Vanguard: A Miscellany

Week In Review '07.52

12/22 - After finishing at job 2, I had to run a bunch of errands including an oil change. So I went to Jiffy Lube. I figured I had plenty of time, after all, it was only 4:45. They determined I also had a weak battery which I sort of figured since I'd had some problems getting the damn thing to start. So two hours later, no other errands run, and only fifteen minutes to spare before a planned evening with friends, I got my car back. Oil changed, but still no new battery. The lame asses couldn't figure out how to install it. Go figure.

The evening was spent with Fishering, his best friend and his best friend's wife in celebration of the friend's birthday. Good food (Wabi Sabi in Venice), good conversation, good people and good champagne. Does it get any better?

12/23 - On my one day off, I ran around town getting presents for the office staff, but did nothing else really. Well, except for a certain man in grey shorts.

Guido and Razor Burn came over at 5:00, and we grabbed dinner at one of my favorite Thai restaurants Thai Dishes, before coming back to my place for drinks and The Bourne Ultimatum.

Christmas Eve - I worked until three, scurried about several completely packed grocery stores to prepare for the evening, then hosted a potluck which included my sisters, their husbands/fiances, Dr. Faux and his wife, and Guido and Razor Burn. Again, another of those great conversations, great people, great food, and a whole lotta alcohol.

Christmas Day - Hung out with the family. That was about it. It was nice, and as I get older, I really do appreciate the family that I have. Unfortunately I was on call that night. Two admissions. Call sucks.

12/26 - Full day of work after a full night of being on call. Fourteen walk in patients, with one doctor on vacation and an entire other office we had to cover due to poor planning and all of their doctors either on vacation or sick. Met up with Razor Burn for dinner and a little after Christmas shopping.

12/27 - I took the day off. I had too much to do. Go to Sears to change my car battery. Do some banking. Purchase travel sized toiletries and condoms which will more than likely go to waste or be distributed among my straights. Had a session with my personal trainer. By the way, if after doing a set of crunches, your personal trainer decides to sit on your abs while he makes small talk for no apparent reason, does that constitute flirtation? Or is that just a trainer thing? Cause if not, he's kind of hot. Like dirty hot. Jesus, I need to get a fucking boyfriend.

Anyway, I finished packing, the boys (plus one wife) came over, and we all hauled our asses off to the airport for our New Year's trip. Oh and I blogged (this post is actually being post-marked for 12/29.

So as for 12/28 and 12/29? Who knows? Probably sunning at the beach while drinking mojitos and smoking Cuban cigars. Maybe a little bit of clubbing. Maybe even a little action for Van. Well two out of three isn't bad.

Grey Shorts

It's wrong. I know it's wrong. But it doesn't really happen that often. Not that often. Still...it's wrong.

***

Grey cut-off shorts. They were made of soft, cotton fleece. Well-worn and somewhat thin, making it perfect for draping over the globes of his ass, then hug the gym-built thighs. They were the kind of shorts that seem to tell a tale of long dorm room hours as a co-ed, studying for semester finals behind ivy covered walls while outside, others braved the wind and snow of another unforgiving east coast winter. He had them as full sweat pants then, his favorite pair. Years later, with a pair of sturdy scissors, he repurposed them as shorts since full sweats were hardly necessary in sunny southern California.

That seems like the story they would tell except for the prominent Abercrombie A on the left leg which means he probably got them last season. But still, they were hot shorts that conveyed "Hey I'm athletic" and "Hey, I'm really casual about fashion and like to look like I just throw on old clothing, except that these old shorts cost me $44.50 plus tax". But did I say, they were fucking hot?

Especially since that's all he wore as he greeted me at the door.

But he did have that sort of Abercrombie boy-next-door thing going for him, even in his mid-30s. He was very casual, his speech peppered with "dude" at every opportunity. Even later, with his mouth pressed against my ear: "duuude." He had perfected casual. But it was a very calculated kind of casual. His blonde hair had highlights and styled in that I-just-jumped-out-of-bed-and-threw-some-shit-in kind of way that I know takes about fifteen minutes to do. And the gear as he welcomed me into his home? That was calculated too.

