Why I'm not in Seattle yet.

This leg pain that's been bothering me for almost two months now has turned out to be a pinched nerve. It's probably going to require surgery to fix. I've got an appointment with a surgeon on Tuesday to discuss it.

Also, while scanning my back and leg, they found a "mass or cyst" on my kidney. They didn't get a good look at it, since they were scanning the spine and leg, but they know it's about 4.5 centimeters. I have an appointment to go back for an MRI for that Wednesday.

Don't know if it's anything to worry about yet or not, but had a conversation with someone earlier that reminded me that if it is, I'm going to die alone and never have kids, so that's kind of set the mood for the evening.

Got a giant bottle of Percocet in front of me. Fighting the urge to take them all.

When Tim Russert entered the Men's Room, Chuck Norris would sit down to pee.

I'm pretty sure I've mentioned my father's news addiction before. In case I haven't, the TV schedule in the living room goes like this:

6 AM - 7 PM: Various news programs, many of which are napped through, but God help anyone who wants to watch something else.

7 PM - 10 PM: A WWII movie, or on rare occasions, a Biblical film.

10 PM - 11 PM: Flipping between Letterman & Leno, mainly for the monologues.

So, for those who haven't been listening to news set at Old People Volume the past two days, Tim Russert, host of Meet The Press, died of a heart attack on Friday. Thus every news program since then has been a "Remembering Tim Russert" special. Based on snippets of what I've heard, I've composed the following obituary:

Tim Russert was born 17 feet tall. His breakfast every morning consisted of several thousand flapjacks, cooked on a griddle so big that children with sides of bacon strapped to their feet would skate around it to grease it.

Russert was best known for single-handedly freeing the slaves and tracking down and killing John Wilkes Booth before he invented television, which he did when he and his big blue ox wrassled a tornado and trapped it in a box. That's what actually makes static on your TV.

Russert died this Friday when Bin Laden shrunk an army of terrorists down to microscopic size and entered his body to assault his heart directly. His heart managed to kill 200 of the terrorists, but in the final duel with Bin Laden, they struck each other a mortal blow.

Tim Russert is survived by his 150 wives and every man, woman, and child born in the state of Texas, all of whom may claim direct descent to him.

I guess if I have a point to make, it is this: If any of my friends are in broadcasting, for God's sake, don't die on a Friday!

In other news...

Decided that the current Movie Meme in lulafortune's journal is far too long for me to do in this lifetime, so I'll pass on this one.

Except to say that for the question "Who would play the villain in your movie," the answer would be "Chuck Woolery as Himself."


Yeah, definitely nothing for me in Alaska now.

The person that I've described as my best friend in the world has been avoiding me for about a year now. After getting this shit out with Andrea, decided it was time to have it out with her too. Turns out to be the same bullshit Andrea was spouting: That I dare to regard her kids as friends of mine in their own right.

She got upset that I'd be upset about that, just like Andrea did. So, told her to fuck off just like Andrea can. I'm done with people treating me like a monster, then getting upset that I DARE to be pissed off about it. Maybe they shouldn't have treated me like a monster to begin with.

It appears that when I go, I'll have a lot of burnt bridges behind me. That's looking more and more like it's for the best. The last time I left this state, I felt I had nothing to come back to. I was fooled into thinking that wasn't true. This time, I'll know it absolutely.

Need to get the fuck out of Alaska.

These past couple weeks of not smoking and needing some kind of human support from, like, actual friends who're around me and stuff, and realizing I don't actually HAVE any of those has shown me that there's nothing for me here.

I've had to cut Andrea out of my life because I knew she wouldn't give me that kind of support from the beginning, but hoped I could still visit her kids that I love like they're my own, because that's the only place I knew I could get the kind of warming-the-heart friendship I need at this point. She decided to tell me I was creepy and then did her usual thing of getting all indignant that I would dare to have a reaction to that. So I'm done bothering her.

So, yeah, I need to escape back to Seattle. I've got a doctor's appointment on Wednesday, will ask how soon it would be possible to get this surgery done, then I'm done with this place and all the fucking assholes in it.

Hey, I'm alive!

Trying to quit smoking. 3 days in now, see how that goes.

I don't really want to be one of those "It's been 4 days, 6 hours, and 22 minutes since my last cigarette" people, because they annoy everyone and sound like they're on a telethon.


A friend's talking about getting an iPhone, and everyone else on this little mailing list we're both on is doing their usual iWanking about it.

Maybe Apple MIGHT be the greatest fucking company in the universe, and maybe I SHOULD get excited over Steve Jobs' every bowel movement like everyone else, but I just can't look past the whole "It's not a computer, it's a WAY OF LIFE!" thing about Apple crap.

I think this guy's summed it up well: