"I said NO PICTURES"

I miss the shit out of this girl. Last time I was home I gave Esther my number and perhaps by coincidence now I get calls from strange 562 numbers all the time. Finally got a chance to answer one the other day and their was no voice on the other end. I realized it was most likely my godchild. Who in her entire earthly existence has never spoken 3 consecutive English words to me. But no matter, her mom thought it was a good idea and I don't think I can say no to the possibility of hearing her voice. It was ridiculous of me to have given Esther my number but I love her so I did. Such a pushover Let us pray.

Working for the Weekend

Okay so I don't know why I didn't post this when I wrote it and it is now like a month outdated so expect there to be missing links or unfinished thoughts. But no matter, now just for you here it is, digging in the crates....

[The Mgmt.]

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I hope everyone has been having a good 2010. I have been focusing a lot of energy looking for good stuff to write about and just like that these past 5 months have flown bye. For better or for worse I think I can say I’ve enjoyed these 4 months more than any other 4 in my entire life. There may have been a stretch back in 1998 but it’s hard to say. Part of the reason I’m having so much fun is that life is hard. Life fucking sucks and I have had just as much to laugh about as to cry about so instead of doing either I try to just enjoy each moment. When things start to get epically bad, I curl up in bed and don’t move just like anyone else might but when things are good you had better believe I soak up every stinkin’ moment of it. I don’t have any grandiose notions of life and what I can expect from it so the littlest things are starting to mean more to me.

Take this weekend for instance. It was filled with lazy days and sleepless nights. I honestly wish I knew how much fun college could be because right now this schedule is spoiling me rotten. I saw a world-class athlete run track at noon, a softball game with one of my best friends at 1, then watch a great film (Up in the Air) that night with some close friends.

I woke up around noon the next day and though I was woefully dehydrated from sleeping in front of a sun washed window, I still had a whole day to waste. I then played what would become my first games of Bocce ball ever. Awesome game that it was I then had to break to share a BBQ with a buddy who is going to ride his bike to Central America later this year. The night ended with a great playoff game between the Portland Trailblazers and the Phoenix Suns. This is the investment I made 5 years ago. The chance to have weekends like this, are why people go to college. Never again will I be able to invite a model and her friends to my place or any other for that matter just to chill. The good is always balanced by the bad but I have so much negativity reserved for other things that all I will say is this: sometimes you have good ideas, and sometimes you have horrible fucking ideas. Inviting Waffles to the Fucking BBQ was not one of my brighter ideas.

And now time for another random story from my time in the hospital.

I wasn’t always in just one hospital. I actually had 3 surgeries over a 5 month period so all in all, it came out to 4 hospitals in 2 states over 6 months. Not a bad total and for the low-low price of only about $1.5 Million you could take the same trip. I don’t think the miracle of my story has anything to do with my new heart at all. What is miraculous is that I made it that long in the first place. I came home in March to have an AICD implanted which basically gives you a jolt of electricity to try and get your heart back into rhythm. My heart would sometimes beat upwards of 160 times per minute so in order to get that back down to a normal resting rate sometimes shocks were needed. Without the device I was running the risk of my heart getting stuck at such a high rate, passing out, and eventually dying from VFib. So in March of 2009 I came home for spring break and had the surgery done. All went well and I had a pager sized bump in my left pec. I didn’t hurt and it really had no purpose except for in extreme cases. The morning of April 17, 2008 was one such case. That story culminates with me at Memorial hospital in Long Beach and a night in which I often woke up to a nurse standing over me in hysterics. See for me, the heart rhythm had nothing to do with my physical exertion so if I were to be asleep I could still experience these tachycardias. So apparently some nurse was given more than she could handle because apparently while I slept my heart raced wildly out of control. Now obviously this had been happening for quite some time before I’d had the surgery and I had no ill effects. Yet now I was hooked up to a monitor and someone was hearing a lot of alarms most likely because this nurse did what any rational person would do…She woke me up and told me to calm down.

Don’t get me wrong, I love Long Beach and will always consider it home. But in the end those nurses were about as far from competent as I think I’ve seen and TRUST ME, I’ve seen some incompetence in my day. I guess the on call doctor, who was not my doctor, did not want to be bothered. My real doctor was leaving for Europe that night and was unreachable. So these poor ladies were in over their head with a patient who seemed like he might just up and die right before their eyes and were too scared to call the doc. I have hazy memories at best of what happened that night and even then had far less understanding of what was happening than I do now so it’s unlikely I’d be able to make any conclusions of what was going on anyway. I made it through the night and no one had to be called in. I hopped in an “Ama’lance” the next day and made the most nerve-racking drive to Westwood I’ve ever made… yes more nerve-racking than even the one when I got the call.

