A few days ago, Solange asked me, “What day is our wedding anniversary?” Over the years, we have not really recognized our wedding anniversary, so I honestly didn’t know, so I guessed, “August 29th.” She thought it was August 28th. Well, we were both wrong, it is August 30th. We went out to dinner, but I thought to remember our 18th anniversary, here are 18 years of photos of my beautiful wife, Solange.
It was the mid 90’s in South Dakota. Gateway Computers was booming and so was my career. I had just recently made vice president at the most happening computer company of the 90’s. After a hard night of drinking, I went to the doctor for a physical. The doctor frowned and informed me that I had high blood pressure. The doctor speculated that it might be the boozing, but not in a school teacher kind of way. The good news was no medication was required, but from that day forward until I left the company, someone took my blood pressure weekly. Even when I was managing director of Gateway Europe, the weekly blood pressure checks continued. During that crazy period of my life, my blood pressure was high, but never over the top and no drugs required.
Once I left Gateway, my life changed considerably. The weather in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina was certainly more pleasant than South Dakota. I was 39, single, a millionaire and I drank too much. In a fit of inspiration, I decided to have a full medical physical. Guess what? My blood pressure was normal. 120 / 80. I had no idea what made it go down. I still was drinking a six pack daily. I speculated with Ted that it was the stress of being in upper management at a Fortune 200 company. I had a new lease on life. A cloud had been lifted. My blood pressure was normal.
I founded my company, moved to Brazil, married, had two kids, and started running daily. I even ran 1/2 marathons. And my blood pressure was normal. In 2013, we moved back to the United States, and urgent cares had sprouted like weeds in Myrtle Beach. They aggressively monitor blood pressure. Even if I had ear wax, they were going to check my blood pressure. Fortunately, my blood pressure was still normal.
Then sometime around the pandemic, I returned to an urgent care clinic, and lo and behold, my blood pressure was, ahem, elevated. Worse yet, was the attitude. One would have thought I was a public health menace, the way they looked at me. And of course, I was not on any of their fancy drugs. The marketing of these drugs is too much. Their marketing departments call hypertension, the “silent killer”. They want you to believe that there is no early warning. No symptoms and then bang, you are dead. Unless you take their wonder pills. So instead, I exercised like a maniac. In addition to running, I went on long bike rides, and swam in the ocean while in Rio de Janeiro. It was so enjoyable to exercise earnestly every day, like my life depended on it.
Then in October 2023, I had a stroke which, they say, is a potential outcome of high blood pressure. My wife, 25 years my junior, was freaking out, and she convinced me that I should take some blood pressure drugs. At the time, the blood pressure was 140/100, give or take. I bought a little blood pressure machine and religiously took their pills every day. At one point, I was in Brazil and ran out of my blood pressure medicine. My doctor confirmed it was OK to purchase at a local pharmacy. The drug was called Olmesartin, and in Brazil, no prescription is required. You are in the pharmacy less than 5 minutes. Here is the catch. Olmesartin costs less than $5, which is less than my health plan’s copay. Process that, the drug companies are making money off the copay. Your premiums are gravy. What a business model. I lost confidence in this life saving drug. My confidence in my health care plan plummeted.
In April 2024, it had been six months since the stroke, and I visited my doctor. She took my “vitals”. You got to love the marketing. My blood pressure was still elevated. After six months of dedicated pill popping, nothing nada. I told her that I did not want to take this drug because it was not working. She of course offered alternative medicinals. I politely declined, and she was cool with that. I was worried that might be the end of our relationship.
I was nervous about quitting Olmesartan. After all, their message is that I am going to keel over dead, if I stop. I compensated by changing my life in other ways. I finally stopped drinking alcohol. I wasn’t an alcoholic but it is more difficult than one would think to stop. Alcohol is intertwined in how we live our lives. All the time I saved not drinking, I began daily anaerobic workouts. I was never much for sweets when I was younger, but after marrying, my wife turned me on to chocolates and ice cream. I was never over weight or out of shape, but it was a habit. I quit that too.
In August 2024, I nervously returned to my doctor. She yanked out the blood pressure machine, and after the reading, she did not say a word. After an awkward pause, I asked, “What is it?” “124 / 82”, she smiled. I honestly couldn’t believe it. I was normal without any medications. You can accomplish anything if you take the time to do it. Most people don’t have the time. The American medical system is a religion, and I am an atheist in this regard.
July is a wonderful month in Rio de Janeiro. It was great to have the whole family in Rio and we chose the wonderful and magical Jardim Botânico for a photo shoot. The weather was great. This is where I will to retire. I am just so happy.
Today I went through security at Charlotte Douglas Airport as I have done hundreds of times before. Shoes off, nothing in my pockets, and cell phone in a separate bin. I put my feet on the little yellow marks on the machine, did the NFL touchdown pose and went through the world’s most expensive X Ray machine. I exit the creepy chamber, and look hopefully in the eyes of the TSA man. He averts my gaze and looks up from his spectacles and says while shaking his head, “I’m going to have to pat you down.”
I make the offsides penalty pose for the TSA man, and take a peek over my left shoulder to see what might be causing TSA’s concerns. To my shock, there is big yellow square over my crotch. Unbelievable! TSA thinks my cock is a bomb.
