I did the interview yesterday-

And I'll tell you what, it pales in comparison to the real news in my life-

I'M ON A HOCKEY TEAM!

Fuck yeah, this potentially former werewolf is facing off at 4:00 PM tomorrow at Corelears Park.

It's street hockey, which isn't as good as ice or roller, but Jesus, Mary and Joseph- it's about fucking time.

Of course, it occurs to me that I haven't actually exercised in over 9 months, you know, if you don't count the times I was running around as a werewolf.

I might be a little winded tomorrow.

If anybody cares, I can tell you about the interview, but it was pretty much a bunch of bullshit about "How do feel moments before the transformation" and shit like that that.

It's like, fuck- read the blog, douchebags.

Jesus, I wanna score a goal.

The cow-

Is seriously starting to stink up the joint.

I tried to get it down the stairs, and guess what?

That little folk tale is true.

You can't get a cow down the stairs. They just stand there.
I really don't know what the hell I'm going to do.

It won't fit in the elevator, and I'm not bright enough to be able to figure out a pulley system to get it out the window.

I mean, maybe it's for the best- if I do change on the next moon, I'm going to need something to eat, but Jesus. I'm kind of screwed right now.

I asked Scott and Chandler what they thought, and Scott said that unless the cow was actually a man who transforms into a cow due to a combination of mystical and physiological factors, it really wasn't their specialty.

Great.

In terms of everyone saying that I shouldn't trust these guys, I know- but the vibe I'm getting is a helpful one, even if I do occasionally feel like they look at me as somewhat less than a man and more of an lab animal.

If they can help me understand what is happening to me, and perhaps use what is going on to help establish a cure for others, well honestly, I can live with being treated like I'm under a microscope from time to time.

Later today, I go into what they call "The Interview."

I'm going to be sitting in a room with Alyssa, Scott, Chandler, and Cameron, and they ask me a series of questions based on my activity over the past few months.

Who knows?

Maybe it could help.

Still, I'd be a lot happier if there was some goddamn hockey on TV. If I'm not mistaken, we'd be in the middle of the second round of the Stanley Cup playoffs around now.

Damn.

I'll let you guys know how it goes.

Drama.

Jeez what a couple of days-

I guess I should let you know who's been hanging out.

First of all, there's Alyssa, who you guys know.

She's been all over this Cameron guy- a Scottish werewolf hunter she hooked up with a few months ago. I'm pretty sure I've mentioned him before. He's just over six feet, has red hair, is in great shape, and has one of those scottish accents that you fucking love when you hear it from a bartender, and want to puke when it starts condecending to you. He's kind of a dick, but I don't really blame him- he knows that me and Alyssa used to be together, and I think it kind of burns his ass.

I say good.

Fuck him.

Sure, Alyssa's a real catch, dickbag- wait till she convinces you she's there to help, and you end up in a catatonic trance in a New Jersey basement with your cock in an Irish setter.

The other two dudes are OK, they are both Scottish too, and work for Cameron in the Lycanthropy center in Edinborough. Their names are Scott and Chandler, and all I've gotten out of them is that Scott does the book stuff and Chandler handles the werewolves, a task that led to his nickname "Chandler the Dog-Handler" which Scott finds hillarious.

Scott's a little nerdy looking, but a decent guy, and Chandler the dog handler is big, beefy, and although very affable, keeps giving me the evil eye, like he'd just as soon drain a pint with me as beat me down with an electrified baton.

The werewolf girl's name is Julie, and I can't read her yet. They brought her as a sample group, in that when they were testing my blood and hair samples, they needed someone who definatley did change in the last moon cycle to compare it to.

While I'm sure all of you want to know how "hot" she is, it's kind of hard to say. She seems to be in her mid 20's, and is not unattractive, but certainly not "model hot." I wouldn't really call her "my type" except for the obvious fact that, well- she is my type, if "turning into a werewolf on the cycle of the full moon" can be called a "type."

Unless, you know, I don't do that anymore. But still, she has something behind her eyes, and the way she brushes the hair out of her face is strangely compelling to me. We really haven't talked much, but we also haven't been alone. Every time they come over, she's had this leg bracelet on that Chandler has the controller of. Clearly, she's afraid of him, and that makes me like Chandler even less.