Walking on A dream

I just saw 21 grams and it made me miss my nurses. I didn't have it nearly as good as this guy but I suppose at least I didn't come out with a chemical dependency either so fair is fair. The movie is scarily reminiscent of my experience in that Sean Penn's character is in a weird position with his lady friend. The circumstances bring them together and the director did a great job of portraying an accurate depiction of what things are like for such a couple. The movie overall disturbed me largely because the characters take a mental and emotional spiral that is merely there to facilitate the rest of the movie. I don't know what I would do if I met the widow of my donor and she was smokin' hot but the wall of emotion would be substantial to say the least.

But whatever, Benicio Del Toro did his thing, the sex scene actually was pretty good, and the movie was super interesting and well done. Kudo's. I wish I was as good at ANYTHING as those people are at acting. Each of the 3 main characters each had a scene where they blew me away with their skill. I can't say enough good things so I will just move on.

The nurses are what is important. I have so much love for the women (and men) that helped keep me up and running that I ache not having seen them. I need them and they need me. It is outrageous that we've been apart so long. Jennifer and her new baby, My "personal PICC nurse" and the two son's she will never let out of her sight, and of course my BFF Forever, Nanoor with baby Henry, are all back home loving life I am sure just as I am, but what we had was special and I miss it. I guess I can tell you now since I already told my dad, but it should come as no surprise that I am considering doing something dumb. I want to switch my care back to UCLA medical. The nurses, the techs, and most importantly my surgeon are all still there and of course the people whose job it is to keep me from needing to see them are somewhere else. So I am very seriously thinking of FIRING my current staff. I find it hilarious I have doctors that work for me and that I could fire someone so much smarter and more qualified than I. BUT I'M GONNA! Especially if shit ain't on Point when I come home in a few weeks.

How about this for news while I'm at it. I want to do a full sleeve on my right arm now. As in Tinta para el brazo! I'm trying to gather ideas for a tatoo that will go from shoulder to wrist so if you have any good ones please find a way to get them to me. It's not a for sure thing and would wait until I could get to a good artist anyway so no rush. And if you're anti this idea then don't worry there is still plenty of time for me to lose my arm in a bear trap so you're covered too.

This summer is going to be very important for me because as I see it, this could be the last time I go to any shows for a long time. MIA, NERD, and Empire of the Sun will all be in L.A. and I just don't know what I can see that will top those guys in the near future so I might as well retire right? Empire of the Sun for the uninitiated, are a band from Australia and they sound a lot like MGMT. I'm most excited about MIA, but Empire of the Sun is special because I've not shared them with anyone yet. I saw NERD with Ex#3 so the memory of them is kinda tainted until I can see them again and the same goes for Gnarls Barkley, Chester French, and anything involving Josh Homme strangely. So I need to see Empire because it will be a pure experience. The Black Keys, Gorillaz, basically the core of who I am musically was all shown and now I don't have a single headliner band I really love that isn't tainted with her stink. Dramatic I know but it's really simple. Imagine the most perfect meal possible and now imagine a fly just to the side of that plate. Not touching your food, and quite dead. That meal is hot and ready (or cold if it's sushi) but you are going to eat it with less zeal now for just that one small reason. So as you can see, I am very weird about music and when I start to talk about a band with you, It's like sharing a part of me. Nevertheless it just makes me all the more excited to see a big time act like them live. The sound is unique, but the look even more so. Lots of intricate costumes and makeup go into everything they do and it makes me wonder what life would be like if I ever experimented with psychedelics. Speaking of which...

It is time now for yet another unsolicited story about my time in the hospital:

So the movie 21 grams reminded me of another movie, Across the Universe. And one funny thing about this movie is that there is a dance scene revolving around the use of morphine and the dreams it gives you. Let me go ahead and tell you that me and my good friend Fentanyl went through some hellacious dreams together but I am not sure I'd change things if I could. And my dreams definitely didn't involve half a dozen Salma Hayeks in my room so this guy was getting a great deal on his physcadelics I would say. One such dream is really beyond description it was a horror themed dream but only in the sense that it was dark and there was fear in the air. But so was I.

