Tag: The Long Tale Of COVID (Page 1 of 2)

In the spirit of the season, here’s a little something extra for all you faithful fans out there.

As they say, “Take a look inside”…

Hints were dropped. That’s all I gotta say. Any chance I got to allude to Cami’s true nature, per se, I took. So if you were complete blindsided by The Big Reveal, then that’s kinda on you. Or maybe not. Maybe I did my job of actually keeping a secret from you Dear Readers much better than any one expected.

Once I finally got to the part in the story where I went to the Urgent Care–i.e. “The Cami Chapter”–I got the idea to perhaps I shouldn’t reveal every detail of that situation right away. And then it became a game of how long I could write about Cami before I could no longer hide the truth–which, by the way, was incredibly challenging from both the writing standpoint, as well as from the storytelling/narrative weaving perspective.

Anyways, I was a little proud of myself for slow-burning the whole situation as long as I did. But that’s beside the point. What I would hope one might do after The Big Reveal would be to go back and read all the Urgent Care posts with fresh eyes and see if they could pick up on all the little Easter eggs I had dropped in there. Kinda like watching The Sixth Sense the second time.

Well, if you don’t have that kind of time on your hands, let me give you a little cheat sheet:

Never Under Estimate The Value, Jack, Of An Astute Nurse:
…straight to Death’s Doorstep…

Rare Pleasures, Tawdry Treasure–‘Tis The Life For Ol’ Captain BlueBalls!: …I heard about that only recently and I was very curious…

You Never Learned How To Say ‘No’ In Spanish? Fantastic! (courtesy of Nurse Cami’s texts): …no agenda…open to learn more…

Who Doesn’t Know How To “Keep Things On The Download”?: (quick note: Alex, in an ironic plot twist, was actually Alexandra, though I had tried to be ambiguous about her true nature as well) …”you know, get you straightened out”…keep it on the down low…

Not Sure How To Say This, My Beautiful Bride, But…: …Give it to me straight, Doc…I’m going to give it to you straight, Doc…

The Truth About That Urgent Care? Oh, It’s Out There…: ..it’s out there…Some stories, well, they’re straight-forward. And then there are some stories you simply can’t tell with a straight face…shame on you for your lifestyle choices…one or two spectacular–nay, gloryous–plot holes¹You probably don’t want to click here… in the story…I can’t say I’m exactly, uh, proud of that…It was time for me to set the record straight…are you really going to make me, ermm, come out and say it?…

Ambiguity. Whether it’s in how the name of that one particular drug is pronounced, or who, exactly, is trying to get into my pants, ambiguity ended up being a recurring theme in this tale.

Yet another opportunity to lean into the idea of multiple interpretations arose when trying to figure out the title for Yo, The Great Cornholio Don’t Need No Stin*ing Warning Signs! The hope was that one would naturally think that the ‘*’ was supposed to be a ‘k’, i.e., “…don’t need no stinking warning signs.”

…which was actually inspired by the line from the Weird Al movie, UHF, “Badgers? Badgers?!? We don’t need no stinking badgers!” (You know you wanna watch that clip…click right here, buddy boy.)

…which was riffing on a line from the Mel Brooks hit satirical western, Blazing Saddles, “Badges?!? We don’t need no stinking badges!” (You can watch that clip here.)

…which in turn was referencing the line “Badges?!? We don’t go no badges…we don’t need no badges. I don’t have to show you no stinking badges!” from–and I quote Wikipedia now–“the 1948 film The Treasure of the Sierra Madre. That line was in turn derived from dialogue in the 1927 novel of the same name, which was the basis for the film.” (Watch that clip here.)

…

Dang. I had no idea that my post title had such rich pop-cultural heritage until literally right now. Before this moment, I had only heard the line first-hand in UHF, and vaguely knew that it was a reference to another movie. Welp, as they say:

…

Oh, jeez, I totally forgot what I was saying there. My apologies. The point was that, after reading the story, one would say, “ahh, I see now! The ‘*’ could also be a ‘g’! ‘…no stinging warning signs!’ Right, because of the wasp really sticking it to him and what-not. Hmph. Clever…”

I lived through the 90s. I mean, c’mon, those were the prime years of my youth, from when I was 9 until I turned 19. Yet somehow…

Yet, somehow I missed a certain nugget of pop culture, one that I didn’t even know existed until I was trying put together the picture for Who Doesn’t Know How To “Keep Things On The Download”? I had punched into Google’s image search ‘frustrated with floppy disk‘, and after a half-click scrolling down the page, I stumbled across this beauty:

No, it wasn’t the picture I was looking for. But it was the picture we all deserved.

It was an image from the Wikipedia page for “Don’t Copy That Floppy”²https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Don%27t_Copy_That_Floppy…and anti-software piracy campaign from 1992. And, according to the YouTube description of the flagship video for this campaign, “The Stupidest Rap.”

So of course I had to watch the whole video. And boy did it live up to the hype. It was incredibly ----- stupid. It was so horrible that I couldn’t help but wonder if this was some sort of reverse-Mandela Effect³https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/False_memory#Mandela_Effect in which, as a society, have collectively chosen to forget something actually happened, but was just too embarrassing to have to admit having lived in society that actually allowed such garbage to be produced.

And, so of course I’m going to provide you with the chance to view this for yourself. Now, for your viewing displeasure, I present to you, “Don’t Copy That Floppy”:

…

A few other notes about this post…while ‘keep things on the DL’–DL being short for ‘down low’–is now commonly used for just about anything that should be kept under wraps, The Down Low originally described married men who secretly engaged in same-sex dalliances on the side. Now given that I was trying to be ambiguous enough about Cami’s gender/sex/sexual preferences to keep the reader assuming that they were a ‘she’, I almost immediately regretted bandying that phrase about so freely. You know, because it might have made the true nature of reality a bit too obvious, and ruin the surprise reveal I was hoping to build up to later.

More about that title: it’s meant to be said incredulously, with some italics thrown in there. Like this: “Who Doesn’t Know How To “Keep Things On The Download”? Thus implying that everyone knows how to keep things on the down low–or if you buy into my ‘download’ joke–everyone knows how to run a computer. It’s questioning even the possibility of the existence of someone so moronic/idiotic/overly-honest that couldn’t keep a ----- secret and/or load a disk into a computer.

Except me. Me–me!–I’m the one who doesn’t know how to keep things “on the download”! Oh, and it also gave me a chance, in my FaceBook blurb, to thrown in a nice allusion to the male genitalia. You might protest and call me sophomoric, or even junior-high-ic, but you have to admit that ‘male genitalia’ definitely played an outsized role in The COVID Story…

If you read the title to You Never Learned How To Say ‘No’ In Spanish? Fantastic! and was left scratching your head, I wouldn’t blame you. To the untrained eye or ear, it might have sounded a little random, but I promise you it was actually a reference to something real on TV.

You see, when The Elder (now 9) was just a baby, Sesame Street was one of her favorite shows, and I enjoyed watching it with her. And what would my favorite part of that show be? Definitely Oscar the Grouch.

For some reason his pithy and biting “What now?!?” real resonates with me–and was a perfect pop culture reference to throw out when Cami started to blow my phone up with too many texts.

You can imagine then, my chagrin when I couldn’t find a readily available meme or gif to include in the post. The Perfect Oscar the Grouch quote, and I couldn’t even use it!

Anyways, my quest eventually let me to Google “Oscar the Grouch quotes,” thinking that surely “What now?!?” would surely make any and all lists of his top quotes. Welp, it didn’t. But I did come across another quote of his that inspired me to tie an Oscar the Grouch reference in with the predicament I was describing in that post.

Oscar, trying to figure out how to say ‘No’ in Spanish while in Puerto Rico, gets fed up with everyone telling him ‘No!’ when he asks: “Can’t anybody tell me how to say ‘no’ in Spanish?”

Everybody: “NO!”

Eventually I morphed that quote into the post title you now know and love, which implies that Cami, a native Spanish speaker, would have been delighted to learn that I don’t know how to say ‘No’–for example, when Cami asked for my phone number–and exploited that fact to his benefit.

Anywho…I wasted too much time tracking down the actual clip of this quote, so you better ----- well watch it so my efforts will at least count for something:

Did you ever wonder why the title Never Under Estimate The Value, Jack, Of An Astute Nurse didn’t quite roll off the tongue? It really would have sounded better as “Never Under Estimate⁴We’re going to ignore the fact that this should actually be ‘underestimate’ (one word). If you’re wondering, my title gets a higher SEO score if ‘Never’ is a separate word. The Value Of An Astute Nurse, Jack”, right? Right.

Well, I’m glad you asked! (Though, you’ll probably be less glad that you did.)

Now that you’ve read that post, you know that it was suggested by Our Favorite Nurse that perhaps my nether-region discomforts were from engaging in…uh…too much ‘auto-erotic activity’ while enjoying having a hotel room all to myself. So though I never explicitly used a certain colloquial synonym for that behavior, I couldn’t resist trying to hide it in the title.

…

You don’t see it yet? So, just add and extra ‘F’ to the end of ‘Of’.

…

Still nothing? Really?

…

Jack-Off. The magic hidden word was ‘Jack-Off’. Thanks for making me go and have to say it out loud. You know my mother is going to read this, right?

Oh, Taco Bell…do I have a story or two from my youth about you. And neither of those had very happy endings (fortunately, I’ll spare you those stories for now). Now that I’m grown and wise, I have learned my lesson about going 50 feet within that gastrointestinal hell-hole.

