Posts Tagged ‘Life’

By appearance the house is reminiscent to The Adams Family. However less in size and spooky hi-jinks.  It’s something you’d see on Hoarders. Squint worthy exterior with wet cigarette packs as lawn ornaments. Decorating the deceased & pale grass. Being internally grateful for the colored fall leafs blanketing the fucking outside ugly.

I live in a 6 unit house apartment building .  It’s a safe temporary pit stop for Eric and I. This being his actual apartment. Everything  paid for. Free Dish TV. A unit that was healthy enough in size that seemed promising. And affordable & clean. Even with the fickle toilet and small cramped spaces. We  inevitably make it work for now. No lease is also a benefit.

Often our days are pretty domestic in definition. He goes to work with suit in tact. Hair so OCD that it glides stiffly like a duo of fake tits. Grinning on with an Elvis arrogance to him.  Me bidding farewell while grumbling about some wifey clamor “But babe.. the cat needs a Cat Tree. Your so insensitive.”  Essentially just bitching to bitch.  But always finalizing with a coffee tasting kiss. We make a god damn great team.

Since I’ve started dialysis I’m legally denied the opportunity for a full-time job. Since receiving Medicare/Medicaid benefits. I am  allowed part-time jobs as long as it doesn’t pass a certain financial amount . Due to the kind monthly checks you receive while on disability. Because of this hold back.. I Kyle,  have become a Real Housewife of Spokane. Spending many of my days trapped into this housing cubicle.  Spying on my neighbors crazy antics while watching Dr.Oz and eating dry Top Roman. This is the chronicles of a male housewife.

The door closes and a rush of relief comes over me. Eric has left for work and my mind rushes for projects. My first  being depositing ass to couch. With Pookie as my arm pillow watching Court Television. Nothing arouses me more comically then white Southern trash suing over stolen DVD’s. Doing nothing to help their stereotype.  “This hoe stole mah two disc Miss Congeniality 2 dvd. Yaw Honor.”   Rule #1: Guilty Pleasure Eye Dung.  This is what one does in the  housewifey rulebook. It helps fuel our bored brain by making us feel better about ourselves *Mission Accomplished*.  So far my day has been productive.

As my brain saver clicks on i’m alerted by the time. “FUCK! i haven’t cleaned.” i yelp. Normally such a thought lies stagnant during my television cleaning hiatus. However, previously being lectured by the lack there of.  My leg begins shaking like Peg  Bundy. My ass inviting me to stay awhile. “Damnit Kyle!  Kathy & Hoda are totally smashed on todays show.” it sings. In what i imagine sounds like Charlie from Always Sunny in Philadelphia. My leg gains momentum as my ass anchors more into my sectional. This housewife shit sucks!

Housewife Rule #2 : Tenant People Watching.

“Damnit Dr.Oz,” i think. As his segments flair my hypochondria.  Multitasking by reference of WEB M.D. . Which is always like a Choose Your Own Adventure book. Except you always ends on Cancer. The music of Britney suddenly catches my good ear. I slowly sway my head to the catchy hook and answer my phone. “Babe, what’s going on?” I hear . Shit it’s Eric!  My wifey animal in-stinks kick in as I rush to turn kitchen sink on.  Allowing the water to sound out any suspicion of lazy. “Ahhh nothing baby. Just doing dishes.” i fib. My face warming with guilt. “Great job Tootsie Pop,” he praises. I slowly grab a dish examining. sigh!

The call ends and I begin attempting to pursue the rubber gloves. ALWAYS being inside out which adds another half hour to fasten them. Thus beginning the tedious process of dishes.  My scowl wrinkles my face as I scrub at the crusted cheese. Wife- blaming Eric for this slavery as he recommended Calizones last night. “Damnit we need paper plates,” i scold. Looking down at Pookies confused head tilt. This housewife shit sucks.

BAM. A loud noise shakes the complex. Hope that’s 2012’s relieving me early of dish duties i joke. Once again looking down at Pookie realizing I talk to him. Damn he’s a good listener though.  Does such a thing diagnosis me as crazy? Hell, I’ll ask WEB M.D. later.

I peek my head out to see a young man  near his car out front. Man in unit E, i see.  He’s pacing back and forth in a sort of meth manner. His face sunken as if  giving the Blue Steele. A golf like cyst occupies his forehead like a hanging mistletoe. I watch the glow of his cigarette run down the stick in urgency. This man has had better days.  So begins the chore of tenant watching as dishes can wait. This building complex is notorious for DALLAS themed drama. My eyes open with anticipation as I continue to creep.  This man seems to be aggressively packing up his things. A fight has clearly occurred?  Unsure as Unit E is a studio and houses two men. I create characters (nicknames) for everyone in this building. The skull face being the houseboy to the other tenant . An older man with two Pomeranian’s and a butt-plug walk. You do the math.