I was in some sort of M.C. Escher type room where the stairs ran up the walls and I just kind of floated to the top of each flight instead of walking. I felt like I was underwater but everything was lit with torches. I had the same dream each time I went to bed while on this drug which is what made things so weird. Instead of a random part of my subconscious leaking out, instead I was seeing something almost scripted? The details are kind of irrelevant only because there are so many. Not only did I see everthing clear as day while asleep, I retained the images when I woke up and can even now pretty much tell you what was happening and what things looked like. This never happens with natural dreams and I think that's a good thing. Point is..lets all say a prayer of thanks that I am not addicted to this wonder drug, because I will be honest. Fentanyl is a helluva drug.

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Now for some women whom I do NOT love.

It's My Party

I'm in bed. And I have a confession. I'm skipping my meds tonight. They're downstairs. It's cold. This bed is too damn comfortable. Besides I'm out of milk. I understand I am lucky to be here, and to have received the "gift of life" as they all say is a special thing indeed. But I've said all along regimented maintenance care just isn't for me. I'm not ranting because there are those who can't rant, or have much more to rant about. I'm sorry. I promise tomorrow I will do better.

That Vegan Cheddar Was Nasty

So Spring Break is roughly half done and it's been a blast so far. I have a lot of great stories about the time I got to spend with my friends who I love and miss. It's 2:13am local time so I won't get into all that yet. I'm just here to dispel the myth of my demise. Hopefully you guys are all caught up because there will be lots of content coming your way. After a visit to my dream job (no not the White House) I have renewed determination to really meet some of this potential people tend to think I have.

And now as promised. My first ever, random story about my time at UCLA Medical.

I remember in late April I was almost ready to go home. I had been in the CCU since April 17 and I was really quite ready to go home. In hindsight, I was very much of the belief that if I didn't think anything was seriously wrong, then nothing bad would ever happen. That would soon change. I had someone bring me food, because as anyone who has spent time in a hospital knows, tasty = unhealthy to doctors so tasty is not what they serve you. I was eating a chipotle burrito...I haven't had one since I don't think though I don't attribute it to this. Anyway...I was sitting up on my bed and eating. Enjoying my last night of confinement. All of a sudden the nurses rushed into my room rather worried. Now me being me, I was only annoyed. Annoyance is my primary reaction to almost everything. In people 50 years my elder this is termed, "crotchety". So with burrito bol before me, I put down the fork and allowed them to fuss over me. That was the last time I took a bite of that burrito. Over the next 5-8 minutes on call doctors arrived, more nurses, and any random person from the hall seemed to be in my room. There are parts of this night that I do remember but don't feel like discussing though I also recall cracking wise to the doctor when they asked if I was still conscious which, unfortunately for at that moment, yes, I was. That would soon change. So finally after the mad scramble for a crash cart came up fruitless a nurse hurried off to retrieve it and I was left on a bed with a room full of people and the bed tilted so my feet were higher than my head. At a time like this most people would be quite worried and perhaps even panicked. I however wasn't even really curious. I didn't have any pain...well not from my body at least. And so I was unconcerned. Why you might ask?

It's simple. How the fuck should I have known what was happening? There is no way I could guess, and not being a trained doctor, there was even less chance I could self diagnose, so no I wasn't even the least bit nervous, I felt fine and so I daydreamed. I remember looking over at my burrito bringer; which is the only neutral term I can think to use for them at this point, and thinking I'll bet from where she's sitting I look a mess right now. Then every thing went black.

Two days later I woke up with a whiteboard and a marker laying on my lap. By the way I'm writing this story now so from a big picture point of view I think we know how this eventually ends. And aren't we glad all their hard work has culminated with my tapping away at these keys? I thought not.

Bottom Line: EVERYday is someone's Birthday

I make no secret that I don’t really like to celebrate anything. I think part of it is that I never learned how to celebrate. Nothing I’ve accomplished seems all that impressive. I have a bachelors degree*, but so do most of my friends and both of my parents. That’s not extraordinary. I had a heart transplant at 23 and walked away just fine. Well I suppose that’s good? But Kyle does the Ironman. So that’s nothing major. And that kind of does it for my list of things to brag about. And that says it all if you ask me. I don’t even consider most things to be celebratory matters seeing that, no one ever taught me the human condition begs us to sweat the small stuff because we aren’t promised the big stuff. “Be glad you graduate highschool, because college ain’t for all of us.”, or “Be glad you woke up today, tomorrow is not promised.”, and my favorite, “it’s your birthday week, do whatever you want.” I just feel cheesy celebrating some things ya'know? If I get my JD, or pass the California Bar I will try to be excited, though that will make me just one of 222,000 others to have done the same thing.