The grey shorts were far too perfect. There was forethought. There was intent. As much as he hoped to convey that this is how he vegged in his crib, he hadn't beaten me to his home that much sooner. This is not what he had worn when he invited me back. But the shorts were perfect. They accentuated all the right places. They were slung low, showcasing the V formed by the pelvic bones and the perfect lower obliques. Showcasing the dusting of blonde hair that trailed in a line from his navel, then expanding sideways to meet the V of his obliques before disappearing, tantalizingly behind the drawstring waistband. It's as though God had drawn an arrow to indicate that this is where the magic happened.

As for the rest, the abs were tight. And the chest? Huge but not overly so and apparently carved from rock. He turned to lead me in. The large wingspan of his back narrowed to a 31 inch waist, and again, he must have been aware of the fit of his shorts. The waistband sat on the shelf of his butt, allowing just the tiniest millimeter or two of visible cleavage.

His skin was smooth. It felt nice against my fingertips, my arms, my chest. His lips, soft. His kisses, skilled. And the grey, cotton fleece shorts? They were even more perfect tossed aside and rumpled on the hard wood floor.

How the hell did I land this man? He was so out of my league.

***

It was wrong. And maybe it's what has always been wrong. No, not the sex. There was nothing wrong with that. Nothing. What was wrong is the kneejerk reaction of feeling somehow inferior or unworthy. I've addressed some of the insecurity. Acknowledging it is part of the solution. But now, on the verge of a new year, this is one of the resolutions I am going to tackle.

But no, there was nothing wrong with the sex.

Ribbons and Bows

I've heard it said that Christmas if for kids. I tend to agree.

It's been years since I've really been excited about opening presents. Part of the reason is that I'm a self-indulgent prick who is fortunate enough to be able to buy himself certain luxuries, and I exercise that ability more than I really should. But another part of it is that giving presents on Christmas has become this socially obligatory chore that few really want to do.

It's obvious. Take, for example, the present I got from one of my nurses. A 3 x 3 inch green velvet box with a slightly tattered satin bow. It had made its rounds for several Christmases I'm sure. In it was popcorn. It may have been the gourmet stuff, but I couldn't tell because it wasn't packaged in plastic, just in the easily openable, slightly aged green velvet box. So I got the box of popcorn. And a stuffed reindeer. The tag: "Dr. V. From: Janelle". And I just can't imagine her thinking, "I know exactly what he'd like!"

As I've gotten older, the act of giving has become just that, an act. It is social obligation, and I have chosen, with few exceptions, to not play in those reindeer games. It's not that I don't like to give gifts. I'm good when it comes to birthdays. It's just the commercialness of the season that I object to.

And so with my cold, black, grinch heart, this year, I found out last minute that quite a few of my straight friends were Christmas Eve orphans, so I invited them over for a potluck--my sisters and their significant others, Dr. Faux and his wife, Guido and Razor Burn. And me the token fag at my own party. Go figure.

They arrived one by one. The last came around 8:00. "Can we take this into your bedroom?" he asked shoving a snowman adorned gift bag into my hand. He pushed me into my bedroom, leaving the other guests in the living room. "I just wanted to explain what all this stuff was," he said, his eyes gleaming and obviously brimming with excitement like, well like a kid on Christmas day.

"I'm sorry I didn't wrap this or get any tissue paper or anything." I didn't care. I just started pulling stuff out of the bag.

The first was a DVD of The Game. I knew why. We had just talked about the movie recently. He loved it, the twists and turns of the plot. He said weeks ago that it was a movie I would like.

I reached in again. It was a flyer of a concert. Clutch was playing in L.A. in a few months. "Good call, right?" He had followed this band, a band local to his hometown, for years. And a month or so ago, he took me and another friend to see them perform. It was awesome! So yes, it was a good call.

"Dude, keep going."

It was an overly generous gift card to what he knew was my favorite department store...Bloomie's. No explanation needed for that one.

And finally, a book which he explained had meant a lot to him. Leo Buscaglia's Love: What Life Is All About...

I gave him a hug. Not so much for the gifts, but for the generosity and the sincerity in the giving. It was the kind of excitement I remember seeing in my parents as I opened the toys that they had picked out for me. And what happened then? In Whoville they say, that the Grinch's small heart grew three sizes that day. Yeah, that for me, for this year was my Christmas moment.

