Another Live Blogging Exercise
I'm going to Live Blog my Sunday. It's a special Sunday, marking six years of wedded bliss to the dear and patient wife. What? Oh fuck. I forgot. That person doesn't exist any more, replaced by an unconscionable pod person who acts like a 5-year-old denied a sucker.
For reasons which will soon become clear, portions of this telecast were pre-recorded and therefore not "live," though technically they COULD be live if this were coming to you on NBC.
8:00 a.m.: I wake up. On tilt.
8:05: X wakes up. Sets about intentionally avoiding me.
8:30: I take a shower.
9:00: I ask X if she got the e-mail I sent yesterday, the one wondering if she thinks it's okay to take AJ on one of her illicit dates with the Douchebag Poet less than 24 hours after agreeing it would be confusing for AJ right now if another man was introduced into his life. The date was facilitated by a) warning AJ not to tell Daddy they went to see "Curious George," because "Daddy wanted to see 'Curious George' and he'd be sad if he knew we went without him" and b) giving the Douchebag Poet a fake nickname so AJ doesn't unwittingly utter his real name in my presence. Kid helped me get the real story anyway.
9:00: She says she did see the e-mail. And doesn't want to talk about it, which is obvious to me already, considering she didn't get home until midnight last night even though she gets off work at 6.
9:02: I ask if she thinks this is the way to go about "amicable," agreeing to my face and doing the opposite the moment my back is turned.
9:03: X says she and the Douchebag already had their date plans before I brought up the "new man" suggestion. Which, of course, makes it okay to lie to my face and lie to AJ.
9:15: I leave after several other pertinent comments regarding her sub-standard behavior, inability to think of anyone but herself and repeated, but fruitless, suggestions as to how she can Hurry. Up. and. Get. The. Fuck. Out. Of. My. House.
10:00: I arrive at Glen Ivy Hot Springs Spa for my anniversary present to myself. Yes, I'm turning gay...um...I mean...I was due for some pamperin'.
10:10: I choose locker 226 for anniversary day symmetry and am not the least bit surprised to see that it's broken.
10:30: I settle in for my "Stress Relief/Swedish" massage. I am told by the masseuse (that's the chick word, right?) to "strip down," marking the first time in 7 years someone other than X or my proctologist has made that request of me.
10:31: I lay face up on the massage table, covered by a thin sheet and will myself not to pitch a tent.
10:35: The masseuse returns to find the table tent-free and asks if I want some aromatherapy. I go with lavender for no particular reason.
10:36: The "Stress Relief" portion focuses on the head, neck and shoulders and we are both immediately disappointed when she starts with my head. My well-molded coif crunches under her fingers and I can imagine the inner monologue going on about getting all that hair gunk on her fingers. I, of course, am mortified by the image of what my hair will look like when she's finished.
10:40: The massage is awesome, the first professional effort I've ever received, but "stress relief" ain't happenin' since I know when the day is over I still have to go home and see that fucking sociopath who bears a striking physical resemblance to the woman I married 6 years ago.
10:55: The "Stress Relief" portion ends and I am told to roll over as she lifts the sheet into sort of a curtain which shields her eyes. Though she can't see It, I'm still thankful I trimmed my pubes into an attractive hexagonal shape the day before.
11:00: Oh...that's it. For the first time, she hits the right spot, just under my left shoulder blade. A ribbon of pain and pleasure shoots down my left side every time she comes back to it.
11:05: I try to put my impending divorce out of my head by listening to the piped-in music, but fail because, for one, it sounds a little too much like the Muzak version of Air Supply's "All Out of Love" and for two, there are birds chirping in the mix.
11:15: The Swedish portion is on the back side only and she's now moved to my legs, doing one at a time and inching the sheet up into my groin. I wonder if she can see my perineum (look it up). At least until she gets to my feet and I realize I'm getting a little hot as she firmly strokes my Achilles tendon. Make a note ladies.
11:20: The left Achilles tendon doesn't inspire the same arousal, but I have had recurring calf injuries from soccer in that leg and she works it over like a champ. I may be in love.
11:25: Massage comes to a close and I put my clothes back on. No happy ending.
11:30: With a few minutes to kill before my facial (yep, still hetero), I grab a quick smoke. And by quick, I mean I have to take two shuttle buses to an area so far removed from the holistic, healing powers of the spring that I needed my passport.
11:45: I go for a quick steam. Mmmmmmm, eucalyptus. After a few deep breaths, I hock up some brown shit. Then the steam starts blasting from beneath the benches and I have a flashback to the old Batman and Robin TV show and imagine the Penguin is behind this billowing smoke.
12:00 p.m.: Facial time. I've never had one of these before either and it turns out to be almost nothing like I imagined. There's more massaging of the neck and shoulders, along with the face. She puts more goo on my face than Jenna Jameson sees in a year's worth of money shots. She "extracts" several blemishes from my nose area. My hands are covered in lotion and plastic bags and then plunged into warm mittens. While the masque marinates on my face, she massages my forearms and hands. I think I love her, too.
12:50: It's over?!?!?! NO! No way that was 50 minutes! I demand a recount!
