The eye doctor

I had to go to the eye doctor the other day.  Upon noticing that my new eye doctor was slightly attractive, two thoughts went through my head simultaneously.  One was, "I'm about to be two inches away from this guy's face and I forgot to pop a breath mint!"  The other one was, "This is so Monica and Richard."  Because, sometimes, I see a good looking man and I imagine-marry him and make up a how-we-met story in my head.  It's not weird.  Why would you say that?

I was slightly distracted from the story I was creating in my head when he did the whole "Is the middle line more clear through #1 or #2?  #3 or #4?  #5 or #6?" thing.  That test always makes me feel like an idiot.  They flip through those lenses so fast.  I need more time to decide!

But my story was completely forgotten when he held a magnifying tool centimeters from my eyes and shined that super bright light in them (the one that is completely blinding even though you're staring at the doctor's shoulder or the ceiling) and said, "Hmm, your left retina is thinning.  And there are stretch marks on your eye."  WHAT?  Stretch marks?  On my EYE?  (I guess they go with the ones on my thighs.  Like matching your purse to your shoes, or something.)  How does that even happen?

He said it's usually caused by blunt force trauma to the head or eye.  I watch a lot of crime dramas, and the only cases of blunt force trauma I've seen happened to the people whose deaths were being investigated.  I'm pretty sure I'd remember surviving blunt force trauma.  Then he said it's very rare and not to worry about it.  Just be sure to protect my eye.  You know, from blunt force trauma.  Or too much sun.  Great.  I just need a pair of sunglasses that protect me from UV rays and baseball bats.  Should be easy to find.

For the rest of the day I thought about nothing but my freakish eye.  And I had to wonder*, if one's freakish condition cannot be seen, is it considered any less freakish?  Regardless, I decided that my thinning, stretch mark covered retina and I were no longer making up a how-we-met story for the slightly attractive thinning, stretch mark covered retina finding doctor.  I can't imagine-marry someone who will always have access to the tools that magnify my freakishness.

*footnote: Sex and the City fans, that was for you :)

Safire Dreams

By popular demand (and by that, I mean my sister suggested it) I have decided to post another poem from my early single years (also known as high school).  This one was her favorite, and for good reason.  It's very profound.  So much so, that some of it even goes over my, the author's, head.  Let's dissect it together, shall we?  We shall.

Safire Dreams

(I don't believe I spelled Safire wrong by accident here.  I think I was emphasizing the fire part.  Let's see, sapphire's are blue, right?  So my dreams were blue, or sad, and fiery, or angry.  Safire.  Boom, nailed it.)

Safire dreams 

of wishes moved on

blessed memories of old times

are all dead and gone

(I'm willing to bet some turd muffin broke my heart and I was having sad, angry feelings about it.)

your one philosophy

out of sight out of mind

my one philosophy

out of mind out of sight

(What?  Out of mind, out of sight?  What does that mean?  Well, I'll tell you.  Obviously, it's...I mean, clearly...this...makes no sense.  I was, like, 16, give me a break.)

Such a short time in the past

seems almost not to exist

but to me it collected the time

like the watch does on my wrist

(I probably dated this guy for three weeks, two days and five hours, but I'm sure it felt like an eternity!  And that's likely all it took for me to fall madly, deeply and truly in love with him.  It was so simple then.  *sigh*)

The bridges are all burnt

on the pathway back to you

and the lesson I have learned

that in my heart is true

Is never a second time

never a second thought

never a second chance to have

the first chance that you got

(It's possible, that when I got my heart broken, I lost my temper.  And it's probable that I didn't hide it from the heart breaker.)

So in my sleep

this nightmare screams

and tells the tale

of my safire dreams

(I think the screaming nightmare is the sound of regret, due to the temper losing and all, thus I am sad and angry.)

Do you see why this was my sister's favorite poem?  It has everything!  Fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, chases, escapes, true love, miracles...oh wait, that's The Princess Bride.  Well, close enough.

Chapter 8, or The lady doctor

September 2008:

My husband was the only person I’d ever had sex with (I don’t count the one attempt in high school).  When he left, going on a sex binge seemed the natural thing to do.  I had a lot of wild oats to sow; or I just needed to feel desired.  But I had been married and not on the pill and I had just spent three post-separation months having sex with randoms.  Protected sex, but still, I was freaking out.  I was certain I was pregnant and chock-full of STDs.  So I figured I should make an appointment with the lady doctor.