And who knows, next year, presents all around.

***

Now the book. Honestly, I was vexed by it as a gift, particularly from my friend, my straight friend. Frankly, my initial reaction was that it was a was a weird self-help book and I questioned why he thought it would be a book for me. But he explained the basic premise of the book--a University of California professor who wanted to start an experimental, totally voluntary class on love, and how that class resonated with more students than ever expected. And my friend told me how the book had affected him. And he did so with no awkwardness or embarrassment.

And the next day I read an excerpt: "I find love much like a mirror. When I love another, he becomes my mirror and I become his, and reflecting in each other's love we see infinity."

I've gone through quite a bit of the book. It's actually quite a great present.

Merry Christmas

Kind of a busy week, but I wanted to wish everyone a Merry Christmas.

Week In Review '07.51

12/15 - Saturday was one of those days, the kind that friends tend to give me grief about.

7:00 - Went to the gym. I ran for an hour.
9:30 - Grocery store...lots of shit to buy.
11:00 - Arrived at job #2 and saw my first of four clients that day.
3:00 - I took off early. Had to prepare for the evening.
3:30 - Started cooking--yes cooking. For hors d'oeurves, a fruit compote made with marsala wine and served with English cheddar and gorgonzola and olives stuffed with spicy Italian sausage then breaded and deep fried. A mixed green salad with candied walnuts with a pear and gorgonzola dressing. For a main course, chicken with olives in a white wine reduction. And finally an apple bread pudding. Yes, people, this bitch knows his way around a kitchen.
7:00 - The straights and the girls from New York arrive, leaving at 11:00.
11:00 - Clean up and finally getting to bed at 1:00.

12/16 - I am loving my new personal trainer, and by love I mean I hate him, and by hate I mean I want to have crazy animal sex with him. I think I push through my work out past the point of exhaustion just so I don't look like a pussy in front of him. Whatever motivation I can find right? But yeah...crazy animal sex.

But yeah, I got my ass kicked! Love him. I mean it. Yeah, I love it.

12/17 - 12/18 - So my Saturday? That was a walk in the fucking park. I got up, got to work by 8:30, not leaving til 6:00. I ran some Christmas errands, but by 11:00 pm I was back at the hospital. I admitted some woman with a funky viral illness then got ready to leave. "Dr. V, I think we've got another one for you." This time it was a 27 year old with abdominal pain and a possible ectopic pregnancy. I got ready to leave. "Dr. V, I there's one more." Now a 94 year old woman with a dens fracture--a fracture of the second cervical vertebra. Done. Finally. Only not so much. "Dr. V...." Seriously, another one. Another 94 year old with a hip fracture.

I made it back by 4:00 a.m., slept til 7:30, getting to work again by 8:30. Here's the thing. I'm retarded. I had scheduled another training session at 6:30 p.m. The problem is I'm retarded and cheap. And if I'd bailed, there was money down the toilet. So what did I do? I got my ass kicked again. The good thing? He cracked my back--standing behind me, wrapping his arms around my chest and lifting me up, his whole front pressed up against my whole back. I loved him. I mean it. I loved it.

12/19 - Got home from work and did nothing. Glorious!

12/20 - I only worked my half day without having to work at the second job. All errands...hair cut. Christmas presents. For me. Birthday present for a friend. Then O Bar to find out that someone more than a few people had told me had a thing for me...well...not so much. Damn it.

12/21 - Again with the personal trainer. This time I sucked and not in a good way. I just could not keep up this time. Annoying.

Surrender

My tits are sore. Up by the collar bones and right in the middle, where my cleavage would be if my tits were bigger. If I touch there or if I flex my chest, it's pretty sore.

I dig it.

For years now, I've been at a plateau, coming no closer to my goal physique despite everything, and I do mean everything. I've trained harder. I've gone more frequently. I've increased weight. Or increased reps. I've upped the cardio, either in duration or in frequency or both. I've done super sets. I've even taken time off. All without getting that chiselled body.

And I've looked at this from all angles, reading the lastest theories on diet and metabolism or consulting with friends who clearly know what they're doing, absorbing anything and everything that could be of use. Still, nothing.

