I went to see my Oncologist on Thursday. Have I mentioned that I have a bit of a crush on him? No, he’s not the egotistical Indian doctor who told me he paid people to say he was good. No, this guy is a tall Eye-talian with large shock of white hair (WTF?), black nerd glasses and this maddeningly sexy sardonic look he gives me everytime I ask a stupid question.
Thursday was my second visit. Apparently, there’s a minute possibility that a tiny cancer cell might have slipped through a severed nerve ending in my chin and escaped into my body. He’s there to keep an eye on it and look for clinical trials for me.
Naturally I have questions…like will I ever be able to kiss hunky Eye-talian Doctors anyone again and feel anything, since my lower lip has no feeling and is now deader than AIG’s chance at being voted America’s most trusted insurance company ever fucking again. But mere seconds before I was able to ask that, I suddenly got all blushy and giggly. Why?
Well, during our first visit, we had been accompanied by a young female Physician’s Assistant. But this time we were alone. With the door closed. Me. Him. His dark Eye-talian eyes. And I’m pretty sure I looked particularly fetching in my black bell bottom corduroy pants, circa 1987 and black sweater with chunks of cat fur. I mean who could possibly resist?
I guess we’ll have to briefly head over to NBC comedy “Thirty Rock”, for a quick consult with Liz Lemon (Tina Fey), the patron saint to possibly all insecure, sarcastic women. I mean, we’re practically twins anyways, especially on Thursday’s night show where she had been dating this guy…a doctor… who was so perfect that absolutely everyone gave him everything he wanted and tended to overlook all his incredibly apparent flaws. Liz does too…at first, letting him win at tennis, so they could make out in the cab, and then feigning interest after just mediocre sex. But then one night, when she almost chokes to death on salmon doused in Gatorade (his recipe), he just stands there oblivious on how to do the Heimlich maneuver…A doctor! Its at this point, Liz finally sees the light.
That is kind of momentarily how I see my “relationship” with Dr. Mastri-de-Lips-are-so-perfecto-ani playing out. He’s calling a doctor in Buffalo on his Blackberry, just looking at the phone, knowing his good looks will eventually dial the right number somehow. I mean, I know that’s always worked for me. I’m just sitting there looking at him. Who wouldn’t? He’s hot.
See, that was something I never did with “M”, my date mate from February. I never looked at him…like he was a rock star. Or even the guy moving the equipment after the show. Its not that I’m shallow or anything. Its just that I realized after going over the Good list and the Meh List, the Meh List was longer. It was also the first time I ever realized I was allowed to make that incredibly decisive decision. In fact, I guess you didn’t notice the impossibly clever title of my last blog entry….”(S)he’s Just Not That Into You”. I’m sure he was grateful you tried to save him with all your thoughtful comments. But the deciding factor? Well, it was what he said about an hour into our date.
“I’m really wishy washy. Even my kids tell me that.”
Whh-a-a-ttt? That’s not something you tell a woman on your first date. I’m like totally wishy washy too, but I would never actually say that to a person I just met. I mean in my case, we’re talking about a person who got into a guy’s car and still wasn’t sure which restaurant to go to in a 2 minute drive down to the mall. Do I take him to the pizza place where I take all my men….HEH (witty, there’s only been 2 fercrissakes) or do I go where I originally went with Handyman, which is more expensive?
Truth is I like and need men who take charge. Married Guy was like that without being obvious. He just took care of everything and I didn’t ever have to be resentful that he was being bossy. He was just a kind of “git er’ done” kind of guy without any of the usual attached guilt.
But can you imagine what life would be like for two wishie/washies?
“So honey, what do you want for dinner?”
“I don’t care, whatever you want.”
“No, its up to you.”
“Whatever you choose, is fine.”
“Salmon with Gatorade?”
“If you want.”
“Are you sure?”
“Only if you are.”
“Your choice, sweetie”
“You did say salmon with Gatorade, right?”
“Whatever you think…”
OMG, “CSI: New York” would eventually just find both of our skeletal remains sprawled by the stove. Cause of death? Inability to make a decision due to extreme wishy-washiness.
In the meantime, I still check my winks and notes on sMatch.com. I have some dude with photos of his mansion up on the Finger Lakes and of his boat, but none of him. One of his qualities listed is: Horniness. On his notes, he keeps typing “LOL” after things that aren’t funny. Like WTF? That is such a “No”, sweetie. Who do you think I am…your 12 year old niece?
The hunt is still on though. sMatch.com sends you 12 “new” men every two days. This last crop was the worst. Twelve men…only 2 had photos. One guy even had a hand gun pointed in close proximity to his head. I guess he was indicating some level of desperation for a date.
So I guess I’ll also just be on the lookout in the real world too. Newly single doctors with nerdy Austin Powers glasses. Stray artists. Perhaps even a nerdy accountant with a penchant for neurotic, insecure women in the mold of Liz Lemon on “Thirty Rock”.
In the meantime, I did want to mention I recently had one of my paintings selected for an art show opening in May at this trendy new art gallery in town. Their shows are geared towards social activism and political themes. The gallery owner said she “loved” my painting. That made me feel especially good since this is the first show I’ve ever had work selected where I didn’t know somebody. I feel that makes it even more of a victory. The 24X30 painting, by the way, is called “The Magic Coyote”.
Don’t you think Dr. Mastri-de-Lips-are-so-perfecto-ani might need some new artwork in his office? I could certainly use a little after hours IN-stallation, if you know what I mean.