Scene 1: A medical clinic. Our hero fidgets as he waits to hear his big gay name.

12-year-old Technician: Dirk…Man-COO-sew?
Dirk: Present.
12-year-old Technician: How are you today?
Dirk: Stressed out over this needle business. I told that lulu on the phone yesterday to get me an IV drug user or some shit for the injection. I don’t want some 12-year-old learnin’ on me. She better’ve wrote that down too.
12-year-old Technician: I was the one that spoke to you yesterday…

* ~* ~ *

Scene 2: A medical clinic Frankenstein torture chamber complete with counter, cotton ball dispenser, generic Pharmaceutical calendar, and Guantanamo Bay confession chair with special wing to extend a victim’s arm while thin metal tubes are inserted into veins.

Dirk (nervously trying to make conversation): Are you a medical student?
12-year-old Technician (bringing Sexy The Ice Age back): Nope. I’m the one behind the needle this morning. Now do you want to know when I’m about to stick you or (smiling) should this lulu  just surprise you?

* ~ * ~ *

Scene 3:  Dirk’s office. Dirk sends The Fella a text message and photo of his bandaged ow-ie. A few moments later his cell phone beeps, signalling a  reply from his furry paramour.

The Fella (via text): Ouch. Did they give you a lollipop?
Dirk (via text): No, but the bear receptionist gave me a wink and a cough drop when he validated my parking.
The Fella (via text): Oh hell no. I will cut a bitch.

Cue Dirk sighing contentedly; his fella loves him.

Today I am having a bone scan on my wrist to see if I broke something when I fell on it eleven days ago.

Being a rather literal kind of fruit, you can imagine my great surprise when the hospital called me yesterday to schedule the bone scan and informed me that it was a two part procedure: part one involved being injected with dye and –

*RECORD SCRATCH*

“I’m sorry,” I interrupted the crazy bitch on the other end of the line, as my stomach dropped and my body was suddenly covered in a fine sheen of cold sweat, “but my doctor must have stupidly glossed over the part where  a bone scan involved an injection…”

Awkward pause. “Um, well…yes, there is an injection with dye 3 hours before the scan.”

“An injection with a needle?” I closed my eyes and began mouthing my mantra “mother humpin’ sons of whores.”

“Yessssss…with a needle.”

“Can you please hold?” Without waiting for a reply, I placed the phone in its cradle and frantically began weighing my options.

I could wait another week and see if the pain abated.

I could continue to live with the pain and if it was a broken bone, let it heal on its own even if that meant a hooked, gnarled hand.

Or I could just suck it up and let the fuckers stick a goddamn needle in my baby soft Oil of Olay-ed to a fare-the-well man flesh.

Just as I had resolved to embark on a life as “Crazy Old Gnarly Hook Hand” my cell phone beeped. It was a text message from Tristan: I’m seriously begging you to go to the doctor. You’ve been in pain for the last week. I will go with you if that’s what it takes.

Dammit. He knows I can’t refuse him anything.

I picked up the phone. “Hello? I can come in tomorrow…but you need to make a note on the chart that I want the best you’ve got with a needle. Get me one of those emergency helicopter rescue guys that bring people back from the brink of death or a nurse with one hell of a heroin addiction — somebody who knows how to find a vein on the first damn try, okay?”

Silence.

“Hello?”

“…yes, sir. I’ll make a notation of that…”

So today I am sucking up my fear and marching my big gay khaki clad ass into that hospital and allowing them to shove a goddamn needle into my frail Broadway musical-lovin’ arm, all because I want to show my hot boyfriend what a man I am.

Pray for my sissy ass, won’t you?

My thumb joint and wrist are so swollen I can”t use them.

Giving in to The Fella”s request to go to the doctor.

More as this develops.

***7 X-rays Later Update:

Doctor thinks it is an extreme flair up of gout but is having 2nd radiologist look at my x-rays to see if there could be a hairline fracture.

And despite his insistence he drive me, I drove myself to the doctor. My boyfriend does not need to be missing work over my stupid ass.

To borrow a quote from another blogger, I’m feeling worse than hammered shit.

I have gout in my right wrist and thumb (which makes typing extremely painful and holding a pen damn near impossible), I’m catching some sort of cold (most likely the precursor to H1N1), and Lola’s hip has gone out, necessitating that I spend at least 2-3 hours after work at her place (doing dishes, laundry, making dinner, etc.). Add to that already full plate the fact that I start my part-time job with The Fella tonight and you’ve got one very tired faggot.

And how’s your week…?

A brief recap of my weekend:

~ Tristan woke me up at 4:45am Saturday to catch our train.

~ Tristan woke me again at 4:50am.

~ And at 4:55am.