One of my idols growing up, who everyone thought was lazy, but really was just misunderstood taught me a lesson once that has a lot to do with this I think. Everyone knew he was super talented and so they expected crazy accomplishments from him. Sometimes he delivered, sometimes he didn’t. But to me one quote was all it took to prove he was the hardest working man in the game. After a practice one day a reporter asked him a question. “Randy, you just won the NFL Offensive Player of the Week…again,Where is the trophy?” His reply, “In the trash.” He explained that he didn’t keep small awards because unless you win the big ones in life the rest are irrelevant. In college football the highest honor for Receivers is the Biletnikoff Award. He’s won it. But it ended in the same place as the rest of those “minor” accomplishments. Now maybe I’m taking this lesson too literally, but I agree. I know that the small things are fit to be celebrated but I guess I just have big city dreams because I can never seem to be happy no matter how good I have it. I don’t think it’s human nature to wake up and simply be flush with joy that the sun is out. I mean when the sun comes up I am glad it’s not the apocalypse, but there are no dances to be made. I digress.

My day of birth, or the last day I was early for anything as it’s known to my parents, came and went with so little work on my part that I just don’t feel the need to do something special. It is nice. Don’t get me wrong. But without turning this into a complete bummer, let me just say I don’t need my expectations to get jacked up for something I didn’t care about in the first place. I actually like other peoples birthdays but mine is probably getting taken off of Facebook so that next year when it comes, the 4 people who really know when it is will be the only people I hear from. The ego boost, artificial as it may be, is a short lived high the likes of which I’ve been avoiding for a very long time. (Ask me about my thoughts on Fentanyl sometime though.)

In honor of “my” day I will share this story in it’s entirety because thought it is tragic, it is hilarious and so titled...

AN OPEN LETTER TO THE NURSE WHO GAVE ME AN ENEMA BOTTLE AND TOLD ME TO DO IT MYSELF WHILE I WAS HIGH ON MORPHINE.

Hello Nurse,

Given you work in a busy emergency ward, I don’t expect you to remember me.

It was a late November night in 2007 and I came in with severe abdominal pain.

This pain was on par with the labors of my children so I would like to thank you for the morphine. It stopped my screaming and gave me a decent “just peed in my pants” buzz. I would also like to thank you for the blanket you gave me when I got the chills. I would be nothing if not appreciative for the good things you did for me.

I’m not 100% certain whether it’s protocol to have patients give themselves enemas, or whether the nurse is supposed to do it.

If asked, let’s say, by a stranger on the subway,

“Hey, suppose you go to the hospital and need an enema, who would give it to you?”

My guess would most likely be nurse.

I’m still not even certain why I had the enema.

I loathed having to admit to all of you that I had pooped that morning.

Regardless, the fleet enema bottle was handed to me,

“The bathroom is down the hall.”

“Pardon me?”

“The bathroom is down the hall. You take the top off the tip, it’s lubed, you bend over, squeeze and hold in the water for as long as possible. Then sit on the toilet and let it out.”

“Okay.

I’m a nervous wreck when it comes to attempting new things, and the morphine certainly took the edge off having to put a bottle of fluid up my ass in a public washroom. Also, I really don’t like feeling mortal, and poo is just one of the obstacles that gets in my delusional ways. I’m a clean freak. I don’t use public washrooms. I don’t poo.

Nurse, I remember quite well, standing with my hand against the wall, bent over with the bottle poised to insert into my asshole. A Herculean feat, getting me into this situation, yet you… you managed to do it by simply asking and giving me the tool and meager direction. Without the morphine in my system, you would have been giving me that enema, and I would have been lying sideways on a bed with my iPod blaring, concentrating on something like the failed series “The Cosby Mysteries”.

Whether it was procedure to have patients give themselves enemas, or merely you taking a break for an egg salad sandwich and using my morphine dazed state against me, I will never know.

Hand against the wall, I took a good long look at myself in the mirror and thought, “Crunch time.”

You weren’t very good at giving instructions dear Nurse. At this point I realized I had no idea how long to hold the water in, but really, I had no concept of time because of the morphine.

