The day before I left for Mexico I was running around doing errands. Mainly at Whole Foods on 59th street. I needed a couple jars of organic almond butter and healthy suntan lotion, you know, not to use, so I could get good and burned. I'm king of the carry on but since I was going to be away for a month I surrendered to the checked baggage of it all. And the upside was I wouldn't have to argue with the "security people" about what was and wasn't three ounces of liquid. And I could take my almond butter. They took the last jar I tried to take on a plane.

I had obtained my bounty and was descending the temporary staircase at Columbus Circle heading for the uptown 1 train. Annoyed, I turned to look at a man who was standing directly at the top of the stairs talking on his cell phone, completely oblivious to the fact that he was stopping New York from getting to the subway, his call way more important. Why the fuck cant you just wake up to the universe around you and step a couple of feet to the side, fuck head! I needed my upcoming spiritual retreat. Thoughts like that were taking over my mind way too frequently. I turned my head back forward, having made my way around him and quickly flurried down the stairs... until suddenly, as if doing a Three Stooges pratfall on a banana peel, my foot was out from under me and I was flying through the air until I landed hard on my back on the concrete steps. BAM!!! People shrieked. I mean it was gnarly. The first thought that rushed through my head was, please God, don't let my back be broken.

"Are you alright?" a twenty something kid asked as I bounced up before the paralysis could set in.

"Yeah, thanks," I mumbled like an angry old fuck and gathered my suntan lotion and luckily unbroken almond butter and back and continued running down the stairs acting fine like a hitter that gets drilled by a 100 mph fastball but is going to be damned if he's gonna rub where it hit. As I swiped my metro card and made my way through the turnstile I snuck a look around to make sure no one who saw me fall was around still watching me to make sure I was okay and then assessed the damage. My elbow was fucked, and my back hurt like shit. What the fuck just happened? I fell? Down the fucking subway stairs?

I'm officially old. I mean who the fuck just falls? I have never ever fallen. I mean loaded on a fifth of JD and three bags of heroin I've done doughnuts at 90 mph on the west side highway and survived without a scratch to me or my car. I... don't... fall. I mean, I guess now I do. Now that I'm old. What's next, alert bracelets and beds I control with a remote? I'm so fucked.

How the fuck was I going to relax and do yoga for a month if I couldn't bend over to take my underwear off? Mother fucker! I guess I was supposed to really slow down. So Rebecca and I jet blued it to Mexico where I preceded to get cunted by the sun on the first day. That you already know about. If a near paralyzing fall followed by a throbbing sun burn could have been the worst of it I would have been happy in retrospect. No my friends, that was like my fucking amazing chocolate banana peanutbutter cookies next to what happened for an encore.

Day three of the sunburn, when I should have been well on my way to being able to go back out into the sun in a day or two, at least by Friday so I could get my burn/tan evened out by Monday when Miss California was coming as the second leg of my all female month, I awoke to a new strange burning sensation on my side. It seemed while the burn on the rest of my body was indeed fading to tan, a blotchy hand shaped raised rash had developed half way my up my ribcage under my right arm.

"Hey Rebecca. What the fuck is this?" I asked my doctor friend.

"I don't know. If could be sun poisoning. Does it hurt?"

"Yeah it fucking kills. It stings."

"Take some Tylenol and lets see what happens later." Fine. I took the Tylenol and went about my day, not in the sun. Yoga, some mediation, reading, eating and 3 more episodes of the first season of 24. I brought the first 4 seasons on dvd with me since I only started watching in season 5. I felt like it might be a big dose of fear, anxiety and violence for a spiritual retreat but the show is so fucking good and I had nothing but time, I figured I'd see how it went. I'm staying in a funky little shack but it's on the beach. It has no electricity so I watch 2 hours worth on my portable dvd player every night.

I woke up the next day and immediately checked my side. Fuck. It still hurt and seemed even more red and tender now. And what's that? It looked like an oozing open sore about the size of a dime had emerged in the middle of the blotch.

"Rebecca!!! Look at this!!" I interrupted her yoga on the beach. "What the fuck is this?"

"Hold on a second. I think I know." She prattled away on her little palm machine that is home to her medical encyclopedia or whatever the fuck she´s studying. She's in her first year of residency or whatever. Who can keep track? She's been studying to be a doctor for years now and has a few more to go.

"Yup. It´s Herpes Zoster."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"It´s Herpes Zoster."

"No. I get cold sores on my mouth and no where else."

"That´s herpes simplex A. This is a totally different strain. There are 8."

"I've never ever gotten anything like this before. I'm 45. I'm old. I fall. I don't get new herpes."

"It can lay dormant forever or come out at anytime. And the sun is one of the things that brings it out."

"I know. That's why I always take Valtrex when I go on vacation and have to put 30 on my lips."

"Right. You have shingles."

"Wait, what?!!!"

"Herpes Zoster. Shingles. It's the same thing."

"That´s fucking disgusting. Shingles? Can they please make a new name for that. It sounds fucking hideous. But look, it is hideous!"