~ 5am. 5:05am. 

~ I got up at 5:15am.

~ We took a cab to our hotel.

~ We checked in and I discovered my cell phone had fallen out of my pocket in the cab that had taken us to our hotel.

~ I used Tristan’s phone to call my phone and the cab driver answered and actually returned the fucking thing.

~ I got Skottie Young to sign my WONDERFUL WIZARD OF OZ graphic novel adaptation.

~ We went to the Harry Potter Exhibit at the Museum of Science and Industry.

~ The train ride home had me having to endure this directly across from me on the train ride home:

~ …while the guy in front of him laying on his back, hacking up his lungs and NOT COVERING HIS FUCKING MOUTH…

~ …which led to me putting my hooded jacket on backwards and looking like this on the way home:

~ Later, after waking up from my “thank God it’s over nap” I had a sore throat and felt like shit, as did Tristan who was pissy and bratty and said he had no interest in watching the adorable Neil Patrick Harris host the Emmys and stomped off to bed so I watched and commented along with Debs over at Her Rabid Glow.

And what did you do this weekend?

This just in from the “While You Were Out” department: Evidently I picked the wrong fucking day to miss because yesterday it was announced that the company will be restructuring.

And by restructuring, they mean eliminating job titles.

And by eliminating job titles, they mean instead of department heads there will now be departmental heads – departmental being their version of the plural “departments.”

And since the aforementioned departmental heads will be overseeing more  than one department, that means that some people will be out of jobs.

But this is not a concern for worry, apparently — those individuals relieved of their duties as department heads will be offered new positions. At a reduced rate of pay, of course.

So as of today, I get the distinct pleasure and divine honor or re-applying for my fucking job after 2 decades.

Irritated? Oh just a lil.

Agitated? You fuckin’ bet ya.

Blood pressure feeling a wee bit like the third stage of a NASA space probe lift-off? Hells to the oh yeah.

Could somebody pass me the portable defibrillator…?

The chest pains are back and with a massive fucking headache this time.

My arms feel like rubber.

The Fella and I aren’t talking because he kept asking me what was wrong and I told him nothing and he said he knew I was lying and I told him if  he was expecting my answer to change he shouldn’t and he said if that was the way I was going to be he was leaving and I told him where the door was located. 

Sigh.

Hope your day’s better…

If you’re a Johnny Come Lately to this blog you may think I’m just your run of the mill faggot.

And in all honesty, I am rather non-descript and run of the mill.

But what I also am is under a tremendous amount of stress and pressure both at work and in my personal life.

Over the past two weeks I have been toiling away on a project that I was told was supposed to be completed in 10 days by 8 people working a total of 320 hours.  Of course, as department head I was told that there was no one available to assist me so I would need to complete it myself. Which I did. In 10 days and 80 hours, something the other branches did not manage to do even with the allotted hours and employees.

In addition, Lola’s memory seems to be flagging a bit more with an exponential rise in her neediness levels; Josie seems to be having some breathing issues; I’ve really only been getting an substantial amounts of sleep on the weekend, getting by with an average of 4 a night during this entire project; my cable payment went lost  in the mail resulting in Comcast all making with the turning off of my internet for like 12 hours before I got that shit straightened out; the return of the gout in my foot and knee; and I only saw Tristan 5 out of the last 14 days,  so things got a little stressful.

Which is why I think I had the chest pains.

And the kind of wonky rubbery arthiritis-pains in both my upper shoulder/arms to the elbows parts (but one does need to take into account that I did break my left arm back in college so that one does ache quite bit anyway due to the nature of the injury) that made my arms fel almost too heavy to lift at times.

Neither of which was really worrying me all that much — okay except for last Wednesday when 30 minutes into my work day, I felt so exhausted and weak that I almost just burst into tears, threw in the towel, and went home — but then I got the really bad headache. Which I know was just the stress of having only 3 days to finish the project (with 5 days worth of work left) because it was gone literally the minute I finished dotting the final “i” and crossing the final “t” but still I am a hypochondriac and I imagined myself in the remake of MY LEFT FOOT or some other Oscar winning picture that makes you want to slit your wrist after you watch it because that’s how I roll.

And so here I sit this morning – no chest pains…no head ache…no rubbery, wonky feeling in my right arm — fit as a fiddle and fine as frog hair.

Except for those weird-ass feelings in my left arm.

Which aren’t quite pain. In fact they’re  more like three seperate aches — one in the rotator cuff where the original break occurred, one just below the elbow that aches off and on like a dull bruise, and one in the knuckles of my left hand that feels almost as though I’m going to lose the ability to grasp things or even type at any second. And I keep hearing the doctor tell me over and over, “You’re more than likely going to develop some nasty arthritis in that arm as you get older, Dirk…”

Looks like he was right.

