Brain dead evening; The Mystery of the Wrong Number; Last Thanksgiving I thought I was going to die; Personals - Part II ; Bumps, boxes and tucking

A brain-dead evening if ever there was one. Last night was another one of those in which sleep was elusive. Then when it did come, the cats woke me up. Back to sleep. Then at 6 or so, I got a wrong number. (More on that in a minute.) And last night was like those of the last few days - not nearly enough sand in Mr. Sandman's sprinkle. All this to point out I feel like the title character in "I Walked With A Zombie."

Now to the mystery of the wrong number. For several months I've been getting calls from people who say they've been paged to call my number. At first, I thought it was a coincident, but then the calls kept coming. For the last week or so, the calls have been early in the morning. All my caller id shows, of course, is the party calling. The person calling knows only the number indicated in the message. It occurred to me this morning to ask if the message was voice or just a number. Turns out it was just the number. My guess is that this is the norm.

The other point I've noticed is that there appears to be no pattern to the caller's name or number. But then of course, that would not make any difference. The one variable I don't know is the pager number of the person calling. Maybe the initial caller, hereafter known as Culprit, has picked a pager exchange, for example, 472, and dials a number at random.

My practice when I don't recognize the number on caller id is to ask what number the person was calling. From this, I've learned that several of the callers have received a page to call another number, and my number is dialed by accident! My number ends is 02, but these caller say the number they were to call ends in a 05. It could be that Culprit enters a different number at different times, or it could be that the caller mis-read the entered number.

A curious puzzle. One that Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson would quickly solve with the help of the Baker Street irregulars. Actually, it is not so much annoying as intriguing. It is a very sneaky and untraceable way to be a nuisance. Give me a gentleman who has the decency to confront me face to face. One whom I can kick in the balls, or run from very fast, or maybe both.

"Quick! Watson, the needle!"

Ah, a few days off. Great! Last year, at Thanksgiving, I almost died. Literally. The day before Thanksgiving, my tummy started bothering me. I ate nothing that day or on Thanksgiving. On Friday, I drug myself to the doctor and got some medication for tummy problems. But by Saturday, I had fever and chills and was considering doing myself in. Sunday, I was forced to call my mother and ask her to take me to the emergency clinic. I remember standing at the window shaking so much that I could not sign the register. One of the nurses brought me aspirin, but she had to help me take it. In the examining room, my fever was 104. I was one scared little boy who wanted nothing more than to go to sleep and not wake up. The doctor looked freaked and asked for a urine sample. He quickly came back and said I had a very severe kidney infection. Then prescribed antibiotics, an antinausea and a diuretic. Told me take four Advil every six hours. Then an antinausea shot.

Took me about two weeks to feel better. A most unpleasant experience. For the past two weeks, even the tiniest burb has filled me with dread. But I seen to be ok.

Well, I've cleared my calendar in preparation for the horde of responses I'm bound to receive to my personals. Yeah! Right! I believe in the tooth fairy too. Sure, dude! And we're still in Kansas! I'll probably get a reply from a married grandfather who's just dropped out of AA and wants a blow job.

My request is not unreasonable, I don't think. A nice, professional, stable guy. Tall. Not overweight. Knows what he wants. Interested in commitment to a slightly daffy, semi-depressed, randy web manager. Would be nice if he were a little kinky. Also good if he looked like Keanu Reeves. Is able to give true meaning to the words "box boy." Rich. And most important of all, he needs to think I'm god. Now is that unreasonable. OK! OK! Stop that sniggering! I heard that! Don't make me come in there!

That's really not a bad idea for an idea. Attention-getting, funny, a little crazy, not intimidating.

Why is it inappropriate for a guy to show a box? Have you ever noticed that the guys on tv could be genderless. No bulges whatsoever. Yet, female cleavage is acceptable. Guys in most print ads are also devoid of the tinest bump. (Ignoring "International Male" and "Undergear." And I've heard that what you're seeing there is not the real thing.) About the only genital lumps are on bike riders and most of the time their oh-so-chic costumes are black. Even country singers with spray-on jeans appear to be great proponents of tucking.

No doubt, this is another example of our culture's neo-puritanism. Some years ago, I went by a booth at a local flea market that was selling copies of Michelangelo's "David." The unique aspect was that Mr. D was wearing a diaper!

PAX!