But you know- maybe we'll get a chance to talk soon.

I should ask Alyssa about that.

Oh, and I worked at the store today.

Watched Blade 3.

Not as good as the second one, but still a lot of fun.

Sorry-

I wish I had more to say-

They've had me in blood testing all day, and I just drank a few beers.

I also had Graham Crackers!

OK- I'm loopy.

G'night!

Alyssa's here.

Apparently what happened to me this week, or rather DIDN'T happen, is a big fucking deal.

Alyssa is here with three other Scottish scientist dudes, and that chick who is a werewolf.

Apparently, they decked out a plane with a cage in it so she could change while they flew.

From what I'm told, people don't really "get better" from this. All I know is I used to change into a werewolf on the full moon, and now- well... I don't.

Or- didn't.

This time.

And I thought getting the cow down the steps would be drama.

They seem like cool folks though- after an initial formal encounter, we broke out a bowl, ordered some Sparky's and watched the Star Wars "Clone Wars" DVD.

It wasn't a bad night- it was nice to be around people again.

Well-

Once again, full moon, no changes.

And- come to think of it, I really haven't been peeing on stuff as much as I used to.

Maybe this is it?

Hmm.

Of course, tonight is the last night, so I'm gonna be in the cage again.

I'm going to take a chance, and move my bed in there, so I can actually sort of sleep.

The fucking chickens run everywhere, have me up at dawn, and the cow fucking stinks.

If this is it, and I actually am not a werewolf anymore, didn't one of you commentors mention that it's impossible to get a cow to walk downstairs?

I might have a problem there.

Still, if I'm not a werewolf anymore, that would be awesome!

We'll see after tonight.

Sundown is in two hours.

This is nervewracking as hell.

Fuck!

It's quarter to one in the morning right now, and the moon is full.

And- I'm, well- typing this.

I'm not a werewolf again.

I'm still in the cage, because, well- anything could happen- but ...Jesus!

I mean, is it wrong for me to ask what ISN'T happening to me?




This is the scariest thing that has happened to me since all this started.

This is weird-

-It's pushing four in the morning on the night before the full moon, and I'm not a werewolf. I got all ready for the change, the cow was in the cage with me, the moon rose, and then...

Nothing.

I've been totally normal all night. It's weird to even be typing this, cause I feel like I might change at any minute.

But I haven't.

The thing that sucks is, I'm getting sleepy and I want to get out of the cage to get a pillow, but I'm afraid.

I think I'm going to chance it.

OK- I went out and got a pillow.

That was terrifying.

I guess I''m going to put my laptop away and try to go to sleep.

As a person.

On the night before a full moon.

This is really, really scary.

Good night?

Christ!

These fucking animals are killing me.

I haven't posted in a while because I keep having to take naps during the day as the goddamn chickens keep making a racket at dawn, and the cow wakes up with them.

Also, cows shit a lot.

Like seriously.

A lot.

I'm thinking about just keeping the chickens in the cage tonight, and saving the cow for later.

This is bullshit.

I miss the pigs.

The goddamn chickens-

Had me up at dawn.

OK- it was one rooster.

But Jesus- in case you thought that was just a folk tale, I'll tell you- roosters crow at daybreak.

And there was no shutting him up.

The fucking cow started mooing, and the chickens were making crazy noise, I mean Jesus, I can't wait for Saturday night just to eat those motherfuckers.

And I want it to hurt. I took a nap around 11:00, and had to go to work at 1:00.

I'm going to bed now, and I'm exhausted.

If they are crowing tomorrow, I'm gonna shit.

Jesus fucking Christ.

The cow-

-showed up today, along with the chickens.

That fucking cow is HUGE. I guess I just misjudged how big it was. The son-of-bitch didn't fit in the elevator, so I had to walk her up the stairs. The chickens were easy as hell though.They're all hanging out in the cage now, and it smells like a fucking barnyard. Next time, somebody remind me to not buy an animal that shits so much.

And chicken shit is EVERYWHERE.

The chickens pretty much go in and out of the cage at will, and are shitting on everything. Thank God the bedroom door locks.

