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Larry cartoon in the Archives page by onlyone.
Diary of a 
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(August 12, 2003) Why Do I Bother Naming These Man, I've had this entry up on my screen half-done for like, five days. I'm slammin' it out, I don't care if it's disjointed and sucky... ...so my current bum-out factoid, which I've known for a month but hadn't told anyone but the band yet, is that I can't go back to Europe with them when they go in September. Hooooo, boy. Some of you less heartstrong folk would puke over these medical bills. Insurance? Well I'm doing my best keeping up my COBRA, which is a laughable $600 a month (!!!) but history shows that will only cover 80% and, for this last surgery, I don't know if it'll cover it at all. I didn't write about this at the time, but on Friday July 12th at around 2 in the afternoon (remember, my operation was scheduled for Monday July 14th) I got a call from the hospital saying there was a problem with the authorization because a colostomy reversal was "elective." They sort of figured something out and I had the surgery, but what's gonna happen when the bill comes. "Elective!" Michelle said over hummous and pumpkin kibby at the Middle East last Thursday. "Um, any time you have an EXTERNAL APPARATUS that you weren't born with that you're having removed, it's not elective!" That was my feeling too. But we'll have to see. Anyway, I'm not touring with the band in the fall. Huge bummer, because I had an appendix all scheduled to burst right around Geneva. __________________________________ While Jess opts to just make announcements at parties, Chuck and T Max are both doing the personal ad thing. In December the Noise "Question of the Month" was about "what would your personal ad say." Here was mine.
__________________________________ Friday afternoon Hub and I went to get breakfast at Kelly's Diner (it's Chuck's fault, he got me thinking about "diner food") and then afterward, took a walk in one of the Tufts athletic fields. It was almost three o'clock by then, and I was going to drop off Hub at the cab company so he could drive people around all night. But first...there was a playground with swings. It had rained, and when I sat in one of the swings (going commando in a sundress) I knew what would follow: Wet Butt City! But I didn't care. Hub did not feel the wetness. While still swinging I said "Wet butt!" "MINE'S not wet." "It has to be. It didn't rain on only MY swing." "I don't feel wet." "Okay." It was only later, walking back to the car, when he said, "I didn't feel it before, but holy shit is my ass wet!" He turned around to show me and I almost killed myself laughing. There was a perfect circle dead center on his khaki pants. And not just a bit moist. I mean WET. "How..." I gasped between bouts of hysterics, "...did you not FEEL that?" He kept turning to look down at his ass, doing this sort of brushing thing with both hands to try to buff away the wet spot. "I don't know! But this is just great. I can't WAIT to show up at the cab office with a wet ass." When I finally recovered some breath I said, "Maybe we should go back to your place so you can change your pants!" "I can't. I don't have time. And I don't have pants." By the time I dropped him off, the car seat had absorbed SOME of the spot, but it was still there, dead center on his ass. He walked his shuffle-y Hub walk up to the door of the cab company and I watched him go, trying to stop laughing, but every time he brushed his hand over the wet spot again, I'd giggle anew. I thought I was FINALLY able to release the parking brake and drive off when he reached the doorway and turned to look back at me one more time. The look...the look was priceless. At once pleading and frustrated, equal parts humored and pained, it said, "Nooooooo....why wet ass, why?!" I was ready to drive again in about ten minutes.
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