lovely. The door will be propped open for a short time to replace the slightly musty smell with that of something more natural. Something that air freshener companies have failed to bottle up: a fresh smell that has more earthy scents than the manufactured ‘sun-ripened raspberry laundry in a rainstorm.’

Give Me A Book!

To feel the heft and grain of the paper. To scan the off-white pages with its black, entertaining type. To smell the musty old pages of a 20-year-old tomb. To hear the thick tissue bend and rub turning a page giving a sense of progress. To taste the author’s words on my tongue after completing the last chapter. To literally digest the allegory not to mention the feeling of being alive that a tongue paper cut gives. To taste the satisfaction of finishing a good book and then deciding on a place of honor on a bookshelf.

There is nothing like propping yourself up in bed and opening the woody essence of a book to read. Nothing helps me relax more than feeling the weight of the book on my chest as a member of my race decides to share their imagination, observations and feelings between pages covered in a nicely-designed font. Grabbing a book and headphones has been the way I’ve unwound since I was in my shy teen years. It’s home base. It’s my deserted island. No one but me and the world the author creates in my mind.

Technology is cool, but I still can’t get behind curling up in my Snuggie with my iPhone Kindle app. It feels cold and empty like what I’d imagine how the writers of The Soup feeling if ever Lindsey Lohan were to die.

Well, Poo

The Wednesday Monkey show audience will have one less person. My mom had to cancel her trip to visit due to a car accident. She’s fine but the car needs work before driving across two states.

I was looking forward to seeing her since we haven’t spent time together since the *cancer* and she was going to see a real show. The last time she was here the show was part-roast, part-improv. I’ve been doing this comedy thing for 8 years so it’s great when family finally gets to see something you’re proud of.

Thankfully we have another show in June so she’ll be able to visit and not have to worry about winter weather driving across Wyoming.

As it is Cameron and I are planning to have Monkey Matt2 and his beautiful wife, Leslie, over for dinner. Cameron has a menu but all I heard was “Blah blah blah deviled eggs.” O. M. G. His deviled eggs are worth coming back from the dead. Just like Zombie Jesus who was reanimated to feed on our sins. “Siiiiiinnnnsss. Siiiinnnnnsss.”