I’ve had a hard time dealing with stress since say, about 1989. Up until then I ate stress omelets for breakfast. I stuck out my chin and ordered stress jalapeno burritos for lunch! Now? If I can’t open a Diet Coke bottle because of my fibro, I totally flip out and weep profusely and shake my fist at the world, blaming everyone from my mother to the Pope. And you know what? I don’t like that, but that’s just how I’ve gotten.
These last three weeks? Its been the freaking Flip Out Weeping Fist-Shaking Olympics. Something I haven’t mentioned here, at least I don’t remember, but then again, I’m usually somewhat medicated so I might have, is that my mother has cancer. She found out waaaaaaaaay back in December, but did she do anything about it? NO. Well let me rephrase that. She bitched and complained and moaned about the doctor who was supposed to treat her. Why? Because when he was discussing her cancer, you know, a very serious illness, he had the utter, the UTTER gall not to smile and she was very offended and thought he was mean and wanted another doctor and a second opinion and….okay, she also wanted to keep that first week of June open for her 80th birthday party….the one starring Gay Elvis.
Me? If I heard the word “cancer”, I would have been busting down the door, grabbing the doctor’s pant leg and pleading for a SURGERY DATE like yesterday….Because you know….like fucking CANCER !?!?!!
But not my mom. Why? It was all about The Party!
Was I upset? Yeah, just slightly. Like every single fucking day for the last seven months. But unfortunately there was no talking her out of waiting. Even for a life saving cancer operation.
Anyways, she finally had her operation on July 9. Fortunately I was able to wait with my favorite aunt the whole day. I even had a chance (yippee!!) to grovel and borrow some money from her that day since my car has been having some substantial problems*. (* Hell Month, part II). I just edited this whole part out. Just suffice to say, I fixed some things, but I’m still driving a car that has some really major problems.
Where’s Oprah and all her FREE cars when you need them!?
Anyways, the day my mom got home from the hospital there was a frantic message on my machine. She wanted me to drive a 34 miles round trip to her apartment, in my ready-to-break car, to carry her suit case 25 feet into her apartment from her sister’s car.
Am I stressed? A little. Do I feel guilty? A lot. Why yes. Thanks for asking.
Now during all this I had started a writing relationship with a guy from sMatch.com. He started writing me about 5 days before my mom’s operation. He was a British guy. Nice looking. Close by. He didn’t write like a retard, i.e., “I like 2 meet U 2-day. U seem niccce.” And my goodness, he even made a bit of money. So I told him I was leaving sMatch.com, which I did on 7/10, and we continued to write every day after that, with our real e-mail addresses. I’ll just call him The Science Guy.
In an effort not to screw this up, I did askfor pointers on British men from the stunning Stepfie over at Stepfordtart@diaryland.com , since all I know about British men comes from James Bond movies, those in supporting roles in Judy Densch movies and John Cleese.
So here I’ve been the last three weeks juggling a cancer operation mom, a car about ready to shatter if I hit a pot hole and writing to some brainy, bird-watching British Guy who was actually showing some interest in me. How do I know? Well as soon as I told him I had an art show downtown, he immediately went down and saw it! Can you believe that?
And what happened next was realllly weird. The day I went to the hospital to wait for my mom’s surgery I saw this guy walk by in the cafeteria. I just happened to glance at him, since I really did have more serious things on my mind. Yes, I really WAS worried about my mom, despite how I sound here. And who do you think it was? Go ahead guess! It was the British guy from sMatch.com!!! And I didn’t even have a clue he worked there…at that point. I just knew he did science stuff.
So I wrote him later that night and asked him if he had been wearing a black and gray striped shirt and gray pants and did he walk through such and such place that day and he wrote back and said yes. He was astounded at my total recall. Me too!!! Especially since I usually can’t even remember my password to MySpace.
Come to find out he worked on the floor just below where my mom was. Like WTF? Or as my former co-worker “J” would say, talk about synchronicity! My mom’s having a cancer operation and her room is right over the guy I’m writing to on sMatch.com??? Like how likely is that?? I really did think that was synchronicity.
So finally after 10-12 days of writing Science Guy, we finally went out on a date a week ago Friday. It only had to be the hottest and most miserably humid day of the year with an Ozone alert. I was a wreck most of the day. Did I have to say that? Probably not. I’m wittykitty.
Anyhoo, I also had my mom calling me up all afternoon, telling me how the visiting nurses had forgotten something. And she wishes she had a salad. And she really needed stamps. And I’m like holding the phone, trying to pluck my Frida Kahlo unibrow. I finally managed to get 2 hours to myself right before the date and watched my favorite Woody Allen movie “Manhattan”. I just needed a brief reprieve to perhaps remind myself that neurotic people can find love too. Thanks, Woody!
I finally left for Science Guy around 5:50. I briefly called my mom asking her to wish me luck and she told me about her physical therapy with her nurse and how young the nurse thought she was. And how she was able to touch her foot to her knee or something. I finally hung up realizing it was hopeless expecting any kind of support. Although she did ask me if I had remembered to brush my hair. OMG! I like totally forgot! Really? I should brush my hair for a date? No way! No feck-ing way!!!
Anyways, Science Guy was very nice looking. But very serious. He suggested Indian food instead of pizza at the door of the restaurant and I just asked if it was spicy and he kinda h’ruumphed and said never mind. So we had pizza. It was incredibly hot in the restaurant. It was the same place I had brought The Village Guy last summer.
I BRINGZ ALL MY “MEN” HERE. (scratching my crotch and belching).
Anyways, conversation was really hard for me. He asked me about my art, but my throat was all tight and constricted. All the drugs I had taken just before I left weren’t working. He wasn’t real loquacious either. I actually was so intimidated, I couldn’t even make any jokes. Me! Can you imagine the Ingmar Bergman Version of wittykitty?
And when he asked what I did besides art, I knew what he meant. What do you do for a living. You know…a real job. So I said I was on disability. The date seemed to end shortly after that. I suppose I could have lied and said I was the CEO of WordPress or a hand model or something. I actually didn’t think he was bad. He spoke lovingly of his kids. I think we were both nervous though. I wrote him a thank you note the next day but got back the obligatory “I didn’t feel any sparks” thingie.
How many times have I gotten that? Too many times, I’m afraid. I’m not a freakin’ Zippo lighter you know. You, my friend, were the first British person I’ve ever met, who didn’t have a sense of humor. I guess I could have sent him an e-mail, regarding this, since it was clearly stated on his sMatch.com profile that he had one. A Sense of Humor, that is.
Thanks for your help, Stepfie. You were very sweet. At least it gave me a reason to shave my legs this summer. Booya!
Tags: internet dating