Skeletor begins tossing black garbage bags into the pea green Honda. Always a sign of a quick getaway. The bag rips indicating the quick manner of packing. Clothes overflowing and occasionally falling about . By now his cigarette greets the filter as he still moves in a neurotic rhythm. Fighting back his anger while picking up trails of dropped underwear.  Finally there is it. THE GLARE.

  [GLARE]  :  noun, verb, glared, glar·ing. Context to Relationships

  • Definition. Ahh hell no’s. You gone n’ fucked up.

Skeletors cold glare captures his units window. Our stoner upstairs neighbors to be exact. A minute and a half of piercing drama continues. His eyes speaking words his mouth can’t exhaust, i think? Trembling lip as he stares up at his partner. Who I believe is looking on in a Juliet manner. He shakes his head and lights another smoke. Unfortunately bringing attention to that god damn bowling ball of a cyst. Yet. As if a movies ending. The young man darts into his green machine and is off within blinks. A love story gone weary? I dunno? But most definitely a story that ended in sadness. A sadness I sympathize as if a soap opera. That pea green car never returned after that.  “Well Pookie!.. That was a fun show.”  I turn off my blinders.  Chore # 2 accomplished. Productive as hell today, i’d say.

Housewife Rule #3: Procrastination Nation

3:30 pm. “SHIT.” This time of day causes the most anxiety. Eric is going to be home soon. Normally my alarm is when Anderson Coopers awful talk show is coming to an end.  I use it as an alert to get my procrastination into gear. Usually such a thing involves hiding clothes in drawers, quick garbage pick ups and a Febreeze hosing.  Like OJ I whip those tight rubber gloves on and violently abuse those dishes clean.  It’s perhaps a super power that I can manage this. But usually the result is less than satisfactory. Though enough to where my daily wife duties are met with contentment.

I do my final hose through as the smell of “Winter Cinnamon Frost” hot boxes our little apartment. I strategically turn on fans using toes if have too. Watching as Pookies face reads dumb shit at me. I grab our mini vacuum and rush to clean the dog & cat hair. While still watching Anderson as if a timer counting down.  I fall to me knees and begin coiling the vacuums cord. Sweat tickling my cheek as I focus at the TV.

Credits roll. The key enters  the door handle as it begins to seizure. I run to the kitchen to drop the vacuum off. Admiring my quick clean job. Maybe even giving Pookie a quick eye wink of cockiness.  “Hey Babe,” I hear mumbled from the living room.  I catwalk out from the kitchen with a shit eating grin. “Wow the house looks amazing!,” he says. Closely examining the house with a level of  doubt in his voice.  ” A hard day of being a Wifehubby.” i respond. Wiping the sweat from my cheek dramatically in hopes he sees. “You have worked hard today. The house looks good. Did you work on this all day?”

I pause for a moment and smile back. Allowing my cryptic smile to answer that.  I realize my cleaning duties are rather lackluster or lazy. And to be honest I am thee worst at being domestically wifey. And Eric knows it. And loves me anyway.  Definitely not bred for such things. But as I await my kidney and continue my crusade as a househusband. I can only imagine strengthening my skills… that or strengthening my short cuts 🙂



My heavy anxiety goes noticed by my technician Kristin. She sportively squeezes my shoulder with a smirk.  Over the past year we have been together 3 times a week. For four hours at a time. The relationship we share is something deep but goes unsaid. Essentially she is the primary ingredient in keeping me living. As my technician she is the one who ultimately hooks and unhook me from what has been a nightmare traveled. A one year traveled.

“You become a veteran,” Kristin whispers as she prepares the needles, referring to my one year anniversary. Her perky mannerisms annoying me as I shrug off any attempt she has at cheering me up. It’s a quarter to 7 in the morning and my mood is foul. Without my caffeine beverage in hand I have nothing else to focus on besides the brief pain of needle entrance into my left fistula arm. One thinks that after gaining veteran status that such a thing would be irrelevant.. or painless, really? Unfortunately for me, Kristin’s focus and needle projectury is often sloppy. Leaving  nothing but silent tears as they increasingly well upon deeper entry.

