Tuesday, November 25, 2008

Contagious Band-Aid Face

Um, yeah, so those of you (or both of you) who read this blog may be aware that I had a tough week last week. I did, it's true. And it has to do with a few things, I think. First of all, I didn't see any boobies all week. I didn't see boobies until the weekend had technically started.

Strike one.

I also decided I needed to take a little break from drinking last week. I have been drinking a lot lately - as in I cashed three big bottles of vodka at home, solo, in two weeks; not including weekends (I know, I know, nice life dude) - and I felt like the best thing for my stomach would be to take a solid week off of the hooch. You see back in May I was diagnosed with several bleeding stomach ulcers. So the whole drinking thing is kind of... Well, I don't need to be drinking multiple liters of vodka per week. Let's just say that.

Oh, the ulcer thing? No big whoop. I had these weird pains that felt like hunger pangs or indigestion for a few weeks. Then they turned into a light stabbing pain for a few weeks, and for another three weeks or so I had severe, sharp stabbing pains for most of the day that would leave me doubled over, gritting my teeth and clutching my side for almost my entire waking day. What did the doctor say? Pffffftttt, what kind of self respecting man goes to a doctor for a little stomach cramp? Not me, that's who. Until five of my friends tried to pick me up off of my bed (where I was gripped with pain and holding my stomach with my teeth tightly clenched) and put me into a car to go to the emergency room.
In Brooklyn.

For a stomachache.

Needless to say, I did not go to the emergency room that day. I had to promise my friends that I'd to go to the doctor the very next day though. My physician happens to be a stomach specialist (that's a gastroenterologist for all you non-laypeople out there, since I'm sure there are at least a few doctors who read this), so he scoped it with a tiny camera snake and told me, "it looks like a war zone down there."

Sweet. Thanks doc. That's exactly the kind of reassuring statement I was looking for.

The ulcer was perhaps due to my mild (excessive), recreational (habitual), infrequent (daily) use (abuse) of alcohol (by the way, are you guys aware that drinking 6-10 beers a day and maybe more on weekends, constitutes drinking "a lot"? I know! I was just as shocked). Other contributing factors may have included drugs (check!), stress (girlfriend troubles were just starting around this time), and diet (I gained like 50 pounds in my first 6 months in NYC by eating Thai food and pizza everyday. Apparently fairly acidic foods. Who knew?).

But I got off topic a wee bit here. So, last week, riiiigggghhhtt...

In addition to not drinking all week (I picked the wrong week to stop drinking), I had a cyst spring up under my ear.

Strike two.

Jesus H this is getting to be like a medical history report, eh? Sorry, but this is my life right now.

For those of you who have never had a cyst right there on your face, it feels like a white hot poker searing into the soft, sensitive skin right where your face meets your ear, only with more pressure from the inside and even more painful than you are imagining it to be right now. Seriously. The little fucker went from non-existent to about the size of a softball (not really) in like a day. A Saturday. Remember how I said I wasn't into emergency rooms in Brooklyn? Yeah, well try and go see a doctor on a Sunday. I waited until Monday to see my doctor who had to cut the bastard cyst open to drain it (still hungry?). And believe it or not: That. Shit. Hurt.

A lot.

Strike three.

So Monday I dealt with that. By the time I made it home from my doc's office which is way uptown, I was very out of it from the pain killers (the sweet, sweet painkillers). I had like 40 emails to deal with and had to spend my afternoon working from home, trying to sound like I know what I'm talking about. Not so much.

Tuesday I was extremely busy after missing most of my day with the face-infection from hell; I played catch up and tried all day not to enjoy, er, eat any of the painkillers as I again needed to sound like I knew what the fuck I was talking about. Which is hard enough as it is when you can barely construct basic sentences in English. I made it through Tuesday only popping pills towards the end of my day. Fine. But now I hadn't been to the gym in a few days which Uncle Ebenezer doesn't feel good about doing (or not doing, as it were).

Meanwhile my jerk off roommate who works from home as a clothing reseller or some sketchy shit was in Brazil relaxing on the beach with his girlfriend, drinking coconut drinks and probably humping in the sand laughing about how lame it would be to have a cyst on your face and to not be on the beach in Brazil in November. Being the stand up guy that I am I said (before Hell Week started) that I would take care of processing, packaging and shipping some orders for him while he was away. So I had that to look forward to every night when I got home, swollen face and all. More work.

Wednesday I had an awesome surprise meeting with an agency I just started working with and instead of being the one or two dudes I thought I was meeting with, I got to meet an entire team of people and give (an impromptu) presentation that I didn't know I was giving. With a fucking bandage on my face.


Thursday. Oh man, Thursday was great. On Thursday I overslept - like WAY overslept and rolled into the office pretty (read: really) late. (I was in one of those funk moods too right from the giddy-up and it took me like a week to decide what to wear - sweater vest or no sweater vest? I went with the vest, this turned out to be a decision that would haunt me later.) Which isn't too abnormal for me, but I was LATE, late this day, my friends. About three minutes after I sat down at my desk I decided nope, no sweater vest (Indecision is going to be the name of the movie they make about me after my trial, conviction and imprisonment). In removing my stupid, green sweater vest that took me, no shit, fifteen minutes to decide whether or not to wear out of my house I pulled out the stitches in my face.