So when I realized that its brief cameo in Listen, What Happened Behind That Taco Bell Was Purely Survival offered me a chance to besmirch TB’s good name, you can bet your ass that I work-shopped titles for 3 hours until something humorously insulting popped out.

The real joke that I was going for here was implying that I had to debase myself in a random sketchy place in order to score some drugs. Which was partly true, but…but what I really hoped was that one would read that title, and ask themselves, “Wait, was my dude so desperate to get high that he went and sucked a fat ----- behind a Taco Bell?!?”

But, alas! I’m guessing that joke went right over most mother’s people’s heads. Probably for the better though…

Oh, and by the way did you catch me going meta for a second there? Even in this post full of pointing Easter eggs, I couldn’t help but drop another allusitory one. Only mere paragraphs earlier, I dropped the term “happy endings”, which can sometimes have, er, ‘sexual connotations’…like what some douche bags expect at the end of a massage, right? (Deshaun Watson and Robert Kraft, I’m looking at you.)

Anyways, if the story had unfolded how you–being the pervert you are with your mind always in the gutter–expected it would after reading the title, then this would have been one Taco Bell story that did have a “happy ending”. I mean, it wouldn’t have been a happy ending for me, per se, but at least somebody would have had one…

Welp, there you have it my friends! A little taste of what went on behind the scenes in the retelling of the Long Tale of COVID! I hope you enjoyed seeing how the sausage was made.

Speaking of sausage…there were actually quite a few allusions peppered throughout the latter half of the stories that were in reference to a dude’s twig and/or berries if you will. Especially the little conversation that contained the phrase “bulging vein”–see if you can go back and track that one down. But I chose not explicitly point them all out like I did with the straight/gay terms above. I mean, hasn’t my dear mother suffered enough already?

…and speaking of one last and final bonus…fun fact: I see my mom on a regular basis, and have a pretty close and open relationship with her. There is very little I won’t tell her.

Well guess what I never actually told her in person? The entire Cami part of the story. She had no idea! Or…at least until she read my last 5 or so blog posts.

So, Dear Mother, as one of my most faithful and loyal readers, I suspected that you would eventually read these posts and (hopefully) be like “Wha?!? He never told me anything about that!” at all the ridiculous plot twists. My hope was to give you a more suspenseful and entertaining experience than if I had told you in person (and without a well-crafted narrative). I like to think of it as a special reward for supporting me through my blogging efforts so far…even when it means you have to endure my potty mouth and other vulgarities no mother should ever have to be exposed to.

All this? *waves hands around expressively at all of the Long Tale of COVID posts* I dedicate all this to you, Mom. I hope you enjoyed it…

Content created on: 21/23/24 December 2022 (Weds/Fri/Sat)

There’s a knock on the door; you call out “Who is it?!?”

You can only hope you don’t hear “Tis your Favorite Nurse, here for a home visit”…

Editor’s note: you have found yourself in the thick of the epic, the one, the only, The Long Tale of COVID. If you need to catch up, you can find all the posts here. Enjoy!

“So, are you going to text Cami back and tell ’em, ‘Thanks, but no thanks’ to the extramarital activities that were proposed?”

“I don’t know! I don’t want to be rude, yet I don’t want any feelings to get hurt. I mean, you’ve been a ‘pretty girl’ most of your life, ¹Nobody talks about that school portrait from 5th grade… how do y’all go about dealing with all those unwanted advances?”

“Well…”

“YOU GOTTA HELP ME! I’ve never been a pretty girl before!”

Not only had I finally made it home to My Beautiful Bride after the most involuntarily interesting COVID-cation the world had ever seen, but I had finally finished up telling her all about the one chapter of the story that remained unresolved: being hit on/picked up by my Urgent Care nurse, Nurse Cami. And now I was desperate for advice how to get out of this pickle that I got into on account of 1) being a good listener, and 2) “not knowing how to say ‘No’ in Spanish.”

“Ja, what they say is true,” my breathtaking female companion and mother of my children finally replied, “It’s not easy being nice and pretty. It’s a rare feat that’s nearly impossible to pull off.”

“Yes, yes…quite the conundrum: how does one exactly go about asking someone–literally–‘Could you kindly ----- off?’ And I do mean ‘kindly’…”

“So…how was your night of getting some solid, uninterrupted rest? Wasn’t it totally worth the $298 for you to get a head start on the battle with your COVID? Ain’t I just the best hubby?!?”

Fast forward to the following morning, and I was keen to know exactly just how much My Beautiful Bride had benefited from swapping places with me and staying in that hotel room that I ’bout became broke and homeless trying to score. You know, the one that I had cajoled her into crashing at so I could–completely coincidentally, by the way–maybe have enough solitude to finish my weekly blog post.

“You didn’t tell me it smelled like smoke.”

Wait, what?

“That’s because it didn’t! At least not when I was in there. Somebody must of snuck in there during the few hours neither of was there and took a cigarette break. Don’t worry though, I’m on this! I’ll call the manager straigtaway and compl–“

She held up her hand to cut off my convoluted stream-of-consciousness hypothesis.

“You had COVID, you idiot. I bet the walls could have been covered in fecal matter and you still wouldn’t have noticed. Remember how you told me you couldn’t taste your ill-advised Chick-Fil-A meal at all? Because you couldn’t smell worth sh*t.“

“Oh, right. I guess that’s a more likely explanation. So…on the bright side at least your sense of smell is going strong!”

The only reply that comment garnered was an icy stare. This was not going as well as I had hoped.

“Alrighty then. Well, how about sleep? Being close to the elevator didn’t bother me, but I of course had noise-cancelling headphones on.”

“Oh, the elevator wasn’t a problem…”

“That’s good to hear.”

“…the wedding reception that went long and strong until 2 or 3 in the morning on the other hand? Yeah, that was a problem. Let’s just say that it wasn’t one of those boring-ass white people weddings, either–and pardon me for being racist against your people.”

“What do you mean ‘your people‘?!?”

“Aw, give me a break, you’re as Caucasian as they come–for dat ass and doze lips–and you know it…”

“That’s true. But no unexpected visitors, right? Right? Right!”

“No, no unexpected visitors…but how were you so suspiciously confident that there wasn’t, hmmm?”

Apparently I paused too long before replying.

“Oh, dear Lord, please tell me you didn’t give Nurse Cami our home address…”

“Ah, finally! The wife is off to get some beauty rest at our expensive af hotel room, the girls are fast asleep in bed, and now, it’s time to finally get to word-smithing. Now, let’s see here…oh yeah, right, I was in the middle of trying to tie together a case of chronic athlete’s feet in with some Breaking Bad references…”

Rewind to the night before, and I was finally getting that “me-time” that I had been chasing in futility for the last 3 gawd-awful days. Nothing was going to stop me now. Not rain, not sleet, not snow, not amputated fee–

“BUZZ! BUZZ!“

I could feel my phone letting me know I had a text message. Indubitably ’twas My Beautiful Bride, thanking my profusely for her luxurious accommodations. But…that’s odd…she has a Google phone. Her messages only go to my phone…it’s only people with iPhones whose iMessages I can see on my Mac…why do I have a new iMessage notification on my Mac?

“Oh. Shirt,” I blurted out so loudly I almost woke the kiddos:

You’ve gotta be ----- kidding me, my dude. At the very least, wait until I get over having the plague before trying to meet up with me!

But maybe–just maybe–he’s truly this concerned with every patient that he interacts with. Or at least the ones that come into his Urgent Care, convinced that they’re dying of COVID-related skin-worms…

“BUZZ! BUZZ!“

Oh, jeez:

“Aww, hell, nah! Nope. Nope, nope, nope. You sir, are NO angel–and I ain’t got time for your late night ‘you up?’ come-ons.”

So, what did I do, you must be wondering? Well, I did what every pretty girl like me does in a situation like this.

I deleted his number, ghosted his ass, and did the one thing I had set out to do from the very beginning: finish my ----- blog post…

And that, my friends, is your cue to tip back that heavily-spiked eggnog of yours, as that is indeed the third and final context in which we have heard the term ‘ghost’ used!

Whew! Finally it’s all over–just in time for the holidays, no less!

Oh! That reminds me….

*rustles around noisily in his cheap Santa sack*

…I have something especially for you, Dear Reader. For having stuck it out with me on this epic journey, I have a Christmas gift that is all yours! For our Christmas Day edition of The Point of the Story this year, we’ll be releasing the bonus notes* for the Long Tale of COVID! An easy, loosely-structured read, covering various bits of trivia, behind-the-scenes look at all those stupid post titles I had to come up with, and Easter–or should I say ‘Christmas’?–Eggs that you may have overlooked.

I bet you just can’t wait for Christmas morning, now, can you?!?

*P.S. Reader Discretion Advised…

Content created on: 14/15 December 2022 (Weds/Thurs)

When someone has a quasi-traumatic life experience, it’s natural to take time to process it.

But your dude? He doth processeth too much…

Editor’s note: you have found yourself in the thick of the epic, the one, the only, The Long Tale of COVID. If you need to catch up, you can find all the posts here. Enjoy!

“Jeez, how much longer am I going to have to hear about this? Just blog about it and get on with your life already!”

…and yet, here I am 6 months later, still trying to process things. But first, let’s go back to the moment My Beautiful Bride uttered those fateful words. Now, while she is generally emotionally supportive, My Double-B had already heard enough of me puzzling over how I had let myself get picked up on by my overly-attentive nurse during my now-infamous trip to the Urgent Care.

