Sooner: year one

It is a lucky thing that I like asparagus, though it is unlikely that i will choose to eat it for a few weeks to come.

Some notes I took through out the day.

8:30 a.m. First urination of the day. No unusual odor, mostly because I've not had my breakfast asparagus yet.

9:20 a.m. Breakfast of coffee with milk and one dozen steamed asparagus spears garnished with lemon juice.

11:04 a.m. Second urination of the day. The charactaristic asparagus smell is unmistakable but not entirely overpowering.

1:15 p.m. Lunch of seven green asparagus spears and 7 white asparagus spears cut up and stir fried with ginger and soy sauce.

2:43 p.m. Third urination of the day. My cat, Victoria, who often rubs my legs while I use the toilet sniffed the air and ran out of the bathroom. I am grateful for the vent.

6:22 p.m. Dinner of homemade asparagus soup garnished with asparagus tips.

6:49 p.m. Fourth urination of the day. I held my breath during the entire event, but as I was leaving the bathroom I caught just the tiniest of whiffs. It gave me an extra pee shudder.

9:00 p.m. After dinner snack of 4 asparagus spears, chilled and wrapped in thinly sliced cappicolla.

11:53 p.m. Final urination of the day. I cannot believe the acrid stink coming from my body. The stench is really overpowering.

8:03 a.m. First urination of the day. My pee still smells of battery acid and cabbage. How long will this last?

In tomorrow's report I'll be sure to let you know exactly how long my pee retained the asparagus smell.

Today is kill something day.

"Law library. Reference." I cradled the phone in my left hand. My middle finger was stretched to full length against the receiver and my other fingers were curled under on either side. I used the pad of my middle finger to press the receiver to my head and I physically turned so that the urine soaked freak who had been pestering me to give him legal advice was looking right at my fingernail.

"Brian, it's me," it was one of the other librarians, my immediate supervisor. "Listen, that guy you're talking to is one of the library's biggest problem patrons. He will press you to do his research for him, to give him legal advice."

"Oh?" I acknowledged. I grabbed the mouse with my right hand and used my outstreched middle finger to click a Netscape window closed.

"Yes, he is. Really, and I'm being totally serious here, it has everything to do with whether he's taken hs medicine or not. Some encounters are better than others. Anyway, don't be afraid to send him back here to me if he gives you too much of a problem."

"Oh, thank you," I said. I looked at him and rubbed the corner of my eye with my middle finger. "I'm sure that won't be necessary."

"Well, I'm here to back you up if it gets a little crazy."

"That's good to know, I appreciate that." I pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose with my middle finger. "Listen, I have a patron right here so if it's alright let's talk about this later."

I hung up the phone and looked at the wacko on the other side of the reference desk. "Where were we?" I asked. "Oh, I remember. I was showing you--again--how to use the digest." I took the book from him and opened it about half way through. Then I touched the pad of my middle finger to my tongue and used it to flip a few pages.

Yesterday was a really great day.

Today I'm to eat only asparagus with the express intent of noting exactly what this does to the smell of my urine.

Be-Straight-for-a-Day day happened to fall on St. Patrick's Day which was perfect as far as I was concerned because it gave me good reason to go out and be straight in the wide world. So when the glamorous Bevin asked if I wanted to hang out I jumped at the chance.

That is not to say that I was only straight in the evening hours. I was straight all day long. For example about midway through the day I called one of my co-workers over to me with a little come hither finger action. "What do you want?" she yelled from across the library.

"I want you to come here," I said. "Get your ass over here when I call you."

When she was finally close enough she had the audacity to complain. "Listen, I'm really busy right now, ok? I don't have time for Life Changing foolishness."

"Aw, Baby," I said. "You don't have to do me that way. I just wanted to pay you a compliment anyhow. I wanted to tell you that you look so tight today. I mean, I saw you walk through that door and I just said to myself, fuck! That bitch is hawt! Damn! Even if she is a librarian, she's all-up-in-there kinda hawt!"

This morning I will have to attempt to convince her not to file charges by claiming it's a misunderstanding.

The straight shenanigans didn't stop with sexual harassment. Certainly not. I was very careful to high five as many people as I could all day long.

"Oh! We found a primary source! High five!"

"It's lunch time! High five!"

"Your shoelace is untied! High five!"

So when the glamorous Bevin arrived I think she was a little thrown off by the high fiving, but it didn't stop her from playing along. We had a hang in the city which included the acquisition of green apple incense to high five over. And we were a little confused by the fact that 4th and 10th have an intersection, but we just high fived about it anyway.

Then we had Tasti-D-Lite and talked about Sex and the City before I even realized how unstraight that was, but it was ok because then we decided that I could be a metrosexual and not lose any of my life changing progress. Once I really understood this I insisted that we high five.

Today I am subtly giving everyone the finger.