Oh, and thanks for all the suggestions on books. I was thinking about joining a book club, but I don't know- it just sounds like kind of a sissy thing to do. I mean, I'm looking to meet somebody, and it just doesn't sound that manly to say "Later baby- I'm going to book club."

Actually, that gives me an idea.

What if I were to kind of toughen up my book club by running it like Fight Club?

I'd get a bunch of guys, and a stack of literature, and we'd meet every week in a dirty basement with our shirts off. Then I'd stand up and say-

"The first rule of Book Club is - You do not talk about Book Club. The second rule of Book Club is - you DO NOT TALK ABOUT BOOK CLUB! And if this is your first night at Book Club, you HAVE TO READ."

I'd get into the middle of the circle and explain that while I feel that Walker Percy is an outstanding philosophical/religious voice, his novels ultimately fail as they are merely attempts to tell the same story over and over again from different perspectives. Then I'd puff up my chest, turn to my opponent and say "Now- I want you to refute my central thesis AS HARD AS YOU CAN."

Then we're off to the races.

I think it could work.

Thanks for the suggestions-

But-

I've read all of those except Garp and As I Lay Dying. I'm not wild about either of those, though, as The Sound and The Fury is one of my favorites, and AILD just plain old isn't going to be better that that. Also, John Irving's kind of 1989, you know?

I ended up an English Major too, and I remember in High School if you wanted to pick up a literary type girl, (and I always did) the best thing was to walk around with a copy of Prayer For Owen Meany, and you were in. These days, I'm not sure what the hot book is. For a while there it was Kavalier and Clay, and then Fast Food Nation for a while, and around these parts Motherless Brooklyn. Speaking of that last one, I think I'm the only one in the world who thinks that book sucked. Yeah, I get it. He has turrettes. Behold the mighty genius.

Fuck that.

Maybe I'll tackle Master and Margarita again.

I never got through that one the first time.

Still, thanks for the suggestions.

The cow's due on Tuesday.

Just got the e-confirmation.

Again, it occurs to me that I might have the same problem as the sheep, in that I only ordered one, so I went ahead and got 6 chickens.

They show up faster, and If I'm lucky, I might even get some eggs before the full moon. Thanks ot the commentor, I looked into getting a full moon display for the site, but I couldn't get it to work. We'll see. Honestly, it's not something I really need. I mean, I can usally tell when the moon is full.

I work the day shift at the video store tomorrow, and I don't think it'll be too bad- it's supposed to be a nice day, so it'll probably be slow. Maybe I'll read a book.

I haven't been doing much reading lately- honestly, I haven't cracked a book since Frankenstein, and that was while I was under mind control, so I don't know if that even counts. I've read some comics, some old Evan Dorkin stuff and some Optic Nerve, but nothing with too much heft.

I'm kind of in the mood for a classic, something maybe from the modern era. Hemingway maybe. I've read Farewell to Arms, For Whom the Bell Tolls, To Have and Have Not, and that one about Bullfights- fuck what was it called? Anyway I liked all of those ones- any suggestions?

I'm goin' to bed.

Sorry about that-

I was drunk and depressed.

It happens.

By the way, full moon is 8 days away.

I better check on the cow.

OK people-

-just because some woman in Scotland might be a werewolf doesn't mean I could fall in love with her.

Look- here's the real deal.

Love, as it has been portrayed in Hollywood, doesn't exist.

It's a myth.

I wish it was real but it's not.

I'm drunk.

Wow-

I'm either really awesome, or you guys just weren't looking that hard.

It's close to three in the morning, and I'm watching Northern Exposure on, I think- the Hallmark channel. It's odd that such a great show is on such a pussy-ass channel.

It's the one where Maggie turns 30, and goes on a river trip where she has a fever dream due to an inflamed appendix and sees visions of all her dead ex-boyfriends, hanging around and eating at a picnic table.

First of all, how great is that, to have a show where the female lead's boyfriends keep dying?

One of the boyfriends was played by Patrick Warburton, whose birthday party I got to go to last year in LA. There's an entry about it somewhere, but I'm too tired to fuck around with links right now.

It was a kick to see him all young, and he did well, but it kind of throws a wet blanket on your escapism when you're just trying to lie on the couch, drain a few Yuenglings and zone out with a show that takes place on the shores of a river in Alaska when all of a sudden you see a guy and say- "Hey- I've been to his birthday party."