It’s been over a year since i’ve touched down on my current career as a dialysis patient. I’ve taken pride in the positive outlook I had in my previously written stories. Now i feel darkness has blanketed me in this cursed longevity. With no word on a potential kidney candidate there is nothing to do but wait. It’s become the lottery of life really. I envision a blonde southern belle. Perhaps one who ends everything with a charming “y’all,”. A lady whose lived her life in the world of pageantry, riches & daddy issues. She Patiently awaits as the lettered balls spring from the machine. “We got a K, y’all” she squeals as anticipation grows for the next letter. “a Y,” she glows. Presenting a plastic smile as she holds up the lettered ball. Is this how I envisioned my life being saved? I’m not particularly sure the politics involved in getting me a kidney? Any potential family or friends have been ruled out. Which leaves me nothing but imaginary “lottery” scenarios as I look at my phone. No missed calls. Anticipation has now grown to fear. When will I receive that important call?

I sit in my plastic green chair and give a look of fatigue and anger to avoid any eye contact with other technicians or nurses. I have slowly realized my presence has turned sour as I have become the jaded cliché. Cliche referring to the shellbacks who has spent years coming to this clinic. Empty behind the eyes and often elderly. It’s as if they given up. Given up on life all together. I remember promising myself that no matter how long this nightmare took, i’d present myself in a positive presence. Unfortunately, I had cracked somewhere in that year?

I dig through my satchel for one of three activities I normally partake in for the upcoming hours. Listening to Adele, reading my ALREADY procrastinated novel or writing in my journal. I have altogether avoided television as of lately due the politics of our country & the Kardashians, whom have given me extreme case of brain constipation. I slowly whisk the earphones in and press play. By listening to music it has become a source of narration for the feelings that occur during my run. Music is truly the soundtrack to life.

The doors inside the clinic swing open. It catches my attention only cause of the rate the door launched. 90% of the people I spend my time dialysing with use the handicap button for entrance. Often times cause their lazy pieces of shit. But then I remember the few occasions i’ve utilized it and let out a guilty sigh. My eyes gallop to a young girl who  appears to have embarked into Wonderland. I recognize that look i think to myself?  Her passive aggressive walk read a story. “This is her first day,” i say, as she steers towards my direction. My eagerness takes over.

A fleshy young lady in her mid 20’s appears closer. her steps are met with hesitation as she’s followed by two equally scared individuals. Her parents I’m guessing? Arms bandaged together so tightly i’m awaiting a limb or two to pop off. Ironically the young lady is seated next to me. Her eyes sulking in the scary sights I once had to endure. The musk of unshowered elderly. Some of whom are missing limbs and are mentally ill. I always describe my first time as similar to Jack Nicholson’s movie One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest or Girl Interrupted, for those youngins who may be reading this post.

My heart begins to hurt for this individual. I take notice that her folks have pointed me out already.  In hopes to calm her nerves, that she too, isn’t the only young soul dealing with this adventure alone. I reflect on my current mood status. My rapacious look. The fact I hadn’t smiled since her entrance. The idea i was being poisoned by the  shellbacks. It’s like being on the same cycle where we share a vexed facade. What the fuck happened to me? The one thing I had wished when i had first started was someone kind to just tell me everything was going to be okay!

And that’s exactly what I did…

“Hey, i’m Kyle!.. Words can’t describe your first day here eh? But I been here a year. And I can truly say that it gets so much easier & painless..” 

 Her eyes ignited a glow as her parents silently thanked me with a subtle head nod and smile. An incredibly humbling experience! Perhaps I needed this as much as she did?  End*


Insomniac Jabber

Posted: October 5, 2010 in Memoirs of a Kyle
Tags: , , ,

My laptop says 4:12 am, and by now I’ve lost all function of thinking. My thoughts fell adrift and my anchoring eyes feel mummified . “Why must they always play this Extenze infomercial? And who the fuck is Jimmy Johnson? What an awful celebrity to endorse your cock growing scam, Extenze. There are actually men in this world who watch this particular commercial and fall for what their selling. I suppose I should feel blessed i wasn’t born with a small dick.

4:36 am- The lack of sleep is nothing new as I am pretty much on extended vacation until December. I’m living this sort of life where I have no actual responsibility. It’s been a positive and negative experience and something I would never recommend. Somebody who worked since he was 16, it was hard to adapt to not having a schedule. I’ve always lived by structure and organization. Making money to fuel my existence. But instead I’ve been given a chance to take a break from the repetitious world and well.. do whatever the fuck I want.  Experiencing new music, catching up on movies, blogging, or mapping of my future. I feel like a teenager all over.  It’s sort of rad..