12:55: I purchase a couple products that she pushes at me. I'm in a vulnerable state right now, taken to the very limit of nirvana by her expert hands and furthermore, I do have something of an uneven pigmentation on my face (some spots darker) and when she says she has a product that will help, I buy it, and another, without question. She coulda talked me into endowing a new wing for the place if she wanted to.
1:00: I go look at myself in the mirror for 20 minutes (only slightly more than usual), examining every unblocked pore.
1:20: I hop in a mineral bath, feeling somewhat self-conscious as I am surrounded by caressing couples and old ladies in one-pieces. Without my wedding ring and with my carefully re-organized 'do, I am quite clearly, in their eyes, homosexual. Not that there's anything wrong with that. I start talking to myself about the Ultimate Fighting Championships just to try and throw them off the track.
1:45: I decide against the red clay mud bath, despite the presence of several nubile ladies in various stages of muddery, because I'm hungry and there's no way I'm paying $12 for a brussels sprouts sandwich.
1:50: I pay my tab and reluctantly leave this mountain paradise, assuring myself I will come here AT LEAST quarterly. I also would just like to throw this out there: The first woman who willingly and enthusiastically has sex with me will be my guest on the next visit. Please submit your applications.
3:00: I do WAY too much thinking on the ride home and enter the house on mega-tilt. The two unfortunate framed family photos in the hallway are immediate victims of this mood.
3:15: I fire several salvos at X (stress relief my ass) and begin to calm down as she actually shows some contrition for what happened. This is new.
3:30: We resume "normal" relations, which means conversations not sprinkled with insults and recriminations.
3:45: X says, "You're better off without me."
3:50: Sidling up to her in the kitchen, hand on her hip, I say, closely in her ear, "I was never better than when I was with you. The three of us--you, me, AJ--are individually lesser than the three of us together."
3:50:22: She agrees.
4:00 p.m.: Mom shows up to screams of delight from AJ. My mom finally hit the pissed off stage this week and promised she would, and I quote, "extract her pound of flesh" from X over this betrayal. It didn't exactly go down like that, but Mom was earnest and insistent over her displeasure.
4:01: I start drinking.
4:15: The interrogation ends with Mom saying, "Let's get down to business. I've said my peace." She didn't get to be the Inland Empire's top real estate agent by letting personal interfere with business.
4:16: House is listed at over half a million bucks. I caress myself under the kitchen table.
5:30: A lot of papers were signed. Some tears were shed. It's very fucking tangible right now. X says no matter what happens she could never come back to me, not after what she's done.
5:30:22: I agree.
5:31: I start drinking faster.
5:51: Let's take this brief downtime to recap my weekend. Friday night, I had dinner after work with a (hot, female) friend and then ended up at a bar with two well-known bloggers who wish to remain anonymous (due to various warrants and a recent appearance on "American's Most Degenerate") and my cousin Matt, who's been dying to see his name in this here blog. In the interest of propriety, I will not go into the gory details, but we did, at one point, receive a dial-a-shot from two other well-known bloggers who also wish to remain anonymous and the conversation might have been between a yak and a praying mantis for our combined inability to hear or form complete words.
Yesterday, AJ and I pretty much went through his entire collection of games. Later, I played three tourneys on Full Tilt, sniffing the money in none of them (and I just cut and pasted that last phrase from every poker post this month). In the $9K, I was actually feeling pretty good and playing pretty well. I was kinda short with T3200 just as the antes were kicking in when the client froze on me. It froze on everybody, but some got reconnected considerably faster than I. by the time I made it back, I had missed two levels and had T1700 for an M of less than 3.
Hooray. Pushed shortly thereafter with KQo and lost the race to TT. Tonight, and you read it here first, I break the streak. Book it.
6:59: I don't know what is inside these Jack in the Box tacos, but whatever that mystery meat/bean past is, I crave it fortnightly. Tonight, I'm having four.
7:00: Cards in the air on Full Tilt. Big money on the line. Over a thousand entrants. First time I've seen that.
7:05: My fold hand is strong.
7:06: Just noticed it's a $19K Guaranteed tonight. I appreciate the increased pools, but I'd prefer they guarantee I not miss two levels of an MTT thanks to server problems.
7:12: Joa1nne is feeling pretty confident:
Joanada: nice live-blogging :)
JoeSpeake: thanks Jo
JoeSpeake: gonna be harder now that I'm in here :)
Joanada: yeah no doubt
Joanada: I'll make it easy for you ....
JoeSpeake: but it's not like I play many hands anyway
Joanada: 11pm - Joanada wins the 19k Guarantee
7:14: My table froze. I missed a hand. I had the Hiltons. This is how it's goin for me.
7:40: Long time no updates, huh? There's a reason for that. I had to leave. My mom's car broke down and I had to fetch her. Gone 22 minutes. X played my hands. she did okay. Didn't chip up, but didn't lose any, either. T1629.
7:55: My table is slower than molassas. We've seen 48 hands with the break on tap. I'm bored. Mainly 'cause I've folded 44 of them.
8:00: Last hand before the break I moved with A7s and an M of 5+. ATo is good.
Sigh. Thus completes our broadcast day.