Okay, so I didn’t technically get “picked up” by Nurse Cami.

Weaseled my phone number out of me and texted me an improper amount of emojis? Yes. Yes, that did happen.

Was I picked up though? No, it didn’t quite come to that.

Oh, and technically–SPOILER ALERT! If you haven’t already read the previous installments of this ----- sh*tshow that was me trying to manage my COVID, you better stop right now and go back so you can enjoy the full drama and intrigue–uh…now, where was I again?

Right. *ahem*: And technically, Nurse Cami, was, well, a dude.

So, not only was I offered up the opportunity to have an affair, but also the chance to try something completely different. Completely. Different.

I kinda like to think of it as “a personal invitation to an exclusive club”…and while I’m flattered, I’m pretty certain that is not the life for me. Nevertheless, like Jerry Seinfeld once noted, “men know that deep down we have weak sales resistance”¹ https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0697741/characters/nm0000632 and that we should be concerned that “we can be talked into anything”–including…well, you know…

But! Praytell, though, made this guy take one look at me and say, “You look like a man I could a best friend with…”

To which I would have said, “But what about the hoes?”

And he would have of course replied with the airtight logic of, “Who needs the hoes?”

(Okay, just go watch this YouTube clip real quick so you can appreciate what I just did there….golly, you don’t know how long I’ve been waiting drop that reference…)

But I slightly digress…the question still stands: “Was it something I said?”

Do I just naturally use phrases in my everyday language that coincidentally happen to be buzzwords in that particularly community?

Like, am I always going around putting out a strong, “Well, I’m usually a donut type of guy, but man, I really wanna try a hot dog if only had the chance” type of vibe? I really need to know if I’m a walking *chick-magnet, you know? I don’t wanna be unwittingly breaking gay men’s hearts left and right.

So, maybe I need to go back and take a closer look at that ill-fated conversation with Nurse Cami. And, yes, if you hadn’t picked up on it by now, I’ve just suckered you into being my therapist for the next few minutes.

I present to you now, in no particular order, snippets from Conversaciones con Camilo…

“I’m staying at a hotel by myself…”

I guess if I lead with this, then maybe I could see how one might mistake that for being a detail that I really, really wanted to get across. An invitation even, perhaps.

Nevertheless, it was important contextual information related to my health condition, and I judge myself innocent on this count.

…

“Do you mind if I poke around here in your groin region?” said Nurse Cami at one point.

“Sure thing!” I said, “You seem like a trustworthy medical professional…”

Famous last words, you naive idiot…

*note: this naive idiot was experiencing discomfort in the groin region, so…again, context matters*

…

When ol’ Cami for some reason brings up his, uh, ‘adult pleasure paraphernalia’ collection, what do I say?

Well, in my head: “I pride myself on being a great listener,²Yes, I know I talk A LOT. But believe it or not, I have some pretty sweet listening skills. I just don’t like to show them off. Because I’m humble. Extremely humble. and it’s nice to give people the gift of being heard…”

But out loud, all Cami hears is “…oh please, do tell me more!”

…

Cami, talking a bit too frankly (because I was too nice and missed my chance about 5 topics back to stop the conversation from getting this far): “I really want to try more of those crazy techniques you read about on the internet, but not by myself–really would like a ‘friend’ to experiment with.”

Me, not picking up on the implied ‘wink, wink’, and hoping he finds happiness in life: “Well, I’m sure you’ll find someone to try all those crazy things with you.”

…

Me, about halfway through Cami’s life story: “Oh, so you didn’t really identify as gay until your late 20s? Tell me about that–I’m always curious to hear people’s stories of personal growth and change. Take me, for example: my whole life, olives were my sworn enemy, but around 30, I suddenly understood how to appreciate them. I’ve even grown to love them!”

Cami (paraphrased): “Yeah, it was just like that! Except what I learned to love was the salami…”

…

Cami, wrapping up things: “Well, I’ve really enjoyed our talk.”

Me, trying to show my genuine appreciation of the opportunity to make an unexpected human connection in the most unlikely of places: “It’s been a pleasant surprise. It’s been a real…pleasure, indeed.”

…

By the way, back when I mentioned Cami had to decide “what direction [he] wanted [his] life to head in” when he first moved to the U.S.–yeah, remember that?–well, at that time, being the indecisive guy he is, he swung both ways, so to speak. But in embarking upon his new life on American soil, for some reason he decided things would be much simpler if he chose a side when it came to boys vs. girls. Obviously, he chose to be a Macho Man.

And so now…

…

Speaking of random asides, how about threes cheers for pronouns, eh? You have no idea how impossibly hard it has been for me to not use pronouns during the last 5 Cami-related posts. So, he/him, she/her, they/them–no matter what pronouns you prefer, I thank you for greatly simplifying the process of creating intelligible sentences!

…

Nurse Cami: “So do you work out much?”

Me, thinking that he’s asking me a healthcare-related question: “No, not really since the pandemic started. But I’ve been pretty active lately remodeling my porch and back deck. You know, doing a lot of construction-type work on my house…”

Nurse Cami: “Oh, really? How interesting…”

Meanwhile, Nurse Cami’s imagination:

Me, noticing the far-off look in his eyes: “What ya thinking about, my dude?”

Nurse Cami: “Oh, nothing at all…”

Me in Nurse Cami’s imagination:

At the end of the day, I had to look deep into my own eyes in the mirror, and ask myself: “Am I…am I Tobias Fünke from the cult-classic TV show, Arrested Development?”³https://arresteddevelopment.fandom.com/wiki/Tobias_F%C3%BCnke

The really tragedy in this moment is that more likely than not, Dear Reader, you have never watched that show, and thus would have to work really hard to appreciate the humor in the fact that I would ask myself that question.

But fear not! I shall leave you with a couple of YouTube clips that actually somewhat captures the long-running joke that Tobias–“the world’s first self-proclaimed analyst/therapist” or ‘analrapist’, as he prefers–says so many things with a straight face⁴Pun intended–completely oblivious to how, well, overtly gay he sounds:

To quote Michael Bluth, may be I had “just so many poorly chosen words in that sentence…”

Oh! But wait! We are not done yet! Almost done, but not quite…have you already forgotten about my promise to deliver a certain G-word not once, not twice, but three times throughout this story?

Nay, just like Peter hearing the ----- crow thrice before the man he loved really got nailed–

Oh. I see what Michael Bluth (from that last YouTube clips above that you definitely just watched) means when he told Tobias:

“Just so many poorly chosen words in that sentence…”

Content created on: 9/10/11 December 2022 (Fri/Sat/Sun)

Some stories, well, they’re straight-forward.

And then there are some stories you simply can’t tell with a straight face…

Editor’s note: you have found yourself in the thick of the epic, the one, the only, The Long Tale of COVID. If you need to catch up, you can find all the posts here. Enjoy!

“And then you know what did after all that? I went and ate me some Chick-Fil-A–and to make things even worse, I didn’t even enjoy it since I couldn’t taste a dang thing! I feel so ashamed!”

“…because you ate junk food when your body needed something much more nutritious to help it fight off the COVID? Yeah, you should be ashamed of yourself.”

I had just been filling in My Beautiful Bride–aka The Boss Lady–on all the inglorious details of my recent trip to the Urgent Care, and her response was…”shame on you for your lifestyle choices”? Seriously?!?

I mean, c’mon! If you’ve been following along to the soap opera that was my COVID quarantine, then you already know that I had suffered enough already up to this point–and meat-shaming her (mostly) vegan husband was the last thing she should had have been doing!

“Huh? What? Ashamed for pampering my poor self by splurging on some greasy goodness? After all I’ve been through? No, that’s called ‘self care’, my dear.”

“Okay, then, why were you so ashamed you ate Chick-Fil-A, hmmm?”

“Oh, right…yes. Well, I guess there just might be one or two spectacular–nay, glorious–plot holes in the story I just told you…”

“Wait, wait, before you go any further, is this the real reason why you wanted me to stay at the hotel tonight instead of you?” the Boss Lady suspiciously inquired.

“Um…well, if I’m being completely honest, yeah, just a wee bit. I just have had enough stress these last few days, and I can’t handle the thought of dealing with any unexpected and unwelcome late-night visitors.”

“Oh, man, you really know how to make a woman feel loved, don’t you?”

I sheepishly cast my gaze downward.

“I know, I know…I can’t say I’m exactly, uh, proud of that…”

My beautiful bride didn’t seem to hear me, as she proceeded to imagine how her night just might go.

“I can see it now…Nurse Cami knocks at the door and I answer…

Nurse Cami: ‘Who are you?!?’

‘I’m the Wife, you hussy! And let me guess–you? You’re the Other Woman, hmmm?’

And then I would indignantly slap–“

I stopped her mid-sentence. I could not let this go any further.

“Wait, hold up: other woman? Who said anything about any ‘woman’?”

It was time for me to set the record straight.

“Uh…’Nurse Cami’, hello?!?”

*Heavy sigh*

“There is no ‘other woman’…never was, either.”

“What you talking?¹This is not a typo or bad grammar on my part, it’s a quote from the hit Canadian show, Kim’s Convenience. Sadly, I was not fruitful in my effort to procure a YouTube clip for your viewing pleasure. Did you…make all that up?”

“Jeez, are you really going to make me, ermm, come out and say it?”

