So I knew I wasn’t gay the moment the doctor stuck his finger up my butt.

So I went to get a checkup today at the local hospital. It was surprisingly modern. Not that I expected grass huts and a dude with a bone through his nose but it was a pleasant surprise. My doctor was a nice cuban fellow with whom I shared my most secret medical worries which led to him sticking a finger up my butt.

The glass of wine afterwards was a nice touch. Great bedside manner.

What? IT WAS A NICE TOUCH

So to make matters brief and as ungross as possible, I went to the lab to get some tests done. Lined up I had blood work and they needed a stool sample from me. The lady wrapped my arm up with a latex glove like she’s either been doing heroin for years or she was a licensed nurse. Her badge said licensed Nurse, so I assume the latter. She took my blood no prob. Im pretty good with needles, so long as I look away and don’t see the thing going into my arm, Im a-ok. Then she handed me a little clear bottle and said “go ahead”

I was perplexed. “what, in here?”

She gave me a no, dumb ass look and said “No dumb ass, in the bathroom down the hall to your right, you’ll see it”

Obligingly, I took my little shit bottle and proceeded down the interminably long hallway until I found the one person bathroom that wouldn’t lock. This made me rather anxious. The entire time I sat there I kept thinking of polite but firm ways to tell people this WC was occupied. I could go with terse one word “HELLO” or “OCCUPIED” but knowing myself I would probably succumb into a woody allen-esque explanation of why the bathroom was occupied, how long I might take, pardon the occupation of said bath room and whats up with these one room bathrooms anyways, its a hospital for crying out loud.

Gratefully it didn’t come to that. Business done after what seemed an eternity I popped the lid on my brown beauty and exited the smallest worst room of my life.

Thankfully, it was Hot Girl Day at the hospital, so I got to walk the green mile not only with a bottle of shit in my hands but pass scores of hotties that if there was any shred of possibility of interest in my rather well dressed self that morning it was absolutely washed away by the parcel of poop I was holding somewhat like an olympic torch.

She was getting treated for the smoke coming off her hotness

A morning awash in embarrassment gratefully gave way to a good day at work. I know Ive said this before but I have a great job. Any thought that I mightve chosen the wrong career is way gone by now. I love making food. The basics are so easy, you’re accountable for taste and texture and after that the world is your oyster to borrow a kitschy kitchen cliche.

It helps that I get along really great with the dudes at work. Tito, jhensi, “Pappy” Pascual, they’re all my boys and theyve really embraced me as part of the gang. Chef Romain cracks me up. His deal is he’s a french dude that knew zero spanish when he got here and unfortunately for him, know he knows dominican spanish, THE SINGLE WORST SPANISH OF ANY SPANISH SPEAKING COUNTRY. His spanish is actually very good, I wish I could speak french as well as he does spanish but his choice of words is oft times hilarious. I dig how he calls all the waiters waitresses and his appellation for Tito is a dr. cox-esque “Roberta” or sometimes simply “girl”. He’s trying to hook me up with girls now, which I appreciate if his tactic wasn’t a blunt “Hey, you know diego? he’s looking for a girlfriend” to EVERY SINGLE LADY that walks through the kitchen regardless of weight, looks, age or smarts. Maybe that works in france buddy but somethings just get lost in translation.

On the girl end, its been pretty desolate lately. Not that it should be a priority right now girls are pretty important to me in general. Theres one girl im pretty into but I cant seem to get her attention. Maybe I just need to sack up and ask her out but I don’t think she likes me. Case in point, chef, some of the cooks, her and I are all shooting it. I say something specific and IN ENGLISH (which she speaks) and she’ll pretty much ignore me. Maybe she’s playing hard to get but a brother needs an inkling before he goes all in, ya dig. Doesn’t help that chef romain is all like “Hey Virginia, you know my cook diego, eh eh eh?” pretty much every single time we’re in the same room but somehow this playa will learn to overcome.

Readers, I apologize for the long hibernation but Dr. D-man talliwack is back for good, next update; a recipe I swear it on my knives.