Which honestly, was sort of what the episode was about.

That's the scene you don't get in the werewolf movies.

They just kinda seque through most of the off month. Actually, come to think of it, you usually don't get an off month in werewolf movies. You get the bite, the denial, the transformation, and then he's pretty much dead by the third transformation. I skipped out on that step. I guess I was lucky.

I wonder if the dude in American Werewolf in London (had he managed to find a cage to crash in) would have ended up like me. It's strange. I just find myself having a hard time really embracing the future with this. It's not worth killing myself- I mean, Jesus- there are a lot of great things in the world, and if I can keep this thing contained, which I've mostly been able to do- well then, fuck- why should I die before I see the Bruins win the cup?

It does make relationships hard.

I mean, when is the right time to explain to someone that you are a werewolf?

I mean, with sex- the 3rd date rule is a good fallback, but damn, admitting you have lycanthropy?

That would take longer.

Maybe it's a month- you know, that way you can say- "Hey baby- we've been going out awhile- and you know how I said I couldn't see you for the past three days? Well check out this almanac."

I suppose I shouldn't be bitching about it, I haven't even met anybody.

Still, it'd be good to have a plan.

You know how yesterday-

I didn't do much?

Today I did less.

That's the thing about being in a rut. You roll around in it trying do get out, and you're just making it deeper.

So I sat today out.

In good news, according to the old site meter if you google the words: "31 years old single bored depressed"

You get me on the first page.

First page baby!

Another search term that got somebody here was the following: "watching my sister pee"

That was a third pager, and I was more than a bit relieved to find that it was a commentor, not me who tricked it off.

Boy, this post kind of sucks.

In fact, it might be the worst one ever.

Any of you longtimers want to vote on which of my posts has sucked the hardest?

Cause this one is in the running.

Unless, you know, people get really into it, and it starts getting fun, which might push this one out of the nominations.

Screw it, I'm hitting the hay.

This sucked.

I didn't do much today.

Kicked around, did some writing, ordered my cow online and started to stress over my taxes.

I wonder if there is some kind of magic affliction like the one I have where you get bit by a crazed accountant, and on the first full moon before tax day, you fall to the floor, start screaming uncontrollably, and transform into a CPA.

Like, the most viscious combination of man and accountant ever. A supernatural beast that can run, jump, and motherfucking deduct ANYTHING.

That'd be better than what I am.

I mean shit, under the right conditions I can decapitate a moose without even thinking about it, but itemizing deductions thing is a bitch.

I wish I could get paid for this.

Hell, I could have written off the cow.

New York City

I've been thinking a lot about it latley.

I mean, the scene that I grew up in, the guys that used to make up my community, a lot of them have moved on.

I have friends with kids, friends who are married, friends who are moving out of New York and friends who are becoming dissilussioned.

And I think of my own problem.

I'm a werewolf.

On the full moon, I turn into an animal.
A very dangerous animal.

And part of me wonders, is New York the best place for me?

I mean, I have a cage in a loft apartment that I can get into when I need to, but the fact is I'm reallly only looking as far forward as the next full moon. Now that I'm kind of acclimated to this fact, it's hard not to look toward the future.

I mean, am I going to be a werewolf for the rest of my life?

Can I get a real career?

Can I really ever grow up and experience some of the cultural signposts of an older American?

Can I get married?

Can I have children?

If I do, wil they be infected with this curse I have?

Shit.

Maybe New York is the only place I can be.

God, I'm horny.

Seriously.

I know it's springtime, but I'm rapidly approaching three-balled Tomcat territory here. If my horniness were terror alert levels, it would mean Chicago had just been leveled by a dirty bomb.

I hate to tell you, but If something doesn't break loose soon, the leg of my couch is gonna be in a family way.

Holy crap.

It gets worse walking around Williamsburg, cause the women are starting to dress really sexy. I mean not REALLY sexy, it's just when you've been on a steady diet of seeing women wrapped in puffy coats and Han Solo parkas, it's that first baby tee of the season that can just floor you.