“Say what?”

“I may have withheld two tiny little, itty-bitty details.”

“Really? You’ve basically laid out how you could have had an affair, so, kudos for your honesty…but there’s actually more?”

“Uh…yeah. And those two details are…El-Oh.”

“The heck you talking about?”

“That Nurse Cami…well, to be truthful, is actually Nurse Cami…LO…”

“Nurse CamiLO?”

“Yup. Nurse Camilo.”

“Oh…*snort*…now the pieces of this puzzle are starting to come together…”

“I mean, I was just trying to be a nice guy and accept those who come into my orbit for who they are, you know, ‘be the kindness you want to see in this world’ and all that jazz…”

“Wait, wait, wait, just shut your pie-hole for one second–you mean to tell me you let yourself get picked up by your male nurse?!? And you actually gave this ‘Nurse Camilo‘ your phone number?”

“But he was so nice, and I didn’t want to be rude. Plus, I thought maybe he really did only want to be ‘solo amigos‘–you know I try to make the effort to assume the best in people…”

“Well, I’m surprised you let it get that far…I mean, even before I knew ‘Nurse Cami’ was a dude, I could tell they were out to get your digits from a mile away!”

“Look, I kinda had other things on my mind…you know, like, “DEAR GOD, I MIGHT BE GETTING EATEN TO DEATH BY THE WORMS UNDER MY SKIN!”

“Likely story…”

“I swear, I’m tellin’ ya the truth!”

“Oh, oh, oh! I can’t even! Bwah-hah-hah-ha!”

“It’s not that funny.”

“Wait…*gasp*…I…*gasp*…can’t…*gasp*…I can’t breath!”

“You can stop rolling on the floor in laughter now, dear.”

“I’m…*sob!*…I’m crying!”

“Hell-o?!? Can’t you see that the love of your life is emotionally shook to his core by all this???”

*brief pause*

“Who would have thunkit…*low whistle*…my very own husband just might be an honorary member of the local Gay Latino community now…wow. Just wow.”

“It may be honorary, but it is most definitely involuntary! Completely involuntary, I say! All I did was accidentally give him my number!”

“Man, you must have really made an impression on him with your, uh, ‘dried goods’ on full display. He took look one look at that, and said, ‘I just gotta get my hands–‘ “

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence. Jeez, can you just give it up already? I’m embarrassed enough as it is, and now you gotta be busting my ba–I mean, chops–I said chops!”

“Ohhhh…*guffaw*…but you started to say–“

“Ahh! Ahh! Ahh! No, I didn’t say that–you thought I was going to walk right into that one, but I said ‘chops’ instead! Let the record show–let the record show!”

“Okay, okay. I’ll be done for now.”

“Sheesh. Thank you.”

*momentary pause*

“…But I now see what you mean about being ashamed that you turned around and ran off to the nearest Chick-Fil-A…think you maybe over-corrected there a bit much?”

“I know, I know…I swear I’m an open-minded ‘ally.’ Just not…you know…that open-minded. And it just had to happen now.”

“You mean when you have COVID?”

“No, I mean in the month of June…”

“Ah, I see.”

“Yeah?”

“Yup.”

*another pause*

“Welp,” she quipped, “I can’t possibly imagine a more appropriate way to end Pride Month…”

But wait! Is there more? Yes! There must be more! There are just too many unanswered questions, right?

Does my Beautiful Bride get her beauty rest? Does Nurse Camilo come back to haunt anybody? And what, pray tell, exactly did I say in that fateful conversation with Nurse Camilo that got us in this pickle-dodging mess in the first place?

There’s only one to find out, Dear Reader, only one way…Stay. Tuned.

Content created on: 2 December 2022 (Friday)

What’s a guy to do when immoral influences comes a-knocking at his back door?

Oh, this tricky pickle is just too big to just ignore…

Editor’s note: you have found yourself in the thick of the epic, the one, the only, The Long Tale of COVID. If you need to catch up, you can find all the posts here. Enjoy!

“Give it to me straight, Doc,¹Alex technically wasn’t a doctor… am I going to die?”

“So…your test came back positive…”

“OHHHH, LAWDY JESÚS, I AIN’T READY TO DIE YET! I AIN’T READY YET!”²Editor’s note: There might be some light embellishment with my reaction to my test results. Just maybe.

“Well…you’re not necessarily going to die. I mean, of course you’re going to die at some point. But there’s a good chance you won’t die from this.”

I slowly wiped away the tears that had been streaming down my face.

“Wha-wha-what do you mean?”

“So, this D-dimer test…remember, I told you already that not only will it come back positive if you have blood clots, but also if you have COVID,” Poor-Man’s-Doctor Alex attempted to reassure me.

Well, this Kevin Bacon-inspired Urgent Care visit was just going swimmingly, now wasn’t it?

“OHHHH, LAWDY JESÚS, I MIGHT HAVE COVID?!?” I wailed.

“Well, of course you have COVID, you idiot. That was the very first thing you said when you walked in our door, followed immediately by ‘I think I have blood clots.’ “

“Oh…right. So…um…what you’re saying is that we still can’t rule out my suspicion that I have blood clots as well?”

“Technically, no. As I advised you previously, you would have to go to a real Emergency Department for that.”

“Sh*t. Ok. So…how much is this little visit costing me again?”

“I can’t be 100% sure, but once you factor in all the extra attention and time our triage nurse had to spend with you, I would say in the ball–*inexplicable pause*–park of $400.”

I was getting the feeling that Almost-A-Doctor Alex was taking a jab at this poor, defenseless, COVID-ridden, sleep-deprived patient who just happened to accidentally show up–as the French would say–sans le sous-vêtements.³https://translate.google.com/?sl=fr&tl=en&text=sans%20le%20sous-v%C3%AAtements&op=translate

And I couldn’t help rolling my balls–er, eyeballs–at not only that perceived pun at my expense, but at this whole ----- situation.

“You got to be ----- kidding me. I’m going to pay $400 for you to tell me the exact same thing I told you from the get-go?”

“Um…yeah, I suppose that’s true…”

“I guess it goes to show which one of us the real doctor…”

“I can tell you this: I ain’t going to no Emergency Department–especially after the incredibly useless adventure this Urgent Care turned out to be!”

Finally back in my car, my first order of business was to update my loved ones–via text–letting them know I was still alive and cramping. The Boss Lady was preoccupied tending to our daughters, so I found myself debriefing⁴No pun intended my dear mother.

Of course, I wasn’t telling her the whole truth about what had just transpired. I mean, what am I going to say, “Oh yeah, I forgot to wear my wedding ring and underwear to my doctor’s visit, and now my new best friend and #1 fan–Nurse Cami–is trying to ⁵In my attempts to find a humorous synonym for ‘affair’, I came discovered that, in theory, I could use the term ‘calf-love’–alas, too perfect of a joke that no one would ever get… to entice me into a little rendez-vous adultère“? Like I’m going to tell my mom tha–

Oh, wait, I’m getting another text. Maybe it’s my loving wife–

Aw, sh*t. Speak of the devil:

Okay, I shouldn’t read into this too much…I think. Any good nurse would be invested in the well-being of their patient, right?

Just need to politely acknowledge your show of concern…tip my hat…and hopefully never C U again!

Now, since I skipped lunch, I’m Starvin’ Marvin, so, yes, I will gladly “go to the hotel and chill for a little bit”–after I figure out what to eat. Oh, and text my wife that, physically speaking at least, I’m probably going to be OK, of course.

“Google Maps! Find me the nearest Chi–“

*Buzz! Buzz!*

Cool, cool. But I have no idea how to respond to such a text completely void of even a hint of useful information…

*Buzz! Buzz!*

Dammit that better be my wife this ti–

*Face-Palm*

“ARRRRGGGHHH! I don’t have time for this sh*t…”

That was indeed waaaaay too many emojis to be innocent. It was becoming rather apparent that Cami wasn’t into playing hard-to-get.

“Just ignore it, Dude,” I told myself, “You just need to make it back to your hotel room and chill for the rest of the evening…”

Wait. “Hotel.” Oh. Fudge.

Earlier, I had naively told Cami exactly which hotel I was staying in–and of course my full legal name is pretty much common knowledge at this point…

Man oh man, it’s ‘Myra’ all over again…that means there is only one logical way to avoid that home-wrecker for tonight and for the rest of my li–

*Buzz! Buzz!*

“WHAT NOW?!?

Oh…would you look at that? It’s actually my wife calling…

“I’m going to give it to you straight, Doc:⁶Doctor Hubby, to her at least. my test came back positive. Why don’t you just come on home and we’ll both mask up take care of the girls together?”

The Boss Lady (aka my wife) seemed pretty calm for having just delivered some heart-breaking news. I, on the other hand…

“OHHHH, LAWDY JESÚS, I AIN’T READY TO END MY COVID-CATION YET! I AIN’T READY YET!”

“Jeez, don’t you think you’re overreacting a bit?”

“But–but–but, it’s just that…”

“That what? C’mon home. I’m exhausted already from taking care of the girls by myself the last few days, and I could use the help.”

In my heart of hearts, I wanted to relieve her suffering, but I’ll be damned if I was going to end my COVID-cation without having finished my weekly blog post. And I knew that if I went home that evening that it would never be completed, as I would indubitably be ‘encouraged’ to go to bed shortly after the girls went down for the evening.

But…but wait just a tick! What if there was a way to love my wife and meet my goals at the same time?