The most frustrating thing? The feeling that there is this thing that I can't get. Something I can't achieve. Well, actually...it's one other thing I can't achieve. And I think about how annoying that is. At work, I am in complete control. For the most part I run that show. And I get the desired results. As far as my career is concerned, I feel I'm where I should be, so much so that I continue to challenge myself and take on more.

The same is true socially. Looking at my friends and family, I'm in a good place. And although I know that a huge part of it is that it would be difficult for anyone not to get along with these people, I know that a large part has to do with the effort I've made to make those relationships work.

And that's the frustrating thing about working out. I've tried and tried and tried. And still....

So I did something different. I hired a trainer. I was skeptical. I mean the guy suggested I lift only twice a week and do cardio twice a week. First of all, what about the other three days? What was I supposed to do? Sit around and just get fat? I was used to going in 5-6 times a week. Second, seriously I had figured out how to work out. I think I am just a product of my genetics.

But I committed to put myself in someone else's hands. Actually, it felt good. I didn't have to think about what exercise to do and how many reps to do and how much time I should rest between sets. I had him there to tell me that. It was nice to not have to think, to just do.

And the funny thing is, my tits are sore. They haven't been that sore in a long time. And when I worked out lats, they had never been that sore. Ditto when he worked my arms and legs. Even funnier is that after only two weeks, I can actually see a difference. I can tell I'm a little closer to that goal.

And all I had to do was just surrender a little control. To recognize that sometimes the best way through a wall isn't to pound your head against it over and over again. To perhaps allow a fresh pair of eyes to help determine the best course of action.

I think maybe this is a lesson that needs application to other parts of my life.

Surrender.

Christmas Carol

I didn't think she was crazy. Well, not totally crazy anyway. Just a little bit. Who the hell asks their doctor of fifteen minutes, "Do you like girls or boys" anyway? Who? Obviously, a somewhat eccentric sixty-something, water-color painting woman with an essential tremor. That's who. Well her and maybe a certain Dutchman I know.

It was as forward as it was irrelevant. Surprising yet incisive. It was also three years ago. And the question has never again been broached.

But in that time, I have gotten to know her better. I've controlled her blood pressure. And her cholesterol. I've gotten her tremors manageable to the point where she doesn't have to relinquish her passion for painting. I've learned about her daughter. And her son. Her favorite, apparently. The baby who became a gynecologist and an entrepeneur. He owns several L.A. based medical aesthetic spas.

This week, she even shared with me her passion. She came in with a polypropylene artist's portfolio filled with at least fifty paintings--landscapes, still lifes, portraits. And with a warm embrace and a quick peck on the cheek, she wished me a Merry Christmas.

It almost didn't surprise me when I arrived the following morning to find a plain white envelope on my desk. "To Dr. V. From Carol" it was addressed. But in it wasn't a card, as expected. It was a 4 x 6 college ruled index card. And in clear, but slightly shaky handwriting, it read:

Hi Dr. V [yes, they actually call me Dr. V],

I spoke to my son and he would like to meet you. He said go on "My Space" to view [blanketyblank]@aol.com! Happy Holiday!

Carol

I guess she never forgot that first visit. And as far as Christmas presents, I've gotten home made cookies. I've gotten fruit baskets. I've gotten expensive bottles of vodka. But no patient has ever given me their son. Hot!

The Dark Knight

Summer can't come soon enough. Can't wait for this.

Week In Review '07.50

12/8 - Hell, I don't even know what I did last Saturday. I worked. I know that much. Up at the new place. I've looked at my calendar. I've checked text messages and e-mails, and for the life of me I can't remember that far back. Wait up. I had drinks with Dutch after work, because he helped us out at work. And it was raining. And I then went to Guido's. Ok, now it's all coming back to me. Razor Burn and I met at Guido's. We were going to go to some swankified Hollywood place cause Guido was going to set R.B. up with some co-worker of his. Instead, we grabbed dinner at Lala's in the valley and ended up at Sapphire and talked to the co-workers. I almost made out with one just to shut her up. Seriously. Not even kidding.