I was on the way to the bodedga for a paper this morning and was waiting to cross Bedford as a cute girl with dirty blonde hair passed in front of me on an old retro bicycle. She was maybe late 20's, early 30's, and wearing one of those thrift store t-shirts that was just well-worn enough for me to notice the color of her bra.

Green.

As she passed me by, she rolled over a bumpy stretch of pavement, causing her soft, apple sized breasts to perform recorded history's most breathtakingly wonderful confirmation of Newton's Third Law.

My eyes watered, the wind went out of me, my palms hit my knees and I started wheezing.

And just like that, she was gone.

I bought a newspaper, but didn't read much of it.

It's been that kind of a day.

What a day yesterday-

God damn, do I love the Red Sox.

Beautiful day, beautiful outcome, and then a great evening hanging out with a few friends I hadn't seen in a while.

Here's another pretty amazing fact about yesterday- I got drunk TWICE.

TWICE!

Think about it, it's like- all the fun of getting drunk once- but TWICE!

Filled up on beer at the Stadium, got home, ate a little raw hamburger and watched the replay of the game on Yes. I took a quick nap in the middle innings, woke up sober-ish to watch Mariono and A-rod melt down again in spectacular fashion from all different angles, and headed over to my friend Joey's place for booze and scrabble.

I forgot how much fun Scrabble is, and was more than a little pissed that "Pez" isn't a word, especially when there was a triple word score on the line. But it was a good night, and my thoughts were almost entirely werewolf free, which I have learned is a blessing these days. Maybe I should play scrabble more, and earn a reputation as one of the best players in the world. I figure if I can get to a strong level of Scrabble, it would make my lycantharope status that much more interesting.

You see, in New York, it's not so much what you DO that makes you interesting, it's what ELSE you do. Like if you meet a woman, and she's a world renowned playwrite or something, sure that's cool. But what puts her over the top is when the OTHER interest is revealed. You know it's like cool- you're a playwrite, bitchin- and then her friend is like "She also was in the band Talking Heads for a while. You know, Tina was sick for a few weeks on the tour and she filled in." Then you're like "holy shit! That's amazing!" She'll be shy and modest about it, but it's that second goddamn thing that makes you fall in love.

I'm tellin' ya, do only one thing in this city and you're on a one way path to nowheresville. Which in case you're wondering, is a lot like Queens.

So I was thinking, I have a pretty cool first thing. I 'm a goddamn werewolf. That's something. But what is my second thing? I'm thinking word games. All of them. Like someone introduces me at a party, and thery're like, "Hey- this is Kirk Thomson. When the full moon rises into the sky, he physically transforms into a ferocious bloodthirsty monster, cabable of running up to speeds of 25 miles an hour and with the strength and power to take down an elephant in less than 11 seconds." Then, the woman who I was introduced to would be like "Really, you're a werewolf- facinating." Then my buddy pipes in with "you know what else he just did? Faced the North American Regional 'Boggle' Champion and handed him his fucking ass."

Actually, that's doesn't have the quite the same ring.

I'm gonna die alone.

If anybody wants to see a picture of me-

Order the Yes network.

I'm going to the Sox and Yankees today.

We're due.

Oh-

Of COURSE that was an April Fools joke.

I mean, Jesus.

You silly bastards think for one second that I'd off myself without seeing the Red Sox get their rings?

Of course, I should have posted earlier I guess, but blogger was down yesterday.

In fact, I might end this blog pretty soon anyway- I made up the whole "getting out of the cage" thing just to set up April Fools. Actually, the whole transformation went great, I ate Cam Neely on the third night in the cage, and am currently shopping for something in a large baby cow for next month.

There's just not a lot of drama in it anymore for me.

It's pretty much wake up, eat food, work at video store, drink beer, fall asleep, wake up and repeat. Then, for three days a month it becomes: wake up, eat food,work at video store, get into cage, transform into wolf, eat livestock, fall asleep, wake up and repeat.

You know?

Still, sorry if you're pissed about the April Fools thing.

Call me a dick if you want.

This is Alyssa- writing from Scotland.

This is a sad day.

I am very sorry to report that last night, around 7:00 PM, Kirk Thomson took his own life.

He sent me an email along with his password so he could have me post his final message. He wanted me to let you know how much he appreciated all of your comments, encouragements and support, but the incident when he escaped from his cage scared him too much, and he felt that suicide was the only way to be sure he wouldn't hurt or infect others.