4:48 am – I’m sitting outside and listening to Sia “Breath Me,” while scoping out the hilarious neighborhood that I’m entitled to live in. The night only whispers of a breeze as everyone sleeps. Recycling bins all outside, giving a blue domino effect down my street. I can only imagine how they feel having a single, young man living in the Brady Bunch hood?  These people are very serious about keeping up with the joneses. lawns are admirably crafted. Kids skipping around while frolicking in the dirt or having tea parties. Perhaps having insomnia stems from this new world I’ve entered? I’m a city boy, who feels calmed by sirens and car alarms. The idea of a world that is entirely too calm, gives me heightened anxiety.

5:03 am – I’m patiently awaiting the first natural alarm of bird to chirp. I figure that by now I will stay up in hopes that I can sleep early later this evening after Glee. Perhaps putting myself on a better schedule. One of my closest friends Russ has officially moved out of the house. He has left me behind to fend off these Christian suburbanites alone. I too, think this is why i have been struggling to sleep. Him and I have lived together for almost two years and if anything, he  and I became close. The genuine loner, with a bald head and a constant smirk. It’s felt similar to a boyfriend breakup in some degree. But often time change is the  best thing and wish him luck in life as we both are going down new paths. I’ll miss the times he’d make me coffee and sing Spice Girls “2 become 1” on his guitar though. *Swoon!

5:22 am –  I am sort of enjoying this new approach of rambling on about irrelevant things that don’t tie together tonight. Or  anything involving my kidney disease. I’ve decided to take a step back on writing about the issue 1) I started to write about it to educate people, and instead I think I opened Pandora’s Box. I’m pretty burnt out discussing  my kidneys. People who inquire about my health get a very scripted explanation, due to the frequency. However, when I hung out with the Seattle friends,  I could hear myself becoming bored explaining dialysis. My voice became tiresome and they seemed distressed and more confused. Perhaps I’m getting sloppy? Perhaps I don’t give a fuck 🙂

5:58 am – I suppose it’s always a good sign to fall asleep when the Married With Children theme song begins. This show is entirely too nostalgic to not cozy up in my tie blanket and attempt to drift to a finalized slumber.  Good Morning & Goodnight !


The Dudes Walk

Posted: October 4, 2010 in Funny Videos
Tags: , , ,

I’ve talked to this guy before about this video. It’s pretty fucking inspirational.

“damn you vexed phone alarm,” I announce as I push the snooze bottom. Annoyed that I have yet to modify the annoying siren that prods me from my comfortable deep unconsciousness. The sound is similar to when your 8-bit Nintendo game would freeze up and make that awful obstructed alert. If only I could blow on my Blackberry to prevent it. My lazy prejudice in changing the tone stems from the fact I hate change and its effective enough for now.

As I roll off the bed and adjust my morning wood, I reflect on the dreams I’ve had as of late. And oddly enough a majority of them involve Angelina Jolie? Which gives me reason to believe she’s my soul mate. However, the dreams usually involve us cooking or feeding ducks by the pond (very anti-climactic) as a lascivious fantasy would be more erotic with my favorite Tomb Raider. Perhaps the older I get, the lack of imagination my dreams become.

This particular morning I vividly remember dreaming of graduating college with honors. “Leisure studies, I’m sure” I think.  I quickly glance at my Blackberry and take note that my bus leaves in 20 minutes. I instantaneously dismiss my dream analysis and gather my belongings so I can make my 7:30 am Dialysis run.  I didn’t have time to brew my mundane Folgers coffee. Due to my lack of time management I knew my coffee bean fix would result in me being one unpleasant bitch. As I trotted along to meet my bus, I could feel my coffee withdrawals kick in. The idea of  having to spend the next 15 minutes with the cast of To Catch a Predator, caused me much defeat… or clearly that was cause my fuel tank of caffeine was on empty.