12/9 - Vanessa had the family over for a late lunch. These family gatherings with my immediate family and brothers-in-law are just getting more and more entertaining as I get older, primarily because my mom is unwittingly funny. Or maybe it's dementia. Like this story, for example:

"Oh yeah, he was just standing there. And the dog died."

The funny thing is that that was the story in it's entirety. We all looked at her in dead silence for about two seconds before we all busted up, telling her that in a story, there is generally a beginning a middle and an end. Clearly she had some beginning and end to work on. It would be awesome if she was actually doing stuff like that just to fuck with us.

I took off by 3:30. For a shitty reason--company growing pains and the difference in management styles of the owners. And two of us had to confront the third about how he was coming off to clients and staff. I hate confrontation and was glad when it was all over.

12/10 - The big thing about this day was two-fold. First I found my testicles and gave the crush boy my card (from the new business) with my cell number written on it. Fucker still hasn't used it! And second, the Getty Museum Winter Party. As always, a lot of fun, but really only because of the people I was with.

12/11 - I made it on time for my personal training session. This was my second personal trainer in as many weeks. I figure if I'm spending money on a trainer, I'm not just going to settle for the first guy I meet even though he was good. This new guy was amazing. I'm still sore from that day. But both he and the other guy were in agreement as far as my needing to cut back and do more cardio. Both seemed very knowledgeable about the physiology behind weight training. They both looked to be in good shape. The first seemed more thorough in his initial evaluation. The second had a more extensive gym. Oh and the second was leaps and bounds hotter. So who do I pick?

So duh, I picked the second guy. It's cause I'm shallow. Well it's because he had better equipment, and I'm shallow. Oh and he provided protein drinks for free. And no, there's no sex involved, but it sure does sound like it, doesn't it?

12/12 - So I've got friends coming in from New York this weekend. Wednesday was the only day for me to clean my apartment. I hate it. But I did get a Christmas tree too, so that was fun.

12/13 - At job #1, I maintained my efforts of spending at least ten minutes on a patient on non-medical stuff. It's been really cool, actually. And on Thursday, I spoke with an 80 year old woman who was just diagnosed with breast cancer. She seems very conservative with her hair perfectly done and her make-up perfectly done. And she's always so proper. She was a lesson in not judging a book by it's cover. We talked about Mike Huckabee and how she would never vote for a creationist. We talked about Bush and his idiocy. We talked about people's fundamental lack of knowledge and lack of desire to stay current on world events. We talked about America's refusal to acknowledge that we now live in a global village. Forty minutes later, I gave her a hug and moved on to my next patient.

I finished up at job #2, and R.B. and I went to pick up Guido, and all three of us went down to the Hotel Cafe to stand in line to see Tom Murillo perform. Unfortunately, that's all we did--stand in line. For two hours. Freezing since we didn't want to be too warm inside with jackets. Sucked!

12/14 - Worked all day and worked all night. This time prepping for dinner for the straights and the friends from New York that we had all met this summer. Does anyone understand how time consuming it is to stuff olives with meat then bread them?

Quasimodo

He walks down the street unaware. Unaware of the extent of his deformity. He goes on about daily life pleasantly oblivious, not realizing how obviously misshapen he is. Stupid, ignorant man.

Did he not see the arms? Grotesque in their size. And the chest? They were veritable moobs, man boobs. Why did no one tell him?

So yeah. After all these years of working out, and particularly in the last few months when I've stepped it up with running five miles three or four days a week and weight training five to six days a week, I have finally consulted with professionals. I've been at a plateau for way too long and have come no closer to reaching my personal fitness goals.

So I'm shopping around for personal trainers and have found two good ones. And between the two of them, their advice is that I'm training too much. What, what, what? Apparently, I'm training too much. I'm supposed to weight train twice a week, but at higher intensity and do cardio twice a week, for at least an hour. What kind of bullshit advice is that?

And the worst part? They're both in agreement that I'm horribly deformed. My chest and my arms are far too big for the rest of my body. WHY DIDN'T ANYONE TELL ME I LOOKED LIKE A FUCKING FREAK?!?!?!

Anyway, with professional help, I'll be able to rectify the abnormalities. Then maybe I can walk down the street again, thinking I look normal and this time knowing I do.

Hmm, I wonder it this is why the guy...Still. Hasn't. Called. Me!!!!!!!!!