            I called a couple different places looking for the earliest appointment available and found a place that had an opening in two weeks.  I made the appointment even though the lady doctor was a man.  I’d never been to a male lady doctor before so I was extra freaked out.  He was a tiny Asian man who was very sweet, but talked way too much.  I asked him to take every test possible.  Take all the fluids you need: blood, urine, spit, whatever, just take it all.  He proceeded to explain every single test to me and then he looked over my chart and asked about my medications.

I had taken a low dose of Paxil for a few years, but I had just dumped my therapist and my drugs.  I know it seems like when your husband leaves you the last thing you want to do is dump your therapist.  But, she actually had the nerve to suggest that The Ex left me because I’d gained weight.  What kind of idiot therapist says something like that?  I’d been seeing her for over five years; she knew my weight was my biggest issue.  Even if he had left me because I’d gained weight, what good could possibly come from knowing that?  It wouldn’t change anything.  He wasn’t coming back.  And if that were the reason he left me I wouldn’t want him to come back.  I figured if I knew these things and she didn’t then I didn’t need her anymore.

So when the lady doctor noticed I had been on Paxil he asked if I felt anxiety.  What I wanted to say was, “Yeah, I’m feeling anxious!  I’m here to get tested for STDs and pregnancy!  And you won’t shut up and scrape my damn cervix!”  But instead I said, “I’m feeling some anxiety right now, yes.  I’m getting tested for STDs.”  With the female nurse in the room he finally got down to it.  He was awkward and chatty, explaining everything he was going to do before he did it.  I knew he was trying to make me feel comfortable and prepared (and it was probably required by law) but I was not feeling comfortable, I was freaking out and wanted to get the hell out of there. 

When they had all the fluids they needed they said they would call me with the results on Monday.  It was Thursday.  I called them every day, and on the following Wednesday they had the results.  They were all negative, which sounds bad but is very, very good.

A million little papers

When it comes to marriage, I hear a lot of people saying, "I don't want to get married."  To those people, I say don't.  It's not for everyone.  I also hear a lot of people saying, "Why?  I don't need a piece of paper to define my relationship."  And to those hippies, I say bullshit.

We need pieces of paper for everything we do in life.  We need a piece of paper called an Application to get a job or rent an apartment.  We need a piece of paper called a Loan Document to buy a car or a house.  And then we need a piece of paper called a Deed to prove we own those things.  We need a small laminated piece of paper called a Driver's License to operate a vehicle and prove we're old enough to drink.  (No one is turning that one down.  In fact, people want those so badly, they make fake ones!)  We also need several pieces of paper called Money to buy everything we want.

What's so different about a marriage license?  We have all these pieces of paper saying we commit to things, but we shouldn't have a piece of paper saying we commit to the person we love?  I say, if you're using the piece of paper defense, it's not that you don't want to get married.  It's that you don't want to marry the person you're with.  Because, if you really did, a little piece of paper wouldn't stop you.

Think about it.

Another batch of Nonline Dating

I don't get you, guys.  What are you thinking?  Cheesy emails, obnoxious profiles and ridiculous user names.  It's like reading a menu where the food descriptions are designed to make me vomit.

User names like thicknlong4ubaby and hnglkdnky are not going to trick me into thinking you have a big penis.  In fact, just the opposite.  I am convinced you have a small penis and you're a jackass.

If you say something like, "monetary things don't define me," I can guess with 90% certainty that you are poor.  And most likely a slob.

The About Me section of a guy who emailed me: “I love all thing!  Love to run a lot!!  Love food to much!  Lol!  Oh well it is tasty,so what can you do!  Want to be a great person some day.  Hope it happens!  That would be great!  I like watching movies that don’t suck.  So not seeing to many movies lately!  Lol!” 

Dude, lay off the Redbull.

Another About Me section of a guy who emailed me:  “I enjoy a nice evening out for dinner or a show.  Maybe have drink and listen to a cool band or d.j. or just relaxn at home watchn a good movie on the sofa or bedroom.  Then later have some good erotic sex.  I also enjoy winerys.” 

Blah, blah, blah, dinner, movie...what was that part before winery?

Dear (lame user name), What is my secret?  How am I keeping myself so pretty?  Well, gosh, I don't know.  I laugh a lot at lines like that; maybe laughter is keeping me young.

Dear (another lame user name), Putting a "wink" after saying you like eating sushi is surprisingly less sexy than you might think.