As I assemble my ass on the bus and greet the female bus driver with a monotone mumble. I take a quick glance of her STA coffee mug which caused much distress as I thought “What if i was just to grab it and run?” …  But such a fantasy retired instantly as I took note that she looked quite disheveled herself and looked like an “Irish Cream.” type of gal. not my fortey, nor a reason to be X’ed from the STA. I slip on my tunes and prepare for another day of cleansing of my body. In order to construct a positive attitude for my dialysis avocation, I put on the same Britney Spears song every morning; ” Ooh Ooh Baby”. The songs stadium sporting vibe gets me all pumped and positive for what is a caffeine deprived morning 🙂

I make my way into the Pines Dialysis center and direct myself to my designated lime green recliner. Sitting in this piece of cheap plastic is often the only complaint I have in terms of having to face dialysis. I toss, I turn and my back literally sticks to the pleather for what is four hours of hell. I often bitch to the nurses that a nice vibrating recliner made of Chinchilla would be all but appropriate considering their bitch asses aren’t the one’s facing the challenge of the lime green Pee Wee Herman chair. Often times they reply with a giggle and a “oh Kyle!”… But, I’m dead serious. You don’t see me laughing girl?   But in all honesty and joking aside, I’ll take what I can get. If sitting in a comfortless chair helps me stay healthy. Then I’ll take that any day.

My favorite technician Elyse prepares the needles for entry as I try to distract myself by watching the Kardashian marathon on E!. I’m unsure of their popularity, but for fuck sakes they have a witchery behind their charm. I was enchanted to the television as if I was waiting for the Power Ball winning numbers. And the fact that Khloe Kardashian seems to have an adams apple and a bulge, just adds to the drama that this show possesses. Regardless of the staged reality show that is overall awful. It helped distract me from those painful needless slipping into my fistula. And for that I thank you Kardashians… Well, except Khloe (tranny alert)

So here begins the best part of being a young man amongst a group of elderly people. It’s called the “Crunch hour”. Something I have clearly created as the experience alone is just uncanny. To explain such a thing is lackluster as only by witnessing/hearing it can you fully appreciate the crazy world i have been subjected too for the past few months.

“Crunch, Bite, Champ, Chaw, Grind, Chew, Chomp, Gnaw, Masticate, Munch, Ruminate, Scrunch…”  All words that can best describe the noise that furnish my ear drums as I sit during my run. I glance around the room, with 19 chairs, with 19 people and take note that everybody has a cup full of ice. Like carnivores, there shredding through ice chips like something gruesome you watch on Animal Planet.  At one point even watching a very overweight man i nicknamed “Coyote Ugly”.. well, because John Goodman was in it.. and well, he is overweight. (clever? perhaps not)… anyway.

I watched Coyote Ugly take down ice cubes like he was playing Chubby Bunny with marshmallows. My mouth had clearly dropped in aww as I didn’t understand the logistics to what the fuck was happening? I did remember taking notice of the ice dispenser machine that lied nearby. Was I missing something? Perhaps I was still dreaming and at any minute Angelina Jolie was going to saunter in with a basket of muffins so we could discuss child labor laws? But then it hit me..

I too have been eating ice cubes like an addict. I couldn’t explain the reasoning, besides perhaps enjoying the brain freeze that follows. I suddenly then went into investigative mode and  became Encyclopedia Brown slash Nancy Drew. I was going to solve this case. It had become a little unnerving as my questions needed answered.

“Nurse, i have a question that is bothering me,” I express in my investigative tone, that oddly came off sounding like Carol Channing to my ears lol .

“Kyle, with kidney failure you are also anemic and iron deficient honey. It’s a decrease in the normal number of red blood cells and hemoglobin in your blood” she said with confidence. “Science can’t explain why, but a huge symptom of being anemic is craving ice cubes. Hydrating oneself by doing so and also one gets a gratification from the crunch and texture of the cubes”

….. I delay in my response and listen in complete awww of this new revelation. “Kyle, I would also like to add that since your  body struggles by retaining too much fluid, you must only drink an equivalent to two “venti” sized amount of fluid per day (40 oz). So by sucking on ice cubes, it helps hydrate you without going over your limit.” By now the nurse is just bragging of her knowledge on the issue as I slowly grow frustrated as i lusted for the bottle of Riesling I had waiting at home that I had prepared to drink later that evening.

Nonetheless, this new challenge is quite humorous and I’ve learned to adapt well. My freezer is nothing but full of Otter Pops and Ice cubes as this will keep me on the right track to staying healthy and getting that kidney that awaits me on the horizon.

“Hello, I’m Kyle… and I’m an “Anemic Cruncher,” !!!   Breakthrough


Quick little post of excitement –

Just received a phone call from the Kidney Transplant Committee who said “kyle are you sitting down?” … “why yes I am,” i lied as I nervously sipped my Pumpkin spiced Americano.   ” You’re officially on the KIDNEY transplant list !!!

Cheers to a great day of good news!


Here is the experience of kidney dialysis for me.