TSA Man wants me to think this is a potentially explosive situation and I was working hard to keep a straight face. Here is the rub. TSA wants us to believe they are highly trained behavioral detectives that can separate innocent travelers from the freedom hating terrorists. Even if you don’t believe this, they need to feel that you do. Because if you don’t, then you, my friend, are a terrorist. So if you wrinkle your forehead, crack a smile, or God forbid, roll you eyes, then they will throw you in Cuba with a stick up your ass with Dick Cheney on a waterboard machine.
So back to the TSA Man and my cock. He looks at me, and says, “If you want, we can go to a more private room for the screening.” At this point, a million thoughts are going through my head, the goal is to NOT share any of these wayward thoughts, or he will think I am a terrorist. Here is what I was thinking.
TSA Man, I am a 65 year old heterosexual. With all the government spying and surveillance, you haven’t figured that out yet? And please, you are not skinny. Let’s just say it, you are fat, you are huffing and puffing just to get out of bed. So I have no interest in going into the private room, although I was a little curious about whether it was similar to the champagne room at the strip club.
I delicately respond still in the offsides pose , “Let’s do it here.” To which TSA Man replies, “I will only use the back of my hand during the screening.” So I think, and never said the following. Dude, are you worried that I will want a hand job or something? Because this is not happening. But what I really wanted to say was if you use the back of your hand, then you can only touch the back of my cock which, by the way, is not a bomb. But I didn’t say that, instead I said, “Go ahead”.
TSA Man begins his “screening”, and he was aggressive. At one point, he got the back of his hand between the ball sack and my inner thigh. If TSA Man was a dick, he could inflict some serious pain. He did not, but I am really glad that I didn’t tell him he was fat. Like I said, TSA Man did not nothing for me, nada. Plus I am married to a very beautiful Brazilian that is the mother of my children. My cock never moved not even a little bit. I do wonder what TSA Man would have done if it did. Would that have been the time to take it to the back room? Or would that make me a terrorist? Do terrorists get boners?
TSA Man says, “You are good to go.”
I leave to collect my things which had backed up the line significantly. One lady gave me the stink eye like it was me that clogged the line. It wasn’t me lady, it was my cock. I have to say that I was a little disappointed that TSA did not find that my cock was a bomb. How cool would that be? Can you imagine, you are in a bar where Victoria Secret models frequent, and you can legitimately say, “My cock is a bomb”. They would be buying me drinks. My cock is dangerous, or better yet, a weapon of mass destruction.
One side note: The TSA body scanners, do a front and rear image. On the front was the large yellow box over my cock, on the back was much smaller yellow box was over my asshole. I never would have thought that my asshole would be a threat to the country.
April 4, 2024 was my wife, Solange’s, 39th birthday, and we had a little celebration at a local restaurant. This year, I had tapered my alcohol intake substantially. However, with any excuse, me and Solange’s friends began pouring elixirs down our throats. I had three craft beers, nothing extreme, but I began to feel the profound pull that booze had on my life.
I began drinking in early 70’s long before I turned 18, the age restriction at the time. That’s over 50 years of drinking. I grew up in Bowie Maryland, and my friend’s and I would imbibe Tuborg and Michelob in dark parking lots or the back seats of cars. I went to college and the first week, I turned 18. Now I could legally drink. In Ithaca NY, the local beer was Genesee Cream Ale and six packs went for $1 and a pitcher sometime on sale for $.50. I started experimenting with gin and tonics. I started at Texas Instruments in the early 80’s and Coor’s Light became my poison of choice. At one point, I challenged myself to drink every day and guess what. I nailed it. At this point, my thinking was that I could drink often and as much as I wanted, as long as I could maintain a successful career.
When I moved to South Dakota, Gateway was a hard drinking company, and I fit right in. I moved to Dublin Ireland to run’s Gateway’s European operations, and I fell in love with Guiness. Alcohol and the pub life were ingrained into the Irish life. I think Santa Claus was Irish.
I left Gateway and the frigid plains of South Dakota, single, a millionaire, and moved to South Carolina. The good news is that my drinking didn’t get worse despite ample free time and cash, but it sure as heck didn’t get much better. I did write some pretty cool songs in my nightly sloshy state.
Then I moved to Brazil where I finally married my beautiful wife, Solange. She is not much of a drinker (was that a sign?), but I continued boozing regularly. In fact, I moved to wine and bourbon. I was in the big leagues.
Throughout all of this, I have had a fantastic life, and accomplished many common measures of success so the drinking couldn’t have been a hindrance. At least, that is the way I rationalized. In the meantime, as I aged, some of my friends (drinking buddies) began falling. Dougie, a dear friend in Rio de Janeiro, passed in his apartment with five empty bottles of wine by his bed. Then it was national news when Mike Hammond (Hammer), passed away as another victim of alcohol abuse.
Was I an alcoholic? Of course not. Or so I would say. I could quit any time, which I honestly believed. Until I tried. I could quit at will, but as soon as their was any excuse, I was back on the train. Until my wife’s fateful 39th birthday party, and then I made the commitment to just stop.
I have not suffered any withdrawal symptoms, but this is not easy, alcohol is everywhere and 100% ingrained in my American culture. God only knows how much time I have wasted being drunk / unconscious, inebriated, but suddenly, I have a lot of free time on my hands. I have decided to go to the gym.
And maybe, just maybe, I will start blogging again. Like this one here.