FROM TIMMY'S TO GEEKMEET ================================================================= FROM TIMMY'S TO GEEKMEET ================================================================= Thursday works out best to be my Day Away from The Tard Farm. This week's trip was the best so far. We did almost enough to make this get-together qualify as a classic GeekMeet[tm] which we used to have back in our Commodore BBS days. Mr Cheez, Miss Kooky, Swan with Delsie, the Living Icon of Tastelessness, and Julian met me at the Powell Street cable car turnaround, site of the world-famous formerly "World's Biggest" Woolworth's store. We adjourned to the coffee bar in the basement of San Francisco Centre where we proceeded to talk all at once about as many tasteless and ironic subjects as possible. Mr Cheez brought the mail which included Box Number Three of The Nurz's TSS and a small parcel from Hank. The third installment of the TSS contained more surgical drag, irrigation syringes, strange and wonderful tubes and hoses, and a couple of genuine latex catheters with built-in retention balloons. I was especially happy to see these because Mr Cheez has not been able to properly play with his peepee for so long. I tried to obtain a supply from another source who shall remain nameless (who enjoys fucking GNN CD/ROMs) but we were unsuccessful. And then there it was ... the Holy Hollow of Investigation, a fourteen-inch plastic proctoscope complete with obdurator (which will only be used when a minor infraction is to be punished at A.T. Clue Memorial). Offend majorly and you will get the scope the bluntest way possible. Thank you, Murzypoo. My joy will be complete when I have Mr Cheez on his hands and knees... The little parcel is a surprise from Hank. It is a relic of the Sonoran, i.e. Arizona, desert. It is the bone from a coyote's penis. I gather it is tribute to my early career cultivating and taking down boy bones in my home town. How tasteless, Hank! How thoughtful! I brought the medical goods catalogue Nurz included in an earlier TSS installment. Swan ordered me to bring it under pain of a deeper, widening acquaintanceship with the Sacred Peehole Stretcher. Swan had a lot of phun chortling over Grandma Chase as described in the catalogue. She's the fully treatable elderly wommakin who comes complete with female parts and male parts you can substitute. Grandma is ambisextrous! If you fix her up right, Grandma has quite a honker. Swan thinks Grandma would make a wonderful B&D training aid. Swan brought a gen-you-whine old-fashioned doctor bag with the SPS, several inventive dildos, one of which resembled a frosted glass cactus and another which is severely rifled and therefore able to literally screw an orifice. The piece to be resisted was the Puissant Pooper Peeker, a classic anal speculum -- sort of Donald Duck for assholes. We reached the consensus that most of these implements of clue installation work best after a day's storage in the freezer. Between The Nurz's overwhelming TSS this year and the toys Swan has collected, we have all the materials we need to open the West Coast Mengele Memorial Enlightenment Clinic. I suggest for Patient Zero none other than the Minoxydil fuckwad. The hair we remove to enable his deeply widening enlightenment can be crazyglued where he needs it more; waste not, want not. Speaking of hair, Swan traded curios with me. I exchanged a pickle pin on my hat for a crack vial containing New Year's glitter and pubes from one of Swan's intimates. Further speaking of hair, I spent some time staring at myself in the mirror this morning. I do believe that with my fairly new short hair parted on the side look and my now quite full stretch mark covering moustache, I am about the handsomest example of Kastro-style tonsorial splendor one may look upon. I get this sort of feedback from others. The way I really feel about it is much the same as I feel about my red shirt: You guys have to look at it - - I'm glad you like it because if you don't it will be el turdo tuffo. It was truly fine having Julian with us as a sort of proctor. Mr Cheez and I were frequently distracted by Gen Xers and pubescent honeys of the male persuasion to the point of rudeness to the company. I am sure Julian will well and truly flame us for being such inattentive letches. Miss Kooky usually makes us behave better but chose not to be strict today. Even queens have to pay attention to their ladies in waiting. Mr Cheez wanted to eat, and so, not being able to tskandalize SF Centre easily, we took off for Booger King up the street where a nice lady bequeathed us her booth. After luncheon, Mr Cheez and Miss Kooky risked sudden coronary death pushing the Queenly Bulk up to the Royal Residence, one and a half blocks away and easily two stories higher on the hill. We turned in additional financial information to one of the manageresses, statements which ought to conclusively prove Da Kaween's genteel poverty. We asked for and had a tour of the residential part of the building, meeting one long-time resident and seeing that the Royal Palace is going to amount to one room, a private potty/bath and a closet. One may operate a small refrigerator, a hot plate and/or toaster oven and/or a microwave oven in the room. The Royal rent will be less than $250/month which is San Francisco is regarded as impossible. The activites person who showed us the building is trendy as all get out. This may be a low income and semitard/retirement residence but the folks who live there are far from past it. They have dances and parties about twice a month. Activities lady has a brow ring, a nose ring, a lip ring, many finger rings, and generally effects the Gen X/Gypsy look. There is a coffee bar two doors away, a coffee shop cattycorner the other way, much shopping close by and all sorts of healthy but pleasantly abnormal people to watch. Buses and rail transit are quite convenient as are wayside shrines for both the BankAmuriKKKa and WellsFucko denominations of Our Lady of the Greenbacks. If I get bored I can save my diet cola cup from Booger Queen and sit on the cable car route looking pitiful and beg change off tourists. BBBWWWAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!!! I told several of my friends at St Timmy's I expect to be moving in about a month. Nobody living here who knows me is happy about it though they wish me well. I can tell the management will be glad to see me go. They may think they will see the last of me soon. They are mistaken. I have every intention of visiting Queen Bee, George, and Spastic Lady Who Ain't Too Bad That Way. I have to make sure Miss Ralph continues to do