“So, I was thinking…maybe you’d like a break from girls for the night? Why don’t I come home and take over child care, and you come enjoy this luxurious Jr. Handicap Accessible Suite for the night. You can even sleep in!”

What I had thought would be a slam-dunk ended up taking a lot more cajoling on my part.

“But I don’t get good sleep in hotels…”

“Oh, you’d get much better sleep than at home, listening to me snore and having the girls wake up coughing randomly in the middle of the night.”

“Well…”

“I promise, I got this, Babe. You covered for me for a few days, now let me return the favor for at least just one night…”

“I don’t know…”

“Also, I’m much less contagious now, so it’s better for me to be around the girls than you, who is probably at the peak of being contagious.”

“Maybe…”

“LOOK: If at least one of us doesn’t stay the night here, the $300 we paid for it and my stint as a bum wandering the streets will all be for naught. Perish the thought!”

“Ok, I suppose so. Come on home, and I’ll head back to the hotel after the girls go down for the night.”

Oh thank god, she agreed–I didn’t want to be there later that evening if Cami came knocking on my door!

“But,” she continued, “be home in time so we can eat dinner together. I can’t wait for you tell me everything you’ve been up to on your little COVID-cation.”

*GULP*

“Uh, you mean ‘everything‘ everything?”

“Yes! Everything!”

Well, honestly I was more than a little embarrassed about the whole ‘Nurse Cami Please-I-Don’t-Want-To-Have-An Affair.’

After packing up my belongings, I got in the car for the 45-minute journey home.

“What the hell am I going to tell my wife?!?” I wondered aloud to myself.

Oh. Right. I already knew the answer to this one:

“Welp, Honey, you see, funny story–true story, in fact–I forgot to wear my wedding ring and underwear when I went to the Urgent Care, and yada yada yada…it looks like I have no choice now but to burn our house down, fake the deaths of our entire family, and emigrate to Finland under completely made up names…”

Content created on: 21/23/yy November 2022 (Mon/Wed/YYY)

I’m not really a “Wham! Bam! Thank you, ma’am” kind of guy.

Me? I’m more of a “No Whammy! No Bammy! No thank you, Nurse Cami!” fella…

Editor’s note: you have found yourself in the thick of the epic, the one, the only, The Long Tale of COVID. If you need to catch up, you can find all the posts here. Enjoy!

“The Doctor will see you now…”

Good golly, it felt like I waited an entire lifetime just to hear those words! After my case of COVID took a turn for weird, and I had rushed from my hotel to the nearby Urgent Care, only to find that I would have to wait my dang turn–just like everybody else that was about to die up in that place.

And now, 75 minutes, 1 incredibly personal conversation, and 9 digits later, I was finally getting to see a true medical professional. You know, one who would be able to use the latest technology to either put my mind at ease–“you are not about to die of an aneurysm!”–or verify that I needed immediate medical intervention–“holy, sh*t, I’ve never seen somebody with so many blood clots in my life!” Because, as you can imagine, not dying at age 41 was pretty much all I could think about in that moment.

Well, almost. There was the tiny issue of my overly-friendly nurse, Cami, who had somehow weaseled my phone number out of me, and had sent me way too messages with a very suspicious number of gratuitous emojis along with them. I was starting to wonder if Cami’s interest in me went beyond the meditative practices I had been preaching in that ‘incredibly personal conversation’ I just referenced above–or if some ‘not-so-innocent’ intentions were afoot.

“Good luck, Bee-yhay!”

I looked across the nurse’s station as I walked to my examination room to see Cami casually waving at me.

“Thanks…” I responded quietly while returning a polite half-wave.

“You bet!” Cami said with a wink.

“Mierda.” I muttered to myself, not realizing that I had unknowingly transitioned to thinking in Cami’s native tongue, Spanish.

“Can’t wait to get out of this clinic and disappear forever…” I reassured myself.

After waiting (to suddenly die) for another good 10 minutes, the door to my exam room finally opened.

“Hi! I’m Alex, and Cami has told me that you have some grave concerns related to your case of COVID. Well, don’t worry, we’ll take good care of you…you know, get you straightened out.”

“Well, I, for one, am pleased to finally get to meet you, Dr. Alex–“

“Oh, sorry, it’s not ‘Dr. Alex’, just ‘Nurse Practitioner Alex’–but don’t worry, I’m even better than ‘M.D.’ because we ‘N.P.’s aren’t mentally slogged down by all the student loans like those other guys.”

Dammit, what does I guy gotta do¹Note here how I am refraining from using the phrase many of you are thinking “who does a guy have to blow around here…” See how I didn’t use that vulgar phrasing? to see a real doctor in this place…

“Oh, and on top of all that, I got stung by a possessed wasp!”

“Oh, no! Well, better take off your shirt and let me take a look at your back.”

Boy, I was sure showing off all sorts of skin this fine day, wasn’t I?

“Yeah, I figured I would include that, because who knows what all factors might be causing my Tremors–I mean, ‘suspected blood clots’. Between that and my vasectomy, you can’t be too sure who the culprit really is.”

“Uh…where is the sting?” I could sense N.P. Alex was indubitably standing in awe at the constellations dotting my back. “You really have a lot of moles back here. You might want to get them checked out.”

“Don’t worry, I see a dermatologist regularly. And the sting is right between my shoulder blades.”

“Ah, there it is. Well, it doesn’t look too serious…” Alex commented while gently caressing it. “Let’s focus on ruling out blood clots now if we can. You said it was your calves were the symptoms seemed to be focused? They do look unusually swole…”

“Yes, my calves, particularly my left one.”

“Welp, let me have a feel. Don’t mind me, I’m just going to compare their sizes be wrapping my hands around each…”

Again, with the touching. What was the people around here always getting their paws up in people’s business anyways?

“Oh, by the way, you should know that my calves are naturally huge. I apologize that you can’t get your hands all away around them,” I chuckled.

“No worries, I was still able to tell that, though gigantic, they are both about the same size. Why don’t you tell me more about your experience…”

So I proceeded to tell Not-A-Dr. Alex everything, including my experiences as a drug-addict and with homelessness.

Twenty minutes later–who am I kidding? It was more like 45 minutes later–and Look-At-Me-I’m-Debt-Free Alex was going over my prognosis.

“While I suspect that you are just suffering from inflammation in various parts of your body–especially where you have had injuries or surgeries, like, say *ahem* vasectomies–I can see you are still worried about the slim possibility that it really is blood clots. After all, you are literally losing sleep over it, so what I can do for you is run what’s called a ‘D-dimer test’. The bad news is that it almost always comes back positive if you have COVID. Which…uh…we already know you kinda do.”

“So…what about an ultrasound, though? I read that was the way to definitely tell for sure.”

I-Wish-Was-An-MD Alex chuckled, “We’re an Urgent Care–we’re built to treat coughs and colds and maybe a nose bleed. We don’t have ultrasound. If you feel like you really need that so you can get some rest, well, you’ll have to go to the Emergency Department of a real hospital.”

“Ugh! Good god! Nobody wants that! Tell me more about the ‘D-dimer test.”

“Well, it’s a pretty quick test, so it’s worth running in the off-chance that it comes back negative. We’ll just have a nurse come draw your blood in a few minutes, and then we should have your results another 15 minutes after that!”

“Okay. Sounds good enough. So I suppose I’ll just sit here and wait for the nurse…”

“Wait, what was your birth date again?”

I repeated my birth date again, being sure not mumble this time.

“Yup! You’re my guy!”

I really don’t know who, exactly, I thought would come draw my blood, but wouldn’t you have guessed it, there was Nurse Cami, standing in front of me and not-so-subtlety delighted to see me again.

‘My guy’?!? Are you kidding me? Oh, please oh please don’t make this any more awkward. But maybe–just maybe–there’s still a chance that whatever the ----- is happening here is purely platonic.

“So, how old are your…two daughters? Did I get it right?” Cami inquired while feeling up my arm in search of a bulging vein.

“Oh, those two little squirts are 4 & 9, and I love the living shit out of ’em. Man, I want nothing more right now than to give them big hugs…you know, on account of possibly dying any moment and what-not.”

“You’re so lucky…I’ve always wanted to have a daughter–now, if you’ll hold still for one second I’m gonna jab you with this huge needle…”

“Mmrmph.” I slightly winced. Despite once upon a time supporting myself by donating plasma, get stuck like a pig never gets easier.

“There ya go! Oh, I forgot to ask: so did Alex get you taken care of?”

“Mostly…I even managed to tell the ‘doctor’ everything–well, you know, not everything, everything *nervous chuckle*…but yeah, I think we got me mostly squared away.”

I thought maybe I could diffuse the situation with a little humorous reference to our previous conversation that featured a notably amount of TMI²TMI: Too Much Information content.

“Of course not everything. As for me, I’m very discrete and very private.”

I couldn’t help think to myself, “Well, I sure the hell ain’t ‘discrete’ nor ‘private’! You better believe I’m gonna blog about every last detail of this fustercluck…”

Oh, but Cami wasn’t done.

“You know sometimes when I hook up with a married guy–they freak out afterwards. But, I tell them, ‘Shh…shh…it’ll be fine–I’ll keep it on the down low.’ So, don’t worry, this will stay between you and me, and ‘a tree’, as they say.”

My jaw about dropped to the floor–man, I couldn’t believe what was hearing!