Fortunately you didn’t lie when you said the tip was lubed. Also, it was thoughtful, or rather mandatory (?) that the bottle and fluid was heated a little. Nonetheless, it made the event more comfortable.

As the bottle squeezed empty in my hand, strange sounds erupted in my body. Clugs, and squeals. I inched my way over the the toilet wondering how long I could possibly hold this water in? Suddenly it occurred to me that gravity could help the situation, however, when I put my head between my ankles I was not prepared for the head rush and subsequent morphine derived spins.

I fell.

As I fell, a spray of water erupted from my body and spattered to the floor. Not much, but certainly enough to be ashamed of. I couldn’t stop the eruption so I gave up the holding part, got up and voided into the toilet.

I can’t claim I was spry in my movements, you know, given the morphine.

And I’ve blanked out and can’t recall exactly what state the washroom was in after the fall. But I did manage to clean up the mess with the paper towels available to me in the washroom.

I’m not sure how long I sat on the toilet wondering if I was done or not because it certainly seemed as though a lot more went in than came out. And like I said, you weren’t very clear with how long this entire thing would take me.

When I came out of the room I walked back to my gurney and pulled the curtain. You arrived within a few minutes. You asked if I felt better. I said yes.

I could read nothing on your face. Were enemas not your forte in nursing school? Were you a deviant? Were you put on earth to help me find my inner animal spirit? I will never know. What I do know is, that my pain was gone, and I had just gone against all of my moral excellence in that emergency room public washroom.

I’d like to quickly tell you how this experience had a positive effect on my life,

1. The following week I visited my family doctor, when he entered the room and asked, “What’s new?” I responded, “Life changed when when I gave myself an enema with high on morphine in a public washroom” And I have been a favorite patient since ever since, he even makes extra time to see me for last minute crisis with my children.

2. Giving enemas was a great skill to acquire. I had my third child in August of 2008, and the week I was due I gave myself several enemas at home to prevent the feared “shit while i push the baby out” every pregnant woman dreads throughout her gestation.

Nurse, I’d like to thank you.

Whatever your reasons, whatever they were, I am a better person for having given myself an enema while high on morphine, for unknown reasons, for undiagnosed pain, in a hospital, on my birthday.

Yours, Kelly Oxford

* - (It's on its way even though I had to whip out the PH.D to convince these fools)

I'm not hard to shop for, Just put me down for one of these 364 days from now. I mean this chick obviously has exquisite taste in brand loyalty.

Fiddle Sticks

Everyone always wants to know what’s different for me now that I’ve had surgery and I can say that for the most part things are the same. I have to adapt my style as an athlete however. Running doesn’t come as naturally as it did before. But I feel as if we’ve been over this before. And besides, I’ve to try and do anything full speed yet. No full court basketball, no mile, no trip down the hill on a snowboard. What I have noticed is that concentrating during workouts can be difficult. I find that I carry a certain amount of claustrophobia with me everywhere I go now. Im so used to not seeing anyone after being home for 9 months that It can be weird for me to be in a gym filled with 80 or 90 other people all within plain sight, EFX’ing, jogging, and all together gyrating the calories away. I don’t run laps though, I hop on the nearest spin bike, turn up the tunes, and try to keep my head down.

Add in yoga pants to this equation and with me, you have a nearly untenable situation. Allow me to stop for just one second and reaffirm my deep, deep belief that tights and other form fitting pants of that nature designed for women are a gift from the Lord 8lb 6oz baby Jesus himself! I have neither the means, mode, nor method to fully state just how grateful I am towards whomever it was that brought this phenomena into style. But there is no outfit in this day and age a woman cannot build around a pair of tights. I absolutely love that girls wear them and I would rate them on a scale that goes only from good idea to Fantastic idea. Kudos to you sir or madam for bringing us this great gift.

Something that has held my attention is the idea of pets. In my youth we never had any pets, except for a snake once. I enjoyed that. Now though in the past two months I’ve lived with 3 different cats and was ready to move in with a friend who has a dog. All of which suits me fine except these animals are incapable of denying their base pleasures. The cats see my earbuds as playthings and dogs either love me or hate me there is no in between. This is less palatable for me. I find that cats are born with the entitlement of ten Hilton sisters and dogs when friendly are amazing but when hostile are a terror. My friends dog Mickey, is an especially awesome dog. He’s a short haired pointer and he has a blotch on his back that roughly resembles Mickey Mouse. I wouldn’t mind living with him, alas his house is DEEP in the Eugenian backcountry. I did enjoy meeting him though.