First of all, paying everyone you come in contact with a compliment is really hard work. So early on I decided that every time a compliment did not immediately occur to me I would say, "my heavens, what a fine hat!" I took this compliment from the list of sample compliments provided in the Benrick book.

This went on, more or less, all day when my path crossed with The One true Love of my Life. "Oh, my heavens!" I said. "That is a very fine hat!"

Her mouth parted just a bit and her expression sort of glazed over as she processed the compliment. And to be fair there was a lot to process. First the translation difficulties as The One True Love of my Life learned English as a second language. Add to that the fact that she was not wearing a hat at the time.

After a lengthy silence she shook her head and said, "oh, Brian, you cray-sey! You so cray-sey! So cray-sey! Here. You want? Have Cheeto. Take Cheeto. I get napkin, I have so many Cheeto you take what you want I have so many! You cray-sey!"

And may I just say to everyone reading this that you look lovely today. Simply lovely. And you smell so nice, is that a new perfume?

Today I'm supposed to be gay for a day. Except I'm already gay. So I am to follow the alternate instruction indicated after the asterisk at the bottom of the page. "Gays: Be straight for a day!" So today I'm going back into the closet.

The following is a transcription of a letter I sent to Richard Ramirez, The Night Stalker, this morning.

March 15, 2004

Richard Ramirez
San Quentin Penetentiary
San Quentin, CA 94974

Dear Mr. Ramirez,

Have you ever seen the HBO prison drama, Oz? In case you haven't, on that show the inmates have nicknamed drugs "tits." So they're always talking about tits, and the guards are like doo doo doo. The inmates are talking about boobies again. But really the inmates are talking about drugs.

Anyway, in your prison do you call drugs tits? And if so did you personally consult with the producers of Oz about this issue? And if not, what do they call drugs in your prison? Hopefully they don't call them drugs or else the guards would be all shitty to you and throw you in the hole and stuff when you talk about drugs. But if they do call them drugs then you can start calling them tits and start a whole new trend and everyone in your prison will want to be you and start dressing like you and when you come into the caffeteria everyone will sort of hunker their heads down and start whispering and that would be totally rad.

Also, I read on the internet that you got married in 1996. I'm sorry I didn't write to congratulate you sooner, but I didn't have your address until I got it from Benrick, so it's not really my fault.

Take Care,
Brian

Today is a day of compliments. I'm supposed to see if flattery can get me somewhere.

For future reference. I like geeky boys, though this is not one of the choices on Benrick's check list. I am sending a letter to the publisher so that the category "geeky boys" may be added to the next edition. I think it would fit nicely between "Married with Kids" and "Sleezeball."

Today I have to write a letter to a serial killer.

In my building there are 6 apartments, all of which are over store fronts on the main drag through my town. I have met most of my neighbors, but one neighbor has always frightened me a little. He is a crabby old man that is never glimpsed without a lit cigar clutched tightly in his disintegrating teeth and a scowl permanently affixed to his face. He has never exchanged more than a grunt with me.

Therefore, I had to meet him.

I had heard from the woman in apartment 6, the apartment closest to his, that he was "Greek or maybe Russian" one day when she stopped me to complain about his cigar smoking. Upon hearing this I immediately began referring to him as Anatoli.

Anyway, I rushed home after work and fired up the oven. I put on my apron and whipped up a fresh batch of baklava. I put the pastry in a nice gift basket decorated with ribbon and dried flowers and headed down the hall to introduce myself to Anatoli.

Anatoli's apartment is on the other side of a fire wall and to get there I have to go through a couple of doors. When I finally rounded the corner to Anatoli's apartment, I could not help but notice a heavy scent of stale cigar smoke hanging in the air. The hall way was dotted with at least a dozen Glade StickUps, apparently placed there by Anatoli's sworn enemy, the woman in Apartment 6, in a desperate attempt to ward off the cigar smell.

The smell of the smoke and the sight of the StickUps filled the hall way with tension and I couldn't help but be a little anxious as I knocked on Anatoli's door, gift in hand.

I heard him stirring within. He greeted me at the door with a surprised grunt in an undershirt. His cigar, as always, angrily rigid in the grip of his teeth.

"Hello, there," I said. "My name is Brian and I live down the hall from you. Apartment 2, you know? Down there. You've probably seen me around. Anyway, I was baking today and I made these baklava and I know it's not Christmas or anything, but I thought I'd make some extra and come down here and, you know, offer you some and just say hi or whatever. Because we're neighbors and all. You know. So I brought you these baklava which are in this basket." I fidgeted nervously.

Anatoli sized me up and then lifted up the linen napkin covering the baked goods to peer into the basket. He looked at the pastry then looked at me. Then he looked at the pasty again and then he looked at me. Then he snatched the basket from my hand with a grunt and slammed the door in my face as he disappeared into his apartment.

I think I made a new friend.

Today I must work out exactly what my type is so that if I ever forget or get too drunk I can quickly remind myself.