In my mind I was screaming:

“Are you ----- kidding me?!? Not only 30 minutes ago you were #HumbleBragging about how loose you were–hooking up with men! With women! With men and women at the same time!”

Cami just gave me another wink as my thought-rampage continued.

“Yeah, not really selling yourself very well here, Cami, given that I know how much you get around. It’d be more like keeping things ‘between you, me, a tree–and the ----- CDC!'³CDC: Center for Disease Control”

Oh, to have had the [blue]balls to say what I really wanted to say in that moment:

“Yeah, um…no thanks. I already got all the viruses I boy could ever wish…”

Content created on: 18/19 November 2022 (Fri/Sat)

The good news? I might have just made a new best friend.

The bad new? Look, amigo, I ain’t got time for no buddy…

Editor’s note: you have found yourself in the thick of the epic, the one, the only, The Long Tale of COVID. If you need to catch up, you can find all the posts here. Enjoy!

“I really loved hearing about your meditative methods. I’m sure they could help me in my struggles with loneliness.”

I was just wrapping up an impromptu and enjoyable overly-personal conversation with my Urgent Care triage nurse, Nurse Cami–who you already know by now–and I was starting to get a tingling sensation at the thought that I might have just made the world a better place, albeit one soul at a time.

“I’m glad to hear that I might make a new convert out of you yet!” I responded with a genuine smile.

“Yes, and I would be interested in learning more…” Cami continued, gesturing towards the chair were I had left my personal belongings.

“Oh, I’ll bet you’ll love it!” I said encouragingly, despite not knowing what my hoodie and my wallet had to do with the topic at hand.

“Once you’ve recovered from COVID, I would love to get together for some coffee or drinks and you can teach me more about it.”

Great. Just great. Cami was wanting to be friends IRL.¹IRL mean “In Real Life.”

I mean, I really enjoyed getting to know ol’ Nurse Cami as a person and all…but… But I’m a grown-ass family man in my 40s. I have two old friends from grad school still in the area, and even then I still don’t hang out with them nearly as much as I would like.

Sorry, Cami, I just don’t have time for new friends, or old friends–or any type of friends!

But, I didn’t want to be rude, of course…

“Heh-heh,” I chuckled nervously, “Well, I have to survive it first. I’m just focused on making it to next week alive…”

“I’m 100% confident that you’ll be just fine!”

“Fingers crossed…” I said, with as much optimism I could muster.

“…that you’ll forget about trying to meet up with me…” I mumbled under my breath…

“Here, let me give you my number, and you can just shoot me a text when you’re feeling all better,” said Cami, undeterred.

“Umm, okay.” So that was what my personal belongings had to do with all this. “Yeah, sure, I guess. Let me grab my tel–“

“Your telefono, yes! You ready?” Cami’s native Spanish shone through, making me lightly chuckle.

“Sure, go ahead…”

“Seven-five-four…”

“Ah! That’s right…of course you have a Miami number…” I felt like a rather observant student.

“Ah, sí, I sure do miss that place..anyways, mi numero: two-four-five…” Cami continued on until I had all 10 digits in my, uh, telefono.

“Great! How should I put your name in here?” Truth be told, I hadn’t been paying enough attention to actually know Cami’s name at this point.

“Just put me down as ‘Nurse Cami’,” Cami said, tapping on the name tag that I should have seen be now. “That should be a good way to remember me.”

“Sweet, I’ll just head out–” I couldn’t even finish my dang sentence.

“Why don’t you go ahead and shoot me a test-text, make sure you got me in there right?”

Dangit.

“Oh, of course! Silly me–why I didn’t I think of that?”

Honestly, though, I was thinking this would have been so much easier if Cami didn’t have my number.

As I pushed send on the text, it occurred to me that Cami might be confused about my name.

“Just so you know, Cami, although you’ve seen my name on paper as ‘Robert’, I actually go ‘B.J.’…”

“¿Bee-yhay?“

Oh, dulce Jesús, how did I not see that one coming a mile away???

I barely suppressed a snort, as in my mind I was having a regular Pee-Wee’s Playhouse moment:

Why did I find this phrase so, uh, ‘special,’ you may ask?

Well, I’ll tell you why…or, more accurately, I already did–you can read all about it here.

*Snort snort*

After I internally picked up my laughing ass from rolling on the floor, I just kindly replied:

“Yes, Bee-Jay.”

Cami’s phone buzzed, and then–if that wasn’t enough proof that we had successfully exchanged numeros–my phone buzzed back:

Awww…Cami thinks of me as a “buddy”…

“BUZZ! BUZZ!”

Only moments later, back in the waiting room, and my telefono already be blowin’ up? Who could it be? My concerned wife? My caring mother? Hmm…let’s see here:

Oh, it’s just Captain Obvious reminding Captain BlueBalls that they are successfully ‘in touch’. A hilariously unnecessary text if you ask me. Like, “No shit, Sherlock.”

Needing a distraction, I tried to take my mind off of…well, everything, so I decided to finally tackle my singular goal for my COVID-cation (oh, that’s right, some of you may need to start this journey from the beginning…go ahead, I’ll wait).

And since I’m pretty sure we’ve all totally forgotten what the stated goal of my extended ‘me time’ was, I’ll remind you: to write my danged blog post for the week–and thanks to all the misadventures thus far, I was down to only but a few hours to get ‘er done.

No computer, though? No problem! For the first time, I decided that I might as well try to blog away on the small screen of my iPhone. Sure, it might take a bit longer without the luxury of a keyboard, but it’ll do for getting my main thoughts and punchlines into the digital record, right? Right.

(Quick side note: if you wondering which, exactly, of my famed and hallowed posts I actually composed in that Urgent Care waiting area…you can click here…)

So there I was, tapping away furiously on my telefono in my own little corner of the waiting room,²I was attempting to self-isolate, because, yes, I felt like a complete arsehole for being that guy with COVID just hanging around. when a woman a few seats along the adjacent wall, maybe in her mid-50s, caught my attention.

This woman, she just kept…looking. Looking in my direction, but not smiling, not scowling. Just looking approximately at me–there was no one else in my vicinity–but not directly at me. It was like she was unintentionally avoiding eye contact. Just looking, looking, looking…looking slightly shocked, maybe?³Okay, I might have gotten this out of chronological order…this might have happened before my initial examination, and when I realized that I was missing certain pieces of my wardrobe.

“Strange, strange woman.” I thought to myself. “Like, what is her deal? She’s kinda starting to creep me out.”

It wasn’t until much much later that it occurred to me that, “Oh, yeah, that’s right, I totes forgot that I was just hanging out in my mesh shorts, free-ballin’ in the wind. Ooops. My bad.”

The funny thing is, this really has nothing to do with the main plot–just another little side-show to the larger freak-show that had been unfolding over the last few days…

“BUZZ! BUZZ!”

The vibrating telefono brought Bee-Yhey/ol’ Captain BlueBalls back to reality. These ----- texts were making it hard to get my bloggin’ on–who is it now? Hmm…let’s see:

Dammit, Cami…”no agenda”? What does that even mean??? And is this really the right context for using random emojis?

Not sure what to say, so…um…random laughing emoji back at you?

Now, back to my blo–

“BUZZ! BUZZ!“

Oh, for f*ck’s sake! Or–as Oscar the Grouch would say:

“WHAT NOW???”

Surely it’s not…it couldn’t be…crap, it’s my Nurse again:

While I truly appreciate Cami’s…um…enthusiasm(?) for learning, it’s just…WHAT’S WITH THE WEIRD EMOJIS?!?

Okay, back to my blogging…

*Types in peace for a solid 10 minutes*

“BUZZ! BUZZ!“

*Sigh* Here we go again…

Oh, well, that’s a pleasant surprise: some actually useful info instead of…whatever the hell those last few texts were. Here, Cami, back in the bowels of the nurses’ station, is reassuring me that I am only moments away from being seen by a real doctor.

In the words of my reply: “Sweet.”

…

“BUZZ! BUZZ!

What do you think folks? Should I look?

Sure…why not?

Hey, wait a minute…I’m starting to notice a suspiciously excessive use of emojis…

Um…

Oh sh*t.

Exactly what kind of “buddy” does Cami want to be…?⁴1: Stay tuned, you Big Dummy; and 2: If you’re wondering what type of “buddy” I’m worried about being viewed as, I’ll give you a hint: this episode was brought to you by the Letter F…

Content created on: 11/12 November 2022 (Fri/Sat)

As any pirate could tell you: “Loneliness is like a steering wheel in my pants:”

“Arggh! It drives me nuts…”

“Right…right…sure…mmkay. I TOTALLY believe you. All by yourself in your hotel room, bored out of your mind and having nothing better to do while you recover from COVID? Sure, your story completely checks out…”

Nurse Cami–who you may recall from last time–initially didn’t seem convinced.

But I swore up and down that, despite originating in my groin region, my mystery symptoms–surely related to me having COVID, and what landed me in the Urgent Care in the first place–had nothing to do with me, um…er…’laying hands on myself.’

Yeah, I know, right? I could hardly believe it myself that a nurse would put forth such a preposterous conspiracy theory.

“You know,” Cami continued, “as a medical professional, I have a duty to report any cases of abuse that come to my attention.”

“Um, I’m pretty sure that ‘self-abuse’ doesn’t fall under that umbrella–and wait, it doesn’t even matter! I told you that most assuredly that is not what is going on here!”

