Ugh redux

In today's early, cruel dawn, last night's debilitating head cold escalated into a decapitating headache that felt like I had a metal band slowly tightened around my head to the point that it was cracking my skull above my eyes. And aside from the allusion to decapitation, that description was barely an exaggeration.

And when I tried to crawl up the stairs this morning to whimper in the early, cruel, pain-exploding sunlight in the hopes of eventually going to work, I saw why my night had been so excruciating: Bitch Kitty had laid a curse--an incatation, if you will--on me in the night. And she was waiting at the top of the stairs to watch her nefarious Grand Guignol play out to its gruesome, wailing conclusion:

But joke's on you, Bitch Kitty! I have to go to work so I can justify going to the gym to get mega-hot so I can go to Full Monty rehearsal so I can mega-sing about being mega-hot SO I FOUGHT THROUGH THE PAIN AND I WIN. This time.

Ugh. I do NOT have time to be felled by a damn cold.

It’s been a long time since I’ve been debilitatingly sick, and I’d forgotten how pathetic and helpless it makes me.

BUT! I used the time afforded by my canceled plans tonight to finally finish my second reading of Everything Was Possible: The Birth of the Musical "Follies"—which I’d started on an airplane in April, and I have the dated boarding pass/bookmark to prove it.

And my second reading of the book unquestionably confirms what we’ve all long suspected: I’m still deliriously gay.

Show us on the little snowflake doll how her big bad word made blood come out of your wherever, pussy-boy

Der Schrei der Natur

I’ve somehow reached a point in my life where I unironically think to myself, “I could really go for some 5-Hour Energy and prunes"

Also: Harold has a really disjointed monologue on pages 61-62.

I just had a really good checkup with my psychiatrist

She thinks I'm stable enough that she's not going to adjust my meds. And she gave me more free samples of the new med that's been working so well for me. When she said the samples don't expire until 2020, I said that's awfully optimistic for a drug that prevents suicide ideation. 

She didn't laugh.

So. Not. True.

(Back, shoulders and biceps tonight at the gym, if anyone wants to join me. Or see the pictures I post on Facebook.)

This week’s New Yorker cover art is titled “Welcome to Congress"

LEG DAY DIARY

What’s worse than doing split squats?

Right: Doing split squats with a manbun who won’t leave your line of sight.

Also: GASTROINTESTINAL JOE SHIRT!

Nancy says hi. And HELL NO.

Seriously. That FACE.

Oh yeah, and Nancy Pelosi becomes two cold, black heartbeats away from the presidency today.

Rehearsal! Got! Out! Early!

It’s truly a dream come true to play Harold in The Full Monty, but Tacet seems to have a lot better songs

WOW but there’s a lot of objectification going on in the gym tonight

I just hope some of them are objectifying me back.

Also: EL CAMINO SHIRT!

Dasvidanya

My nephew leaves tomorrow for a J-term in Indonesia. Which I think is a suburb of Mexico because he picked our best Mexican restaurant for his goodbye dinner. I mean his bon voyage dinner. Achtung!

Happy New Year from Miss Bridget (left) and me (right)!

Stealth gym selfie! (Gym stealthfie? Could that become a thing? Could it make me rich?)

I still really love my new gym: good vibe, lots of equipment, headbanger-lite music, chlorine smell (for authentic gymminess), just enough people to keep me motivated and focused without everyone getting in each other’s way. There’s an unusually large stand-around-and-brotalk contingent here today, but the populations seem to be migratory as they take turns using all the equipment improperly, so nobody’s bottleneckimg anywhere.

Also: I just did a 60-second plank (with 0:02:39 for starting and stopping the stopwatch)!

I SAY I WANT SOME RESOLUTIONS

Here’s last year’s list, amended with variations of CHECK! in front of things I actually accomplished and with updated/new things I have yet to accomplish:

CHECK! I will turn 50 in April (that’s not the actual resolution—it’s just the preamble to the resolution) and to celebrate I will run every race within 100 miles that’s been on my bucket list—plus any other races I discover that sound fun—all summer, culminating in a back-to-back three-day Disney 5K/10K/half marathon in November. [UPDATE: I was sidelined by injuries for two races and I opted not to run the 10K at Disney, but I’m still giving myself full credit for accomplishing all of this. And I can run faster than you if you try to chase me down and explain to me why I didn’t.]

I will finally run the Bix 7 in the Quad Cities this July.

And you should come with me, whether you want to run or cheer or celebrate together at the after-party.

I will continue making the gym and distance running an integral part of my life. Because I’m not getting any younger or less single.

