In Which We Offer Season's Bleatings

 

I found my Christmas card

I was walking home on the very respectable Market Street right past the very respectable corner of Sanchez when some slightly broken down homeless guy with a big dingy gray beard held up a prescription bottle full of mystery pills and shook them at me.  I very politely declined because, you know, manners, and kept walking, but then I wondered "Did I just turn down drugs from Santy Claus?"

Drugs are on my mind more than usual these days.  I remain off of the pain meds that were so dear to me for so many years.  Not because of any high-minded opposition to opioids, but simply because once I stop taking them I found out they did nothing for my pain level. 

Now that I've sucked it up and gone through withdrawal, It just seems like I'm better off without them.  However, withdrawal brought with it an occasional spike of depression.  When I mentioned it to my doctor, she dug around in Google for a while (bitch, I could have done that, a thought I did not mention  to her.  Well, maybe I mentioned it a little bit.) 

She finished her conference with Dr Google and announced that what I needed was ketamine.  I briefly wondered if she was inviting me to a rave, but then I settled down.  Turns out ketamine is the new depression drug that all the best people are trying.  It's not just for club kids who have too many opinions about house music any more.

I have a history of drugs that go back several amusing decades.  I was not only slutty, but always up for a good time.  One Mardi Gras, friends of a friend had something they called "mysterious white powder." I went back for seconds.  How was I to know it was PCP?  Maybe.  Speculation later held that it might also have been pig tranquilizer.  My point is, I am no stranger to chemically enhanced amusements.  Still, I'm surprised when medical professionals suggest drugs I could probably get more cheaply and easily at the 16th Street BART station.

I am now supposedly scheduling my ketamine treatment through some online site which is probably not as sketchy as it sounds.  Probably.  We'll see.

Also since I'm not on pain meds (which didn't do anything) my back still hurts so this afternoon I went to yet another doctor and got a trigger point injection: lidocaine, some steroid, and something else.  I don't know, I wasn't paying attention; I was busy thinking about how humpy the nurse shooting me up was.  Anyway, it actually seems to be helping which is a good thing because the shot itself - ouchie.  So merry fucking xmas, and all that.

Guys you wish you'd find under the tree:

The aptly named Joey Swole.

Some guy with a dick.  That's all I got.

Zac Beech wishes happy burfday to baby jesus, sorry about that whole crucifixion thingy.  No hard feelings, huh?

Matt Vose and his extra large fatty.

Scott Carter, looking cuter than ever with his new beard.

DON'T DRINK OUT OF THE FUCKING CARTON.  Uncouth lout.

Speaking of apt names, here we see Matt Luscious, aka Creamy Gorilla.

Garic Soldatov, always welcome here at mrpeenee, Inc.

Another anonymous piece of beef, but who would say no?

Chase Stobbe and his notable nipples.

Another very nice big fatty, courtesy of Frank Dominguez.

One of those Kristen Bjorn tramps.