It's overwhelming, guys.  I don't know what else to say, besides: STOP IT!

Chapter 7, or Chips, dips, chains and...sleep?

It's August 2008 and I'm heading to the East Bay for my sister's birthday.  Why not squeeze in a little chicky chicky boom, right?  I called Guy from high school to let him know I would be in town...

He suggested I bring a few things.  So I made a trip to a store called Touch of Romance.  It’s a store I used to be embarrassed to go into, that I now walk into proudly.  I found all kinds of good stuff!  And the best part is, technically, technically, The Ex paid for it.  Alimony and equalization of the assets would go into effect in January and it was August, so we were still sharing a bank account and credit card. 

In the moment, the feeling of retribution is fantastic, but in the long run it really doesn’t make me feel any better.  I would’ve taken my husband over the money and the sex with strangers any day.  I would’ve loved him for the rest of my life.  But he left me.  So if I can get small bits of vindication here and there I will take them and enjoy them for as long as they last.

I met up with Guy from high school and brought along the toys.  Only, that time, for some reason, I wanted to make him earn it.  I made him take me to dinner and a movie first.  Bad, bad, stupid idea.  When we got back to his house he had to attend to his dog, so I went upstairs, put my bag of toys on the nightstand, changed into my new super hot lingerie and waited for him in a most alluring position.  Here’s where things went downhill.  We had sex once, didn’t use the toys, and after we were done he turned on the TV.  He turned on the TV!  What, are we married?  What the hell is this?  Shouldn’t we be having sex two more times and falling asleep only out of sheer exhaustion? 

The next morning - being that I was still unsatisfied from the night before and the fact that I love morning sex - I tried to get things started again, but to no avail.  On my way home I called my friend and said, “I can’t even get a morning lay out of this Jew*!”

*Footnote: I'm allowed to say Jew and make Jew jokes because I was married to one; I believe that's the rule according to Seinfeld.

Chick flicks: through the eyes of the beholder

I've been watching reruns of My So Called Life (only one of the best shows ever, cut down in its prime), and its making me think of the hopeless romanticism I used to embody in high school (the early single years).  My love life was this giant blank slate, full of possibilities.  Every sappy chick flick I watched was just another treasure map leading to my perfect happily ever after.  I may have cried through every single one of them, wondering if I would ever get to be the leading lady in my very own real life movie romance, but they were hopeful tears.  I didn't know where he was or when I would find him, but my Jordan Catalano was out there...somewhere, like...waiting for me.

And then I found him.  And I married him.  And I was a walking, breathing chick flick.  I got my fairy tale, my movie romance, my happily ever after.  Except for the ever after part.  Minor detail.  So I'm single again.  And all my favorite chick flicks are harder to watch now.  Even the ones that came out long before I was married!  Bridget Jones's Diary is a very different movie viewed through single eyes.  Through married eyes, it was like, "Awww, she thought she wanted that man, but the other man was perfect all along, she just didn't know it, but then she realized just in time and still got him, yay!"  Through single eyes, it's like, "Oh my gosh, I'm so fat and pathetic.  Wait, pause it so I can write down the titles of those books she's throwing away."  And it's the same with so many of them.

Some Kind of Wonderful/When Harry Met Sally
Through married eyes: She and her male best friend fell in love, how perfect!
Through single eyes: I don't have a male best friend.  I guess I'm screwed.

Sixteen Candles
Through married eyes: I love this movie!  I could watch it every day!
Through single eyes:  Where's my f@ckin' Jake Ryan?!

The Holiday
Through married eyes (to my single friends): You just never know where you'll find love!
Through single eyes: Yeah, what are the chances that I swap houses with some woman and she happens to have a hot brother who falls in love with me?  Pff, please!...I should probably look into it.

Ghost
Through married eyes (while sobbing): True love is eternal!
Through single eyes: See?  All the good ones are dead.

Pretty Woman
Through married eyes:  It's like a modern day Cinderella!  Or, Cindafuckinrella!  haha, snort, haha!
Through single eyes:  Hmm, maybe I should be a hooker.

Romance is more technical for me these days.  It's like a party invitation, I want to know who, what, when, where, how?  What's the endgame?  There are a lot more frogs than princes out there, is he worth the eyeshadow?  These are very important questions.  The answers will lead me to my very own second fairy tale happily ever after (with the ever after).  I mean, you only get married twice, right?