a creditable job for these people. Miss Ralph is directed to report for duty in my court as the newest lady in waiting. The bitch ain't gettin' off easy. We must have a lavender African princess. Now to find the rice princess. We have a Filipino princess picked out but "she" won't come quietly. Because of the layout of the rooms in the Royal Residence, I need to have the bathroom door removed to make the hall and the turn into the throne room truly navigable. I don't want to hear any tittering in the back about how Miss Two by Four can't get through the bathroom door. That shit was old in first grade. Don't start with me! I will have yellow-tinted sunlight off the wall of the building next door unless I get one of the few front rooms in which case I may have a lot more noise than I care for and a southern exposure. Only if I get on the fourth floor or higher will I have any sort of view. The view across to a neighboring hotel might be interesting with a telescope at night... Miss Ralph has been on the horn all week trying to straight out the mess with my wheeled throne that started when it was ordered for me at The ERR. It was only recently I found out that I should have been paying rent on this thing all along and that I now owe the owners over $1100 for it. This is more than it is worth, obviously. According to laws and procedures, tardfarms must supply wheelchairs for their inmates. It so happened The ERR had a twenty-inch chair and I used it so long as I was there. When I was to leave, they obtained the new chair for me -- new to me because I have evidence it was previously rented. I understood that MediCal was going to pay for this chair. What should have happened when I moved to St Timmy's is that St Timmy's should have supplied me with a chair from their stock. This is the overview of the law and procedure. There is more. It seems the tardfarm is not obligated to supply other than standard sixteen- and eighteen-inch chairs. Therefore St Timmy's (and The ERR as well) have no obligation for furnish a special wheelchair. Then who does? -- the inmate's insurance company has to come up with it. But Cruella Cross denied that my having a wheelchair (apparently whether powered or manual) was a "medical necessity" and so they denied responsibility. We went through this game ages ago at The ERR. Fine. I'll set my ass on the floor and they can come get their rented wheelchair and they can wait for me to shit them some rent money! What Miss Ralph did, bless her soul, was put it to Cruella Cross like this: Don't you provide durable medical equipment? Yes, they do. Isn't a wheelchair durable medical equipment? Yes it is. Then why is this resident doing without a wheelchair when he is insured by you? Because he is living in a skilled nursing facility and we do not provide durable medical equipment for anyone living in a skilled nursing facility. Now Miss Ralph had them ezzackly where she wanted them. She continued, The facility does not, by law, have to provided non- standard durable medical equipent, in this case a large-sized wheelchair. Therefore you are required, by virtue of your place as the resident's primary insurance carrier, to provide this man a 20-inch chair he needs because the company whp owns the chair he is sitting in is fixing to come get it and leave him sitting on the floor! Furthermore, Miss Ralph continued, this man is preparing to return to the community and is going to live in an urban area and will need a powered chair in order to transport himself on the streets to take care of his business. The occupational therapist from a medical supply company in a neighboring town came to see me the next day. She measured me for an Invacare powered chair. I'm glad the subject of E&J didn't come up because this outfit has been panned among gimps on the internet as building crap which spends more time in the shop than on the street. The OT also doesn't think much of Quickie any more because they have begun to cheapen their lines. She showed me the details on my Breezy manual chair (made by Quickie) which Quickie is now cutting back on. I will get to keep the Breezy I have been spending so much time in for so many months because Cruella Cross done seen the light and is gonna buy it out for me from its owners in Silicon Valley. And in this round of negotiations, nobody is talking to that high-priced snotty gimpchair outfit in Berzerkeley. They know who they are. The bottom line is, I am to keep the manual chair I have and I will soon have a powered chair and driving lessons! After looking at the Royal Residence, we went around the corner to the chain drug store in the Royal 'Hood to get a new blood glucose meter. After comparing over a dozen models through references on the internet, I chose the Glucometer Elite now sold by Bayer Corporation. This is more "durable medical equipment" and Cruella better not give me a ration when I send them Ming the Merciful's prescription and the sales ticket! One nice thing about Ming, he may be sort of dense and glossing but he isn't disagreeable. I think I can get what I want out of him -- which isn't much and won't be for much longer. The Glucometer Elite is a geek's dream if the geek has to be a diabetic. The test strip you bleed on is a tiny printed circuit card! The dot of blood becomes part of a bridge circuit. How well the sample conducts is measured and converted to a medically significant number and displayed on the liquid crystal display. Unfortunately the printed circuit-style test strips cannot be washed and reused. They are a bit more expensive than some other types but I plan to use less than two dozen in a month's time. This morning I ran a Glucometer test side by side with Nursypoo's test for this place's records. I let my little test strip suck up what it wanted first because it takes the least red of any machine. Her strip could have the leftovers -- HAHAHAHAHA! Mine is easier and faster than hers. Mine really does suck it up. You can almost hear the . This is the kind they should've bought for this place when they changed meters a while back. Franny usually sits in her tardchair by the other nurse's station. She naps most of the time. Old people sleep a lot. She recognizes me when I come by and she reaches out. I let her hold my hand. It sort of reminds me of Goddammit Lady. Franny takes my arm and folds it up into hers so my fist is under her chin, just as though my appendage were a tiny baby. She's very affectionate and wants to kiss me. She habitually extends her lower lip and tongue. If she ever "got" me, I'd sure stay kissed. =================================================================