"Have you ever had chicken pocks?"

"Yeah."

"Right. It's the same virus except when you're an adult if you've had chicken pox, it presents as shingles."

"Could that be why all my life I've had these invisible rashes on my side that really hurt but you could never see anything?"

"That´s exactly what it was. And now the rash came out because of your sunburn."

"Is it contagious?"

"Only to people who have never had chicken pox, or if you rub that sore directly on someone, but other than that, no. You can't give it to someone kissing or touching them or breathing on them whatever."

"But my blond California friend is coming on Monday when I drop you off! Will it be gone by then?"

"It doesn't matter. I'm sure she had chicken pox as a kid."

"Fuck. I better call her." We jumped in the car and drove to town to the little internet and phone shack. It was bad enough that I was trying to reenact scenes from Heartbreak Kid (if you haven't seen it you must get it now and watch it. An all time top 10) playing both the sunburned bride slathered in white cream to cure her honeymoon injury and the groom Charles Grodin preparing to woo the enchanting "you're in my spot" Cybill Shepherd (mine in the person of a hot new friend, Michele, flying in from LA on Monday). But now I was trying to make myself even more abhorrent and decidedly unsexy by sporting a flesh eating contagious fucking herpes super strain on my side. Not that my central sexing tactic is rubbing my side on chicks but still, you want to be clean and healthy for a week of wonderful dirty beach naked tan fucking with a smoking hot, sexy as shit, willing lover. And I liked her and thought there might be a chance with her. She was 34, smart, sober and loved football. I shit you not. I was flying her to Mexico for our second date. We had already had really good sex on our really good first date a couple weeks ago just before Melinda and I ended it. It all hinged on whether Michele had gotten dosed in kindergarten with the spotted plague. I dialed her number.

"Hello?"

"Michele? Hey it's Eric. Are you excited?"

"So excited! Three days and I´ll be there."

"I know. Hey listen. Wierd question. Have you ever had chicken pox?"

To be continued...

"Rebecca!!! Look at this!!" I interrupted her yoga on the beach. "What the fuck is this?"

"Hold on a second. I think I know." She prattled away on her little palm machine that is home to her medical encyclopedia or whatever the fuck she´s studying. She's in her first year of residency or whatever. Who can keep track? She's been studying to be a doctor for years now and has a few more to go.

"Yup. It's Herpes Zoster."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"It's Herpes Zoster."

"No. I get cold sores on my mouth and no where else."

"That´s herpes simplex A. This is a totally different strain. There are 8."

"I've never ever gotten anything like this before. I'm 45. I'm old. I fall. I don't get new herpes."

"It can lay dormant forever or come out at anytime. And the sun is one of the things that brings it out."

"I know. That's why I always take Valtrex when I go on vacation and have to put 30 on my lips."

"Right. You have shingles."

"Wait, what?!!!"

"Herpes Zoster. Shingles. It's the same thing."

"That´s fucking disgusting. Shingles? Can they please make a new name for that. It sounds fucking hideous. But look, it is hideous!"

"Have you ever had chicken pocks?"

"Yeah."

"Right. It's the same virus except when you're an adult if you've had chicken pox, it presents as shingles."

"Could that be why all my life I've had these invisible rashes on my side that really hurt but you could never see anything?"

"That´s exactly what it was. And now the rash came out because of your sunburn."

"Is it contagious?"

"Only to people who have never had chicken pox, or if you rub that sore directly on someone, but other than that, no. You can't give it to someone kissing or touching them or breathing on them whatever."

"But my blond California friend is coming on Monday when I drop you off! Will it be gone by then?"

"It doesn't matter. I'm sure she had chicken pox as a kid."

"Fuck. I better call her." We jumped in the car and drove to town to the little internet and phone shack. It was bad enough that I was trying to reenact scenes from Heartbreak Kid (if you haven't seen it you must get it now and watch it. An all time top 10) playing both the sunburned bride slathered in white cream to cure her honeymoon injury and the groom Charles Grodin preparing to woo the enchanting "you're in my spot" Cybill Shepherd (mine in the person of a hot new friend, Michele, flying in from LA on Monday). But now I was trying to make myself even more abhorrent and decidedly unsexy by sporting a flesh eating contagious fucking herpes super strain on my side. Not that my central sexing tactic is rubbing my side on chicks but still, you want to be clean and healthy for a week of wonderful dirty beach naked tan fucking with a smoking hot, sexy as shit, willing lover. And I liked her and thought there might be a chance with her. She was 34, smart, sober and loved football. I shit you not. I was flying her to Mexico for our second date. We had already had really good sex on our really good first date a couple weeks ago just before Melinda and I ended it. It all hinged on whether Michele had gotten dosed in kindergarten with the spotted plague. I dialed her number.

"Hello?"

"Michele? Hey it's Eric. Are you excited?"

"So excited! Three days and I´ll be there."

"I know. Hey listen. Wierd question. Have you ever had chicken pox?"

To be continued...

Posted by Eric Schaeffer at 10:39 AM

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