PARTIAL CHECK! I will stop thinking PB&J and Diet Coke are an acceptable dinner.

I will continue enjoying PB&J at all opportunities and I will continue eliminating Diet Coke completely from my diet (14 days and counting!)

MOSTLY CHECK! I will stop launching scorched-earth social-media fights with cousin-curious Trump supporters to the point that I make myself angry every time I open my social media and discover that they still don’t know how to lose and shut up and go away like normal morons.

I will stop losing hours scrolling mindlessly through Facebook and use my newfound free time to pursue something—anything—more productive.

I will keep myself constantly updated on the current slang and the new small talk. And use it only in irony. Because I’m 50. And an adult. I think.

PARTIAL CHECK! I will figure out how to use the universal remote I bought for our TV. [UPDATE: I made multiple attempts last year, and I got it to do everything but change channels via the number keys. PLEASE COME OVER AND HELP IF YOU’RE FLUENT IN TECHNOLOGY.]

I will start (or finish) reading all the books I bought (or received as gifts) in 2018 (or 2017) (or 2016) (or before that).

I will continue to cultivate the wonderful friendships—and keep my distance from drama—that I’ve been abundantly fortunate to have found since I moved home four years ago.

I will quickly learn the names of people I meet, especially when we do shows together. But no promises—I’m mired in a lifetime habit of convincing myself I suck at names and therefore not even trying.

ONGOING CHECK! I will get the hint and cut my losses the first time someone shows me we don’t have much of a friendship and it’s never going to go anywhere.

SOMEONE PLEASE HELP ME PICK A COLOR BECAUSE I’M SERIOUSLY PARALYZED WITH INDECISION! I will bury my tinkle-colored bedroom walls in a deep, rich, handsome, masculine, adult color that I have yet to determine.

CHECK! I will nag and complain without shame or reservation until we replace our pinky-beige, mousy-blah, suburban-horror Formica countertops with something that doesn’t make me want to hide under the sink and slowly die of mousy-blah ennui hastened by poisoning from any store-brand Formica cleanser we have stored there.

I will continue to cull and integrate and sell and give away the two-bedroom-apartment contents of my storage unit ASAP so I can eliminate that $200+/month line item from my personal budget.

I will use my newfound storage-unit savings to pay for regular voice lessons [which I started in December!]

I will make practicing the piano a regular part of my weekly schedule to try and regain some of my long-dormant skills.

I will try to get a gig choreographing something smallish somewhere or finagling my way into playing in an orchestra pit somewhere. [YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE. CALL ME. LET’S TALK.]

I will more regularly give myself private tap lessons from all the YouTube tap videos I’ve found.

I will stop wasting time winding up the vacuum cleaner cord.

I will scoop the cat box twice a week instead of once.

I will finally visit the local museums I’ve been woefully absent from seeing: The African-American Museum, The Czech and Slovak Library & Museum, The Masonic Library and Museums, and any others I discover.

I will work harder (notice that I’m not giving myself any form of schedules or deadlines here) to post more frequent #ArtThrob essays about my favorite works of art.

I will stop accepting Facebook friend requests from strangers just because they’re cute.

I will stop accepting Facebook friend requests from strangers just because they’re cute.

I will stop accepting Facebook friend requests from strangers just because they’re cute.

I will reduce forgetting my bipolar meds from once a month to zeroth a month.

I will avoid the New Year’s Day Rose Parade. And all other parades. Just like always. Because parades are stupid.

A few years ago I made a resolution to say or text or email something nice to somebody—longtime friend or random Internet stranger—every day. The resolution has slowly evolved to also include just texting or emailing a random hello to someone I haven’t talked to in a while and to check in almost daily with people I know are struggling with mental illnesses themselves or in their families. I’m sure I’ve missed a few days here and there, but overall it’s become a happy little daily habit that’s kept me in touch or even reconnected with people from every corner of my 50-year (ACK! How did that happen?) life (except for a handful of guys I’ve had longtime crushes on because I’d die inside whether they did or didn’t respond—and, sadly, at 50 years old (did I mention I’m 50?) I’m still kinda scared of guys I have high-school crushes on). Crippling insecurities aside, I’m renewing my daily-compliment/hello/check-in contract for yet another year. And I encourage all of you to consider trying something similar. Because it’s WAY cheaper than flowers. Or therapy. Happy 2019!

I’m still writing B.C. on my checks

I’m still writing B.C. on my checks. And I’m not even sure I’m Y2K compliant. New Years are rough for me.

And so the cycle begins anew ...