Sigh.

I guess you really do start to fall apart after 40.

I’m on steroids for the gout and they’re making me fucking jittery and paranoid as hell to the point where I’m not sleeping more than 3 hours a night and I’m on the verge of tears because I feel like something bad is about to happen. 

I’m feeling like I need to tell The Fella about the blog and the bondage and everything even though I know that’s not a good idea at all.

I’m also having the urge to tell everyone at work to fuck off whether they’ve earned it or not, starting with my boss. Also probably not a good idea.

I’m going to go lay down now and try to clear my mind and get a little rest before work. I know — like that’s gonna happen.

Have a good day.

The return of the goddamn gout has left me damn near unable to concentrate for long periods of time, so once again I’m serving up odds and ends, folks.  Sorry.

~ The 5th season premiere of LOST did not disappoint and like every other viewer, I have some new theories based on the latest clues the geniuses behind the show served up:

• Miles Straum will be revealed to be the infant son of Dr. Marvin Candle that we saw in the opening minutes of the show (Candle sent his son with time traveler Daniel Faraday to protect him from an imminent danger he knew was coming).
• The Black Rock slave ship that was found in the middle of the jungle in the first season got there when the island moved and materialized in the exact spot the ship was occupying at the time.
• The whispering voices that the various LOST-ies have been hearing for the last 4 seasons are actually themselves as the island travels up and down the “time string” that Faraday explained.  
• I would bet money that Sun is behind the men showing up at Kate’s front door asking for a blood test. Methinks she’s going all badass to avenge the people she holds responsible for Jin’s death (I found her “I don’t blame you, Kate…how’s Jack?” line to ring more than a bit creepy…)
• Is anyone else thinking that maybe Locke isn’t really dead at all, but simply exhibiting the symptoms of death thanks to bite from the Medusa spider? If he is the island’s constant then I can’t imagine anyone letting him take his own life on the chance he might return.

~ No best picture nomination for THE DARK KNIGHT? Wow. That has to sting when a Ron Howard movie gets a nod and you don’t. Likewise for getting snubbed in the Best Screenplay category when even hack Akiva Goldsman (A TIME TO KILL, BATMAN FOREVER, BATMAN AND ROBIN, LOST IN SPACE, PRACTICAL MAGIC, THE DaVINCI CODE)  has taken home a trophy.

~ Speaking of Awards shows — what the fuck was up at the Golden Globes? While I love both 30 ROCK and MAD MEN, where was the love for my beloved GOSSIP GIRL and Blair Waldorf’s awesome headbands? And did you catch Blake Lively (a.k.a. Serena van der Woodsen) and her dad on the red carpet? Well played, Ms. Lively.

~ How in the fuck do you put one of those little YouTube boxes on your blog that shows the little clips? Dirkie reallllllly wants to insert one of those but so far has found himself unable to do so. It’s so frustrating to be a special needs blogger.

~ The Fella’s birthday is a coming up and I want to get him one of those iPod recharger stations that is also a speaker thing so he can listen to his tunes while charging or without headphones or whatever people do with an iPod and an iPod charger station. Can anyone recommend a good one?

~ Anyone out there read any good books lately?

~ I don’t want to sound close-minded, but anyone who’s buying into Casey Anthony’s claims she didn’t murder her own child in cold blood is, well, kind of a fucking idiot.

~ I really need to update that damn blogroll. So many on there have either quit blogging or have changed their blog addresses. 

~ I know I’ve ran this pic before but lord almighty — Matthew Fox never ceases to get my cock dripping (and how badly do I want his hair?):

~ Only 41 days until THE WATCHMEN. Hooray!

~ If I have to see God and Michelle dance one more time while Sasha Fierce fucking ear rapes me with her pathetic attempt to sing “At Last” by the incomparable Etta James, I will throw up. 

~ SPOILER ALERT!! SPOILER ALERT!! Anyone catch last night’s GREY’S ANATOMY episode? You know, the one that the promos called “the episode everyone will be talking about tomorrow”? Puh-LEASE. They should’ve run a tag at the end of the episode stating that “No cliches were harmed during the filming of this episode.” A real twist would’ve been letting the kid die. Or actually giving George more than one line. Oh well, when TK Knight leaves, Shonda Rimes can bring back her beloved Isiah Washington.

~ Finally, are you dreaming of being linked on this piece of shit blog? Craving clarification on something I’ve said? Just want to ask a faggot WTF? You’re in luck — the first Mailbag Monday of 2009 will be February 2nd, so send your questions to dirk.mancuso@gmail.com and remember to include MAILBAG MONDAY in the subject line.

Have a great weekend everybody!