Thursday, September 21, 2006

The Stacy Dating Attempt 2007

Right around the turn of the New Year, I will be celebrating just a little bit more than usual because the Stacy Blue Devil Truckmobile will FINALLY be paid off.

That frees up $350.12 each and every month. Since I've been allowing my slightly dented truck to take over my life for the last few years, it's time to take it back.

I believe it's time to start dating again.

There have been two primary reasons why I stopped dating and I'll share them with you now:

1) I've been broke for the last three years.

2) Women seem to shy away from guys with needle marks up and down their arm.

More duckets in my pocket and long sleeve shirts speak to me softly that it's time to find a short haired brunette to laugh and make out with on a continuing basis.

Since the only women I meet are on Dialysis or nurses in the ER, I've taken some advice from my office neighbor and decided to try

I've browsed through the profiles and set my requirements:

1) Must be between the ages of 28-40. It's been my experience that women younger than 28 haven't quite figured out who they are and women over 40 might just be a little too jaded. I could be wrong in both respects, but that age range works for me.

2) Must be my height or shorter. What's highly hilarious is that a number of women on the site who are 5'4", 5'5" and the like want gus who are 6'2" and taller. That strikes me as quite odd. My personality is 7'2" so they'll just have to miss out.

3) Must not have any kids. I love kids, but I'm just dipping my toe in the treacherous waters of the dating pool so I should probably date slow.

4) Must have no expectations. If you're on this site looking for a husband, I'm probably not for you. I'm probably not a good husband for anybody, but that's beside the point. Or next to it. I'm not sure, it's pretty late.

5) Must be silly. Silly is the only thing that gets me through the day. Goofing with listeners, joking with the clinic tech's. Without that, I've got nothing.

So here is a mock profile I've composed. You may believe it to be off kilter and ridiculous, but that's pretty much me in a spoiled nutshell, so enjoy with an open mind:

(Since Stacy is having trouble composing an introduction to his profile AND he just conked out from a Steve McQueen marathon, his roommate's moody cat Cinder has decided to compose this section...)

Stacy is a bewildering roommate sometimes, but he always scratches me behind the ears, so I guess he's tolerable. He seems to spend an inordinate amount of time watching movies and whenever my owner asks him, "Hey, remember that movie with so-and-so," he seems to always know the answer.

He's also contradictory because he'll try and save money by making his lunch every day for work, but then he'll go and spend $300 on new clothes. I've never understood that. I prance around naked and I'm pretty happy. Go figure.

His conversations are usually punctuated by a startling amount of laughter. Sometimes it wakes me up so I give him a dirty look. Then I roll around in his bed so there's cat hair everywhere. That'll teach him.

Stacy often makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up because he'll be talking about this and that and suddenly exclaim, "Let's throw a day's worth of food in our backpacks and just start hiking!" Or, "George Carlin's at the Fillmore tonight. We're there!" Some people enjoy that "drop of a hat" sort of personality, but it tires me out.

Speaking of which, it's time for my mid-morning, post-sun bathing nap.

So, in conclusion, if you enjoy lots of attention, like your neck scratched and appreciate having food snuck to you when your owner's not looking, Stacy's probably for you.

And by the way, if you know a good tabby with impeccable hygeine and a fashionable flea collar, let me know. I'm single too.

Is this even passable as a profile? Will nothing but cat owners respond? Should I have asked Cincer before posting her comments?

Cinder likes to crap and completely miss the catbox, doesn't pay rent and hisses at me if I scratch her on the wrong side of her head so I think I can quote h
er directly, don't you?

Wednesday, September 20, 2006


I'm sorry I've been absent from my ever lonesome blog. But it's been a helluva September so far.

My body has decided that Dialysis isn't enough of a hellish burden (two hell references in the first two sentences, sheesh) that my body needs to react even when I'm not at the clinic.

I believed that I had, in my ever evolving late 30's, developed allergies.

That turns out not to be the case.

Greek Goddess informed me that because my body slowly stores fluid from the moment I leave Dialysis, that my body reacts with coughing, sneezing and general stuffiness in an attempt to alleviate my system.

What follows is a gross description of how this is highly tortuous on my body.

Most mornings I wake to a nose full of snot and a debilitating need to cough. Phlegm tries to escape through my esophogus and nasal passages, but instead, is sanctioned into my stomach.

The coughing irritates my digestive system and it starts to become sore.

Then more and more phlegm swims with my stomach acid and creates a Stacy Vomitorium.

You can guess what happens next. It's a plot point I would care to stick in the guy who screams at everyone at Dialysis, but instead yours truly, the put upon protagonst, must stab himself with this truth and attempt to move on.

This is highly regrettable when it happens at work. No one wants to hear someone puking their guts out when they're trying to sell air time to a plumber in Glen Ellen.

I slyly asked for a key to the bathroom on the breezeway. Very few people use it because we have four bathrooms for men and women within the walls of this fine broadcasting empire.

But the receptionist isn't stupid. She sees me race out there, fumbling with the keyhole as I try to keep from spewing all over the generic male bathroom icon.

Most of the time I haven't eaten anything, so it's just clear mucus. But it makes it's presence known before being spiraled into the waste water system by leaving a burning sensation all along my esophagus.

I've noticed that I digest food pretty fast these days, because I'll try and hold some food down and then a half hour later have to spew. A lot of times I'm thankful for that fact.

I truly miss the days when all I had to worry about was whether I woke up early enough to watch "Speed Racer" in syndication.

When I was twelve years old shuttling back and forth from UCSF for my continual hospital visits, I would listen to Frank and Mike in the morning on KNBR. They were a duo morning team and my inspiration for wanting to be a broadcaster.

I would imagine the possibility of working on the radio, having as much fun as those two seemed to have each and every day.

It's intersting to witness how a dream is never truly fulfilled the way you imagined.

Nobody really ever wants their own Vomitorium. It's vile and disgusting and shouldn't be a part of anyone's life.

Which is probably why I won't charge admission.