“Likely story…”

“No, for reals,” I felt that I shouldn’t have to defend my own honor, but I had no choice at this point.

“Believe or not,” I intimated, “I am indeed ‘Master of My Domain.'¹A legendary reference from the hit NBC sitcom, Seinfeld: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JUtJBqgwNgo If you really must know, I have chosen to follow a higher path, one involving, let’s say, ‘meditative practices,’ if you will.”

“Oh, wow, really? Good for you. I could use some more ‘meditation’ in my life…”

“Though on a medical note,”–I hadn’t quite finished my thought–“there is sometimes the side effect of having too much pent-up energy in certain areas of the body…”

After thinking for a moment, Cami wondered aloud, “Hmm…Perhaps…could it be…epididymal hypertension?”

“Huh?!?”

I swear to the deity of your choice, I’m not making this up: Cami then looked me dead in the eye and said in almost a whisper, “So…is it possible that you just have a case of blue balls?”²I apologize, to my mother and all others, for having to include this phrase, but I’m guessing y’all were as confused by the medical name for such an affliction as I was…click here for more info, if you feel the need to actually know more. And for the record, this could have legitimately been related to my relatively recent vasectomy.

I had to chuckle at this new and very interesting theorem.

“I guess. But, c’mon! That still doesn’t explain the sensation of worms tunneling through my swollen calves!”

“No…no it does not…”

“Well, I think we’re all wrapped up here. My initial assessment is that you are most likely not in any immediate danger from blood clots–I know that was what you were most worried about. At this point, I’ll just have you wait your turn in the waiting room with the rest of the folks.”

“Oh. So I may have to wait another hour or so to see the doctor?”

“Unfortunately, yes. But let me or the front desk know immediately if you experience any sudden changes, okay?”

“Okay, sounds good.” At least I had the reassurance that I could be bumped to the front of the line if sh*t started to get really crazy.

There was a pause for a moment before Cami piped up again.

“So, before you head there, I was wondering if I could ask you a personal question?”

“Sure why not? I don’t think it’s possible to get much more personal than your last round of questions.”

“Great. So that term you mentioned when you were talking about ‘meditative practices’…I heard about that only recently and I was very curious. Would you be able to tell me a little bit more about it?”

“Would I? Would I ever!”

Self-care never gets enough attention, and I yes indeed I was going to jump at the chance to spread the gospel of some of my favorite methods for supporting one’s overall wellness…

“When I moved to Miami from Central America, that’s when I really had to decide where my life was heading…”

This conversation–with my nurse, of all people!–had really turned out to be quite the unexpected delight: complete strangers only an hour earlier, here we were, connecting on almost a spiritual level about our life journeys. It kinda reminded me of that one time that I really connected with our local bug guy…two souls appreciating each other for who they were, nothing more, nothing less. Something our society desperately needs more of, indeed.

And Cami’s personal story was indeed intriguing, and I listened with sincere ears to a tale about a life full of twists, turns, moving across oceans, enduring bouts of loneliness in strange new lands, and, ultimately, evolving as a person.

I, too, had experienced somewhat similar, almost identity-altering, changes later in life, and so truly relished hearing others share theirs. In a way, it can forge a bond between two random people–kinda like finding out that you’re both members of the FreeMasons or what-not…hmmm…maybe I better work on my analogies, but you get the idea.

“Yeah,” after thoughtfully listening, I responded, eager to strengthen this bond, “I can relate. You know for me, growing up–even into my thirties–one immutable truth about me was that I eternally hated two things: bleu cheese and olives. But now I can’t believe I enjoy both of those! As I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized that through opening myself to new experiences–and revisiting old ones–I can really learn a new thing or two about myself…”

“Yeah, so you ‘get it,’ my man,” Cami concurred.

“Yup. I would even say that is key to truly savoring all that the human experience has to offer…”

“Along with some form of meditation, of course.”

“Of course. I almost forgot that was the original point of my story!”

“Welp, I think I better send you on your way now.”

“Yeah, I guess you have other patients to tend to.”

“Yup, but I just wanna say that our impromptu conversation has really made my day.”

“Thanks! I agree. Connecting has been…”

I paused for a moment, trying to find words that truly did our little chat justice.

“…it’s been truly pleasurable.”

“Agreed!”

Cami smiled and patted me on the back as I got up to gather my belongings and head back to the waiting room.

“Oh wait…I had just one more question for you before you leave…”

I chuckled lightly, wondering what last surprise might be in store for me.

“Oh, that Cami!” I mused to myself, “Always has the best questions…”

Content created on: 4 November 2022 (Friday)

An observant nurse is trained to pick up on details that most folks wouldn’t see.

Including some things you would rather stay hidden…

“Did you catch all that?”

The receptionist at the Urgent Care center turned to Cami, the nurse who had been standing within earshot of my overly detailed explanation of why I was absolutely sure I was about to succumb to COVID-induced blot clots. Cami nodded pensively.

“Well, most of it, anyways…”

Although it had only been barely 2 and half days since I officially tested positive for COVID, it had been quite the journey (one which you can catch up on here)–one that led me straight to Death’s Doorstep.

After having a very unnerving skin-crawling experience, I had rushed to the nearest urgent care, where I was forced to recount everything that had led up to that moment. That moment that found me standing there, calves quaking, wasting my time talking when they should have been giving me immediate medical attention instead…

“C’mon on back to our triage room, and I’ll check you out. If we think you’re in immediate danger, we’ll bump you to the front of the line to see the doc, mmmkay?”

I was relieved to at least be receiving a basic medical inspection by a professional, so I very much obligingly followed Cami to the exam room. Interestingly, the wife of a good friend and former roommate of mine was also a nurse named ‘Cami’–and maybe that was why I had the feeling that I would be in good hands with this Cami as well.

“I caught the basic gist of your troubles, but why not go ahead and start from the top and tell me what’s going one with you?” Cami gently instructed while starting to take my basic vitals.

“Well, as you heard earlier, I tested positive for COVID a few days ago, and had been quarantining away from my family at a hotel–“

“Oh yeah? Which hotel?” Cami seemed like a person overflowing with genuine interest in others.

“The DoubleTree just a few minutes from here.”

“Oh, nice. Really beautiful place.”

“It is! Has a pond even!”

“Yup. Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. Continue…”

“Anyways, I’ve been having all these odd symptoms that started with some discomfort in my groin region–though I had a vasectomy earlier this year, so it could just be related to that–and has now transmogrified into these really odd sensations in my calves.”

“Oh, that’s not good…are you okay with me examining your inner thigh where you said you have felt some of that initial discomfort?”

“By all means, go ahead, Nurse. Well, what I was saying was that I really thought I might die in my sleep last night, and since I was all alone in the hotel room nowhere near any of my loved ones, I was rather scared.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Cami gently poked around where my thigh met my groin, inspecting for any sign of the blood clots I was convinced was lurking in that region.

“So scared that I wouldn’t even let myself fall asleep…” I continued.

It was at this point that I glanced down and was greeted not only by Cami’s gloved fingers prodding about, but also what appeared to be a trio of…of…were those…were those over-sized dried peaches?¹A thousand pre-emptive pardons to my Momma–and pretty much every one else–for the TMI.

I’m not sure how else you would want me to describe..um…such a sight, but let’s just say it wasn’t pretty when I was suddenly reminded that–whoops!–I wasn’t wearing anything at all beneath my mesh shorts.

The good news, though, was that I was more focused on surviving long enough to hug my babies again, and wasn’t exactly concerned about “dressing to impress”–hell, if anything, I was a hot mess, rolling up to the place unbathed, double-masked, eyes bloodshot, and half my hair frizzing out from the side of my head instead of in my ponytail.

My thoughts wandered even more slightly off course, recalling how this wasn’t even the first time that I’ve had to have a nurse touch me in the, uh, how you say? “The Land Down Under.”

You remember that too, right? Of course you do.

Suddenly, Cami snapped me back into the present:

“Good news, I don’t feel any heat or lumps in that region–or in any other region where you mentioned having discomfort.”

“And that’s a tell-tale sign of a clot? Stupid internet didn’t mention that part. I could have rested a little bit easier knowing that bit of exculpatory information.”

“Ja, that’s one of the first things we learn about blood clots in nursing school. But it sounded like your situation was a bit more complex. Go ahead, please regale me with all the glorious details.”

“Oh, if you’re looking to be regaled, have you come to the right place! Allow me to lay it all out for you…”²And, no, this is not a pun referencing how I had inadvertently already ‘laid it all out’ there–and by ‘it’, I of course mean my larger-than-average-but-not-in-a-desirable-way wrinkly-ass scrotum and my hibernating ‘huge manatee’ that was also so wrinkly and amorphous that it was indistinguishable from the other man-lumps down there. What I mean to say is that it looked like I was the Universe’s attempt to balance out the famed uni-testicular bi-cyclist, Lance Armstrong, giving me the appearance of having been blessed with not one, not two, but three testicles. Oh, sorry Mom, if you’re reading this, I apologize for not putting a trigger warning up front. Oops!

At that point I proceeded to tell my attentive nurse every bit of minutia that I’ve shared with you, Dear Reader, so far–right down to the supernatural injury I had incurred while land-hunting. After all, maybe that was the true source of all my physical ailments and woes…

“Well, that’s all very interesting…I hope we can get it all sorted out by the time you leave here today.”

Cami listened patiently as I wrapped up my long-winded tale, Kevin Bacon reference and all.

