Joi de Vivre on Leave
Time out. Hold the phone. Cue the technical difficulties card and cut to commercial.... Some thing's wrong. It's Saturday night. And. Sigh. I'm just too blue and sick of the fumes to paint this town red again.
Honestly, and to the point, boys suck and I need a break. Since Mr. Mes Milquetoast Amour stopped calling sometime during the last Ice Age, my love life's been like the Sunni Triangle: lots of action, but now little more than a burned out pile of rubble. Hang-ups, heart-aches, stood-ups and one-night-stands. I'm sick of it all and just plain STOPPING it!
Let's take the last “boyfriend” for example. I use that label loosely because, well, he WAS a boy, and there were at least two oh-my-God-ME-TOO's before having a sleep-over party. He was all smiles and free tequila shots, but in the end, left me with only a headache and a raging case of chlamydia.
Ok, so it wasn't “raging” per se. No bloody pus or peeing razor blades. In fact, I didn't feel a thing. Yet, my monthly check-up said otherwise, and I was promptly advised to see a specialist for a thorough antibiotic regimen. And thus began the story of....
“STI Say Good Bye: An Adventure in Socialist Medicine.”
Starring:
Cody, recent initiate of the Been-a-dick-tine Cloister.....AS..... Cody, ex-wastrel man-about-town and fallen It-Boy.
Also Starring:
A pretty Chinese actress.....AS....Miss Sushi Nintendo, clinic receptionist.
And Introducing:
A half-dessicated Jack-o-lantern in mid-December....AS.... elderly urological patient #1
Cody, once gay society's answer to Colin Farrell, enters the mahogany-paneled waiting room. He is conspicuously disguised in a wide-brim, champagne-colored chapeau and pair of dark sunglasses ala Nicole Richie. The cool office air lightly ruffles his ankle-length floral sun dress. Cody, as never, is tastefully dressed, and, as always, the youngest patient in the room by 80 years.
Approaching the receptionist and hoping for the best, he presents to the woman a tell-all referral. She, in the manner of one who is unaccustomed to dealing with the hearing un-impaired, shouts, “Toyota Tsunami Sake!” This strange string of ticks and buzzes (barely recognizable as a form of human "language") surprises Cody, for it sounds not unlike the flipping of his A-list rolodex. Still, however, he arches his eyebrows in the universal expression of.... Quoi?
10 minutes and a good deal of dictionary-shuffling later, Cody completely understands the complex ins-and-outs of “taking a number”. He awaits further instruction, and glides up to the desk again once the receptionist signals his turn via fog horn. “Sashimi Playstation Manga!!”
Ah ha! Cody proudly thinks to himself. Always a quick learner, he gets her gist right away. But his elation soon fades to panic in light of her most awkward request. See, not having anticipated the usual urological procedures, Cody had naively drained his bladder earlier that morning. And the small Winn-Dixie cup the lady holds forth might as well be a gallon jug needing to be amply overflowed with urine.
“Um, I'm terribly sorry,” he begins delicately in her native tongue. “But, I don't think I can do.... that.” Nervous chuckle. “You wouldn't happen to have a glass of water? Some tea, perhaps??”
Giving a look more sour than lemons, she disappears for a moment, and returns with a glass - or more appropriately - thimbleful of brown liquid. Cody graciously accepts it and gulps it down in half a swallow (not an unusual feat for him). He sits, once more, silently, concentrating every last neuron in his brain on a single task, willing his very organic cells to get this damnable filtering process over with as soon as biologically possible.
Another 20 minutes later, he is convinced he can squeeze out the required amount. Cody jumps up with the specimen receptacle, makes his way towards the toilet, realizes a critical fault in the plan, and turns to the receptionist. “Pardon, but exactly where might your restroom be located?”
“Pikachu Kamikaze!!!” she blasts.
“Yes, I see.... thank.... you.”
He ambles toward the most likely door candidate, and then stops yet again - another terrifying thought crosses his already scrambled brain. What must he do exactly once the task is ful-FILLED, so to speak. Give it to a technician? Carry it to the front desk?! In hand and piping-hot?!?!
He raises a hesitant finger and stutters, “Yes, one more question--”
The receptionist, this time either anticipating the conundrum or reading his puzzled features, curtly explains in a timbre equal to that of a sonic boom. And, somewhere behind Cody, an ancient woman, shriveled with age, hoarsely laughs as this bewildered foreigner blindly stabs off in any general direction.
The End.
Roll Credits.
Applause!
This program was made possible by:
*Pfizer. Proud manufacturer of Pee-Hole Whole: the Pecker-Perfecter Pills
*Merck Pharmaceuticals: Slap that Clap with Good-As-GONE-rhea.
*The Chlammy Whammy, by GlaxoSmithKline
*Massengill's Kooter Rooter, for ladies with that not-so-fresh-feeling.
And
*Muff Buff Depilatory Wax Products.
....at least I can look back with some levity, eh?
Honestly, and to the point, boys suck and I need a break. Since Mr. Mes Milquetoast Amour stopped calling sometime during the last Ice Age, my love life's been like the Sunni Triangle: lots of action, but now little more than a burned out pile of rubble. Hang-ups, heart-aches, stood-ups and one-night-stands. I'm sick of it all and just plain STOPPING it!
Let's take the last “boyfriend” for example. I use that label loosely because, well, he WAS a boy, and there were at least two oh-my-God-ME-TOO's before having a sleep-over party. He was all smiles and free tequila shots, but in the end, left me with only a headache and a raging case of chlamydia.
Ok, so it wasn't “raging” per se. No bloody pus or peeing razor blades. In fact, I didn't feel a thing. Yet, my monthly check-up said otherwise, and I was promptly advised to see a specialist for a thorough antibiotic regimen. And thus began the story of....
“STI Say Good Bye: An Adventure in Socialist Medicine.”
Starring:
Cody, recent initiate of the Been-a-dick-tine Cloister.....AS..... Cody, ex-wastrel man-about-town and fallen It-Boy.
Also Starring:
A pretty Chinese actress.....AS....Miss Sushi Nintendo, clinic receptionist.
And Introducing:
A half-dessicated Jack-o-lantern in mid-December....AS.... elderly urological patient #1
Cody, once gay society's answer to Colin Farrell, enters the mahogany-paneled waiting room. He is conspicuously disguised in a wide-brim, champagne-colored chapeau and pair of dark sunglasses ala Nicole Richie. The cool office air lightly ruffles his ankle-length floral sun dress. Cody, as never, is tastefully dressed, and, as always, the youngest patient in the room by 80 years.
Approaching the receptionist and hoping for the best, he presents to the woman a tell-all referral. She, in the manner of one who is unaccustomed to dealing with the hearing un-impaired, shouts, “Toyota Tsunami Sake!” This strange string of ticks and buzzes (barely recognizable as a form of human "language") surprises Cody, for it sounds not unlike the flipping of his A-list rolodex. Still, however, he arches his eyebrows in the universal expression of.... Quoi?
10 minutes and a good deal of dictionary-shuffling later, Cody completely understands the complex ins-and-outs of “taking a number”. He awaits further instruction, and glides up to the desk again once the receptionist signals his turn via fog horn. “Sashimi Playstation Manga!!”
Ah ha! Cody proudly thinks to himself. Always a quick learner, he gets her gist right away. But his elation soon fades to panic in light of her most awkward request. See, not having anticipated the usual urological procedures, Cody had naively drained his bladder earlier that morning. And the small Winn-Dixie cup the lady holds forth might as well be a gallon jug needing to be amply overflowed with urine.
“Um, I'm terribly sorry,” he begins delicately in her native tongue. “But, I don't think I can do.... that.” Nervous chuckle. “You wouldn't happen to have a glass of water? Some tea, perhaps??”
Giving a look more sour than lemons, she disappears for a moment, and returns with a glass - or more appropriately - thimbleful of brown liquid. Cody graciously accepts it and gulps it down in half a swallow (not an unusual feat for him). He sits, once more, silently, concentrating every last neuron in his brain on a single task, willing his very organic cells to get this damnable filtering process over with as soon as biologically possible.
Another 20 minutes later, he is convinced he can squeeze out the required amount. Cody jumps up with the specimen receptacle, makes his way towards the toilet, realizes a critical fault in the plan, and turns to the receptionist. “Pardon, but exactly where might your restroom be located?”
“Pikachu Kamikaze!!!” she blasts.
“Yes, I see.... thank.... you.”
He ambles toward the most likely door candidate, and then stops yet again - another terrifying thought crosses his already scrambled brain. What must he do exactly once the task is ful-FILLED, so to speak. Give it to a technician? Carry it to the front desk?! In hand and piping-hot?!?!
He raises a hesitant finger and stutters, “Yes, one more question--”
The receptionist, this time either anticipating the conundrum or reading his puzzled features, curtly explains in a timbre equal to that of a sonic boom. And, somewhere behind Cody, an ancient woman, shriveled with age, hoarsely laughs as this bewildered foreigner blindly stabs off in any general direction.
The End.
Roll Credits.
Applause!
This program was made possible by:
*Pfizer. Proud manufacturer of Pee-Hole Whole: the Pecker-Perfecter Pills
*Merck Pharmaceuticals: Slap that Clap with Good-As-GONE-rhea.
*The Chlammy Whammy, by GlaxoSmithKline
*Massengill's Kooter Rooter, for ladies with that not-so-fresh-feeling.
And
*Muff Buff Depilatory Wax Products.
....at least I can look back with some levity, eh?