Let me repeat that. I pulled the stitches out of the extremely painful wound on my face with my sweater.

Awesome. I don't know about you, but I love bleeding at work and having people say, "oh man, are you okay? Are you sure? You're bleeding."

I gave up at that point. In addition to having an already overloaded week, full of business (ha - that was supposed to sound like 'busy-ness', I am so having a lexiconal epiphany right now, wow) and being overloaded with work I was fortunate enough to deal with the painful fucking cyst/open wound on my face, working through the day on or jonesing for painkillers (I still am by the way, so if you have some email me. I ran out), walking around with a swollen face and bandages/band-aid on my face (not in a cool way like Nelly either, more of an overlapping the bottom of the ear and onto the cheek kind of look - so not hot). As well, some shit kind of hit the fan at work at the end of the day on Thursday. (I'm not getting into work details on here because I already got fired from a job for going on TV and talking about humping that midget in the elevator at my old job.) Let's leave it at: Things went bad with business towards the end of the day.

I swear to you it was the closest I have ever been to actually crying at work. Ever. Horrible week. And it was only Thursday.

And still no drinking. Why I did that to myself, I have no idea.

Strikes four, fi- fuck it. Ballgame.

Friday wasn't actually that bad. We did a pot-luck thing for Thanksgiving at work; tons of food, relaxed kind of day, lots of desserts after not being in the gym all week. Solid day. I hit the gym after work (for only the second time in a week), went home, saw some boobies, watched a movie and went to bed pretty early. I stayed horizontal for most of the weekend. Seriously, I said I was going to sleep all weekend and forget my week and I did. Saturday I was horizontal on my great futon couch and watched college football all day. I did not even open the door of my apartment. The biggest distances I covered the entire day were from the bedroom to the couch, and from the couch to the bathroom. The most effort I put into my whole day was making myself breakfast (toast) and hitting the jump button on the remote to go back and forth from football games.

(Oh, did anyone see Oklahoma slap the pants off of Texas Tech? Wow. Why even bother leaving Lubbock guys?)

Sunday, my friend Joey made a big pot of sauce and homemade meatballs and we watched NFL all day and ate a great dinner to finish off the weekend. Something about Sunday and a big Italian meal just makes everything better, no? Plus, you know, Entourage on Sunday nights is always good.

This week is shaping up to be better so far. We got a short week, a holiday to look forward to and to be thankful for and all that shit, and more importantly my face is feeling much better. I am still dealing with the fallout from Thursday work-wise, but at this point I just want to find any resolution, and I think that will happen today.

This past week has helped to put things in perspective for me though. I am much more appreciative of not having four shitty days in a row - or for even just having one good day. The weekend was the most relaxing one I have had in a while, because I (successfully) tried to make it that way.

And most of all, I have learned to be much more careful when removing my sweater.

...That's what she said!

(I couldn't help myself )


  1. Seriously the sexiest post in the history of the world! Who doesn't get all worked up over health issues ;-)

    I'm glad you, your face and tummy are all better.

  2. Personally, I feel like no matter how bad things get, if you can complete a story with "that's what she said," you're golden.

    And, to respond to an earlier comment: No, you can't hang out with my parents. In order to hang out with my parents, you need to be able to drink A LOT. No stomach ulcers at our joint-Thanksgiving!

  3. Dude...that sounds fucking awful (that's what she said!).

  4. OH BOY now thats an eventful week! (oh I agree big Italian meals or just food in general- do make everything better. Just remember to say "big pot of gravy," not sauce. :) In light of thanksgiving we say "pass the brown gravy!" (Goddamn South Philly Degos developed their own crazy lingo!)

  5. Josie - Thanks, I knew it. There is nothing sexier than a hairy fat guy with ulcers bleeding from his face and crying.

    RB - I end every story with, "that's what she said." Ulcers are gone. Email me the address!

    Punchline - No, actually it was awesome. (and nice one!)

    Gina - I originally wrote, "gravy" but was worried people (not you, obviously) wouldn't know I meant sauce, so I changed it. Rookies.

  6. You weren't kidding when you said you had a bad week. I hope it makes you feel a little better knowing that hearing your bad week, didn't make mine feel nearly as bad as I had originally thought! Glad you're feeling better!

  7. Oh no. That sucks dude. Perhaps drinking is not the answer. I don't know? *shrugs*
    And yes... Go Sooners!

  8. Sorry you haven't been feeling well but let's face it - vodka makes everything better. Don't give it up now!

  9. Zen - Glad I could help.

    HBee - No, drinking is always the answer, I just forgot for a week or so. And wow, your boy might seriously win the Heisman now.

    BWP - You are so right, vodka it is, thanks for the reminder. And you really put things in perspective for me lately. My week really wasn't that bad in the grand scheme of things.