“Thanks, Cami, you’ve been fantastic. You’ve really helped calm my nerves.”

“It’s been my pleasure. Oh, and speaking of ‘pleasure’…”

“Yeah?”

“Well, I’m not sure how to ask this, but…”

“Go ahead, at this point, you can ask me anything!”

It’s always good when you can build rapport with your local medical professional.

“You mentioned that you were staying in a hotel by yourself, away from your family…”

“Ja, that’s true–gotta keep my loved ones all healthy and safe!”

“Yes, well, sometimes, when husbands are away from the regular routine of their wives and kids, their habits…um…change…”

“I’m not sure if I’m following…I mean, I’ve probably haven’t been eating as healthy as I normally would–waaaay too many PB&J’s–if that’s what you mean.”

“Well, sure, there’s always that. But that’s not really what I’m talking about.”

“Okay, I admit I haven’t showered as much as I normally would at home…”

“No, no, not that either.”

Cami looked at me like I was a thick-headed school boy, too dull to understand the basic lesson being presented to him.

“Some might call it ‘an increase in incidents of self-abuse’…”

“Wait…What?“

Cami’s patience was seemingly wearing thin with this idiot of a patient.

“Oh, for ----- ‘s sake, have you been ‘going to town’ on yourself more than normal or not, man?!? You know…’pleasuring yourself’…’auto-erotic activities’–whatever you want to call it.”³Do you now see what I did there in the title. Eh? Eh? Bwa-ha-ha-hah!

I sat there, kinda stunned, not exactly sure how to respond.

I mean, I had pretty much discounted the possibility this story couldn’t get any more bizarre…

“Well, that is definitely an ‘interesting theorem,’ now isn’t it…”⁴Stay tuned–yes, ABSOLUTELY stay tuned!

Content created on: 28 October 2022 (Friday)

How do you know if your condition requires immediate medical attention?

When the only way to describe it is with a Kevin Bacon reference…

“Are you experiencing moderate to severe chest discomfort?”

“Yes!”

“Are you experiencing numbness in any of your extremities?”

“Yes! The lower side of my left arm has been asleep for almost 7 hours now–that can’t be normal…”

“Are your experiencing any cramping in your legs when you squeeze them?”

“Yes! As matter of fact I have started having cramps in my fat ol’ calves!”

*brief pause*

“And my toes have started tingling intermittently…give it to me straight, Doc, am I going to lose my precious little piggies to a case of ol’ COVID-toe?”

*a couple of minutes of awkward silence*

“Oh, man, am I really talking to this WebMD page like it was a real doctor?!? I really need to get some sleep!”

I looked around my luxurious hotel room–the one I had gone through hell and high water to secure–and sure enough, I was all alone.

As you may recall from last time, my COVID-cation/quarantine had got, um, ‘complicated’ when, at 1 in the morning, I started experiencing what WebMD had just bias-confirmed to be symptoms of either a massive blood clot and/or a bajillion micro-clots. You know–something that could come dislodged at any moment and cause a massive brain hemorrhage and/or heart attack.

All I had to do was make it morning, when I could I go see my medical professional first thing, and either they would immediately rush me to be admitted to the hospital (where I might pick up COVID), or they would assure me that whatever the heck was going on with me was nothing serious, and I could finally–finally!–get some gosh-darned rest…

“One-forty p.m.?!? I’m possibly dying here, Doc, and that’s the soonest you can get me in? That’s over 5 hours away–if I die in the meantime, my blood will be on your hands!”

The front desk receptionist at my doctor’s office didn’t say anything. That’s because most of my mini-rant had raged on only in my mind, with the only thing being uttered aloud was ‘one-forty p.m.?!?’

“Oh, and since you have tested positive for COVID, it’ll need to be tele-visit…”

“Awww…dangit, okay. I guess I’ll see you then.”

Even though it was over the phone, I could see the condescension on the receptionist’s face as she replied with a coldly-professional:

As you may have inferred by now, I did at least make ’til sunrise without nary a serious health incident. But I was severely disappointed when I called my doc as soon as the office opened, only to find that I had a solid 5-hour window in which, knowing my luck, I would be taken out by my all-but-confirmed blood clot(s).

Adding insult to injury, though, was them forcing me to stay far far away from their office on account of my COVIDity. You see, the worst part about the ordeal I had just endured all through the previous night was being alone.

Apart from not wanting to die a lonely death, there was the practical matter of just having someone to look out for you in case you became incapacitated for any reason. And I really would have felt much better just being in a health care setting, where if I did happen to randomly pass out, there would be professionals who would be able to give me immediate treatment.

But instead, I found myself with 5 hours to kill before those 5 hours killed me. Fortunately for me, one of the amenities that this DoubleTree hotel had that almost no other hotel (within my price range) had was a beautiful pond with a walking trail around it, as can be seen in this picture I actually took so I could later brag about what an exquisite view I had:

So if I was gonna die, why not do it in a beautiful, semi-public location? There’s just something immeasurably sweet about ruining the day of anyone else who might be out there trying to enjoy the fresh air, amiright? Nothing like a little trauma from seeing a healthy, sexy, be-ponytailed young buck like myself drop dead right before your eyes during your morning walk.

Of course I kid–I hoped I wouldn’t traumatize anyone, but I really did want to be somewhere where people would see me if I collapsed to the ground and started foaming blood at the mouth (the hope/assumption here is that any on-lookers would know how to call 911 and do so accordingly).

It was kinda hot, though, and I could only stand not more than a 15 minute walk in one go, so I passed my first two hours or so with a few walks interspersed with 30 minute chill-and-do-nothing sessions in my hotel room.

In my spare moments in between, I occupied myself by doing more unreliable internet research about how to self-mitigate blood clots. For example, I knew that a common pain killer–Tylenol or Advil or aspirin–had some sort of anti-clotting effect, but I had better use the interwebs to make sure I buy the right one from the mini-store in the hotel lobby.

Of course, not sitting or laying down too long was another recommendation, so I felt proud that I was preemptively on top of that one with my little walks around the pond.

And then there was recommendation to not wear anything tight or constrictive, especially below the waist.

Funny thing was, I almost skimmed over that tidbit of wisdom before realizing–“Wait just a tick–I’ve been wearing tight workout shorts as underwear this entire time!”

So off came my underpants! And my wedding band while I was at it–after all, that could have been part of the reason my left arm had got a full night’s rest when I hadn’t.

There was just one little problem with the shedding of my undergarments, though: since I had only planned on being away from home 2 nights, I had something of a laundry situation on my hands–i.e., the one pair of non-constricting boxer shorts that I had packed were no longer clean enough to wear.

You know, though, what did it really matter if I went commando in the comfort of my hotel room? And as long as I remained upright during my subsequent walks, I should have no problem keeping things P.G., right? Just put it out of your sweet little pretty head my dear…

“It’s high noon, and barely over an hour to go before my appointment–I got this! I got this…I got thi……ZZZZZZ…”

I jerked my head back up, saving myself from nearly falling asleep face-first into my gourmet peanut butter and jelly sandwich. If I was going to snooze, I would prefer to do it in the comfort of my bed instead of using a pile of nut-paste as a pillow.

By the time I had finished chowing down on my sammie, I figured I had just enough time to squeeze in an hour or so nap before my appointment. And believe you me, my ass was dragging at that point and I desperately needed it.

No sooner than I had set my alarm for 1:15 pm and settled into the covers, did the cramps kick back in. Dangit!

I attempted to fall asleep for about 5 minutes, but at this point the whole I’m-going-to-die-in-my-sleep anxiety kicked in full throttle.

“Screw it! I’m going for another walk!” I resolutely muttered to myself before hopping out of bed and heading out the door.

But just as I was passing through the hotel lobby, my left calf started to lightly tingle and twitch. Disconcerting as that was, my first thought was, “hey, I forgot to by some Advil, so might as well do that while I’m down here and pop them pills sooner than later!”

After procuring them, I headed back up to my room so I could down them with some bottled water. In those brief moments, though, that was when things…changed.

The only way to describe this experience is–did you ever see the 1990 Kevin Bacon classic¹https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0100814/?ref_=fn_al_tt_1 Tremors?–yeah, it was like something was tunneling just underneath the surface of my skin in my lower legs. “Worms crawling under my skin” is a phrase that comes to mind, though it’s just short of being that freaky.

However, given that I have never experienced anything like this ever in my life, I sure was freaked the ----- out. I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t wait around another hour to see if this crazy sh*t was going to kill me or not. I had to get to a medical professional, and I had to do it now.

A quick Google Maps search revealed that I was a mere 6 minutes from an urgent care–and even then I feared that might be too long. No time to second guess! This sh*t is really happening–out the door we go!

And just like that, in a span of about 30 seconds I went from “doo-tee-doo-tee-doo, just gonna go for a walk around the lake” to grabbing the bare essentials–keys, wallet, phone, hoodie, two masks–and darn-near sprinting to my car.

I peeled out of the parking lot, and as I pulled onto the road, my legs started lightly spasming, feeling as if those worms really wanted to make their way out.

“C’mon! Seriously, I’m going to die in a clot/tremor-induced wreck 2 minutes from getting professional medical help?!? You gotta be kidding me–no–you gotta be f*cking kidding me…”²Obviously, I’m leaving you hanging on a cliff, and you will definitely need to tune in next week, as we finally enter the final–and most interesting–chapter of this whole ----- saga!

Content created on: 21 October 2022 (Friday)