My stance on keeping pets however remains unchanged. I really don’t think you should keep pets of any sort. I never feel comfortable enslaving something just for my comfort. Snakes, fish, and lizards are all semi-appropriate because they don’t really have a social life. Dogs, cats, and other warm blooded pets however all are good pets because they have personalities. We keep them because they are like people, but make better friends. There is one exception however. If you want to get me a gift for any reason I would love a pet Jaguar. I don’t really mean the British car, but that would suffice as well. What I’m referring to I’m sure is equally expensive but TEN TIMES MORE BALLER! Bring me a Jaguar and I will name him the Ghost Face Kitten! I’ve found the place I want to first visit outside the country (Egypt), the car I’d most want to buy (Prius), and now the pet I most want by my side to frolic with me Sigfried and Roy style. (though without the gayness and face mauling if at all possible) I don’t see any downsides to this idea. Luxury pets are awesome. Walking him would be sure to impress, he’d be a cat, but still intimidate dogs, and the personal protection factor is just amazing. I dare you to step to me and Ghostface. Please no really, do it. I will hear nothing to the contrary on this. There is just no way having a pet Jag’ could be bad. I’ll have to investigate more but a Leopard may be a good substitute or even more appealing choice, but at the moment it’s the Jaguar or nothing. Somewhere Waffles is very mad at me right now.

Whatever, she smells like Pussy anyway

December 23, 2009

My eye’s burned, my lungs became intractable, and head begged me to lay it down in a state of rest. I saw things I never thought possible, a live horse on stage, a black man dancing as the Nutcracker, and a Pedophile as a main character in a major ballet. Amazing the things you learn at the local ballet. While I never knew this before it isn’t necessary for me to be in the absence of the smell of feces in order to have fun, however it is sufficient. So shouts to the nice old lady who taught me this very point at the Nut Cracker today.
Today marks a sad day for me. Christmas is this week and I will be back in school in January. This is the last free weekend I will have before real life begins again. Christmas, Rose Bowl, New Years, School. Almost that fast I’m back at it again. I have enjoyed my time at home, though it’s been tumultuous and painful in so many more ways than one. It feels good to be headed “home”. I really do wish things could stay this way just a bit longer. Enough about me though.
The Nutcracker as a play is an adaptation of the story written E.T.A. Hoffmann. It was commissioned by the director of the Imperial Theatres Ivan Vsevolozhsky in 1891, set to music by Tchaikovsky in 1891–92, and staged by Marius Petipa. It being my first ballet, It is of course now my favorite, or least favorite depending on how you see it. The pedophile I alluded to earlier is apparently the character known as Councilor Drosselmeyer. The fact that as soon as he appeared on stage and started touching children in ways that left them running for cover is what left me to this allusion. His mardi gras mask didn’t help his cause either. And though his part was small, it was one I could have done without altogether. The show in total was amazing but I doubt I will soon return as I found the errors throughout more entertaining than the shows intended means of entertainment...dancing.

One part about going to the hospital I loathe is seeing other patients. There is an underlying feel of camaraderie that many people espouse, and some try to facilitate. I am no one special and I think part of the reason I don’t try and make friends is because I don’t want to align myself with some group. We all go to the same hospital, we see the same doctors, our bodies have failed us in similar ways, yet do we really have anything in common? For the most part everyone is very nice and very concerned about the well being of others but I'm just never in the mood to share my time in the spotlight with people who have equally severe medical situations. I was in a bit of a funk. I've taken up a new hobby known formally as insomnia lately and so when I arrived at the hospital Monday morning around 630 AM I was in no real mood to do P.R. But of course it is in our lowest moments we are called upon to do our best work.

Shouts to the girl awaiting a dual lung AND Kidney transplant. I wish you the best baby doll!

Shouts to my man for turning 24 and playing doctor on my psyche all the while. Much Obliged.

Shouts to the University of Oregon. Im coming for ya! Bad news is on the way..I PROMISE!

Last but not least shouts to the little girl who caught stage fright at the show and had to be escorted off stage. It's ok you get MVP honors from me.

"You can't fight Fate"-Clyde Shelton

"Now that I cannot abide"-Aldo Raine

"May You Live Forever"-King Leonidas

To those who oppose me, may you bring me an honorable death...I'll settle for nothing less.