I have known a lot of werewolves in my time, but Kirk was one of the finest. He dealt with his affliction with courage, strength, and a sense of humor that is rare. Perhaps most importantly, he maintained his moral compass, something that many are not strong enough to do. He did not deserve this fate, and I would like to take this opportunity to let you know that in my eyes, he was more than a werewolf.

He was a man, and he wanted to die one.

Which, although it is hard, makes sense.

I know that he is in a better place.

In accordance with his wishes, this entire blog, and all comments will be delivered to his parents so that they might know what he was going through, and that it wasn't their fault. If you have comments you would like to add about Kirk the man, the blog in general, or anything you feel his parents might like to read, I suggest you do so after this post, as in a week's time, I will be freezing the comments section entirely so I can deliver the entire body of writing to Kirk's family as a completed record.

Now, I present to you the last words of Kirk Thomson- irreverant though they may be, they are Kirk, and he wanted you to see them. God bless you Kirk. You will be missed. Here is what he wrote:


Well.
Here we are.

The end of the ride.

As I'm sure Alyssa has explained, I have made the decision to take my own life tonight, which is a tough decision to make. As you are reading this, I will already be dead, which is sort of creepy. It's kind of like I'm a ghost right now.

Boo!

Ha. Sorry about that.

Anyway, I don't want to get maudlin about this, or get all weepy, I feel like my last post pretty much covered that, but the fact is, I don't want to be a killer. Unfortunately, that's the hand I've been dealt, and whether I hurt anyone or not on the night I got of the cage, the fact remains that I could have, and it's simply not realistic to assume that I'll be able to avoid doing it in the future. Worse than killing someone perhaps, was the possibility that I could infect others with this disease, and cause another human being the same angst that I have gone through since last September.

But fuck all that- this is my last post, so I'd like to say some thank yous. First off, to everyone who linked to me- Amy at Kangatopia, All the live journal guys, Girls are Pretty, Fanatical Apathy, Rick's Cafe American, Winner of the SAT, Memepool, Nycbloggers, Catharsis 101, Confessions of a G33K, Voodoo Madness, Liam Mceaneany, Andres du Bouchet, Kyria Abrahams, Dan McCoy, Monkeyfilter, Stray Pride Day, Grkgrl88, Liadnan, Hunterdane, HappyRobot, Pjammer, the Metro newspaper, and everybody else- if I forgot you, I'm sorry, but I'm killing myself over here, and spending my last hours on earth combing through the referrals on my sitemeter seems like an asine way to shuffle off this mortal coil.

But honestly, thank all of you who thought my little story was worth passing on to a friend. Having an audience for this thing kept me going, and I appreciate all of you.

Even you creepy zooskool fucks. I suppose if coming to my blog delayed you for even a few minutes on your quest to jerk off to jpegs of some girl swallowing the red rocket of a cocker spaniel, well then, I guess I've done SOME good.

And most of all, thanks to Alyssa and Dan, who were my allies and friends.

Danny Boy, maybe I'll be right next to you in that iPod, who knows.

Either way, I oughta sign off if I'm gonna kick it before the Pope. And I'm not shitting on the Pope, I'm just saying that he's gonna get a hell of a lot of press, which might push me to the side a little bit. Sort of like when Robert Mitchum died the day before Jimmy Stewart.

OK- I guess it's nothing like that at all.

I guess the good part is I'm gonna die without witnessing the dissapointment of how shitty the third Star Wars prequel will be. If only this had happened pre-Jar Jar. It woulda been nice to see the Bruins win the cup, too. Of course, I got the Sox in the World Series, which is better than a lot of New England Sports fans got. All things considered, I can't bitch about how what I got to see in sports. And who knows, maybe I will get to see some of those things, you know, if I come back as a ghost. Stranger things have happened.

Rest assured, if you were a fan of this blog, and I do return as a ghost, I will visit you. If you happen to be an attractive female, I will probably be getting to you first, ideally when you are showering. The rest of you I'll get around to when I can.

Ahh well- now I'm just rambling. I guess this is it.

Thank you and Goodbye.

I love you all, and I'm sorry.

Kirk Thomson.
1973-2005